Agent M: Project Mabus (The Agent M Series Book 1) Read online

  By

  L. M. Vila

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  Agent M: Project Mabus

  Copyright © 2011 by L. M. Vila

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover image by David Sondered, http://studiocolrouphobia.net/

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my Father who always encouraged me to do whatever makes me happy.

  For my loving Mother who always put her family above herself.

  To Angelo, my brother and biggest critic, who supported me.

  For my fiancé Lisha, who stayed up with me every night and never let me quit.

  And finally, special thanks to my best friends Cris, Adam, and Travis for inspiring me.

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  There is none righteous, no, not one

  There is none that understandeth, there is none that seeketh after God.

  They are all gone out of the way, they are together become unprofitable; there is none that doeth good, no, not one.

  Their throat is an open sepulchre; with their tongues they have used deceit; the poison of asps is under their lips

  Whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness

  Their feet are swift to shed blood

  Destruction and misery are in their ways

  And the way of peace have they not known

  There is no fear of God before their eyes.

  Romans 3:10

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  Epilogue

  About The Author

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  Agent M: Project Mabus

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  A hellish roar echoed across the chilling night’s sky. The security officer howled violently as his internal organs became liquefied after one blow. He dropped to the ground, choking on the air as if he forgot how to breathe. The agony ripping through him silenced even the most basic of bodily functions.

  “Hold it!” The other guard beckoned, almost pleading. His flashlight shined diligently. Armed only with a baton and a silver whistle, it wasn’t nearly as threatening as killing someone with just a single punch.

  The poor bastard didn’t even get a chance to utter another syllable. The target blinked away with a swiftness that could only be rivaled by the speed of light. Sound barely caught up to his movements.

  Hands clasped around the second guard’s head, sealing it tight. A knee flew up like a rocket and drilled into his sternum, atomizing it. Immediately, the body dropped to the ground in a heaping slump. The night had reverted back to its serene setting in less time than it took to beg for mercy.

  Footsteps marched over the barren wasteland. Middle America was not known for much but in the eyes of an outsider it seemed like a waste. The attacker moved through the field at a speed that his elder companion could not match.

  “Master Kurtis,” begged the old man as he marched behind the pace of his much younger and muscular companion, “Must we go on?”

  The one called Kurtis ignored his pleas. Hearing negativity in this situation was unnecessary and unfounded since this was his servant's idea to begin with. Part of him worried what would happen if one of the guards lived long enough to hear their conversation. Getting caught was far from desired, however, anyone listening wouldn't get much information anyways unless they were fluent in Russian.

  They continued to move unrestrained by any outside sentiments or worries. Walking through a housing development project had varying legal issues depending on who owns the property but there was little concern for this party. There was one goal in mind; so many questions waiting to be answered. Kurtis agonized over this moment for far too long. He was going to get what he desired one way or another.

  This journey was beginning to feel like a death march for the old man while Kurtis flourished with the strength and energy of ten men. Muscles coated every square inch of his skin which stretched the brown tank top and dirty blue jeans to their limits. Kurtis soared above the height of average mortals with only a short amount dirty blonde hair covering his skull.

  On top of his impressive physique, nothing seemed to faze him. Not even a three mile excursion through bone chilling temperatures. In contrast, the old man’s resolve waned. The spacing of the roads between plots of land was far too distant. It didn’t matter if it were one mile or a thousand. His body would not endure this continued level of punishment.

  Kurtis kicked patches of dirt as he walked signaling his growing annoyance. “How much further Roman?”

  His question had so much authority it made the old geezer stand at attention. Roman's withered and tired hands reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cellular phone. He had faith in the GPS program. The place they were heading towards didn't have an address so they had to resort to using classical methods of tracking.

  The results surprised him. They were actually close.

  “Not much further Master, just a few hundred feet.”

  The cellular phone was snatched from Roman’s grip. Kurtis had the coordinates memorized for hours, reciting those numbers in his mind like a mantra as he ran. With every rushed step he took the goal drew closer. Roman could not hope to catch up. The boy ran faster than he'd ever seen. That was by design of course.

  Rationale thinking almost drifted towards obsessive madness. What he sought so intensely for was the first thing most people already know about themselves. Rarely is it ever kept a secret but the madness of not knowing haunts even the toughest wills. The thing that separates them all is the point at which they finally break.

  Roman trudged along the path. His tired frame could not hope to bear any more stress. Before he realized it, Kurtis had stopped. Roman was just close enough to hear his young companion's exclamation.

  “This is it. I'm home.”

  Kurtis tugged at the short shovel slung over his back and slammed it into the earth. The loud slap of metal on metal that he expected to hear was absent. Irritated but not yet defeated, Kurtis stepped away from his initial drop point and dug the shovel into the ground once more. Again, he scraped nothing but dirt. Discouraging results aside, Kurtis continued. He had to tread softly. Blind optimism could easily turn into obsessed mania.

  After an exhausting trek, Roman had finally reached his master. The timing couldn't have been better. Before a single word could escape between his heavy breaths, Roman could hear the sound of Kurtis' shovel hitting a solid object.

  Delight had filled the sinister expression of the young boy. Chunks of dirt began to fly as he unearthed the secrets below. Roman wanted to say something but he was rather shocked this place still existed. Even he was curious the forgotten secrets that have been buried for over a quarter century.

  Kurtis cleared area before Roman could take a single breath. A large panel door riddled with rust lay beneath their feet. The hatch was secured with a heavy chain lock. It was cute but antiquated. Kurtis didn't even bother with tools. He ripped the chains apart in one motion, decimating the old steel links as if they were made of tissue paper.

  The door flipped opened with one harsh kick revealing the entrance to an underground bunker. However, much to Kurtis’ dismay, it was filled to the brim with cement, sealing the entrance shut. His best
efforts notwithstanding, the questions that plagued Kurtis’ existence may remain unanswered. The young man fell to his knees, slammed livid fists against the slab, and roared until his lungs burned. His anger could be heard for miles.

  “I was afraid of this,” Roman remarked. This was not what Kurtis wanted to hear, especially now, after risking their very lives to come here.

  Immediately, Kurtis sprang to his feet and locked an immense grip over Roman’s throat. “What do you mean?” The words slipped through his teeth like poison. “You told me I'd find everything here!”

  Gasps of desperation choked past Roman's breath. The tight grip of his master was far stronger than he imagined. The next few words he uttered may save or end his life.

  “It... It was standard protocol. Back then.” Desperation coated every syllable. Roman clung to the fragments of air still swimming within his system. Lucky for him, Kurtis had a fragment of generosity to spare.

  Or he still had a use for the old man.

  Roman was released from the iron clad grip of his master, dropping to his knees. The freezing cold air pouring into his lungs never tasted sweeter. Coughs escaped through his throat as fresh oxygen plowed its way through. Roman never felt so happy to be alive. A common thought for those who dance so closely to death.

  The stench of defeat stained the air. Kurtis only had one desire. Finding out where he came from; the secret of his birth. Something that has plagued his existence since memories began to fill it. Kurtis risked his life to come here. All for this. All for nothing.

  “Tell me,” he hissed. “Tell me what happened.”

  Roman was strictly ordered to feign ignorance concerning this boy's past. And for good reason. Kurtis may have the combined physical prowess of a dozen Olympic athletes but his mind and heart had not fully matured. The last twenty-four hours proved otherwise. He could very well give Kurtis everything he wanted to know but the boy had never worked for anything in his life. Kurtis, for as long as Roman knew him, always took what he wanted, simply because he had the power to.

  Not tonight.

  Even facing death itself, Kurtis traveled here to find the answers. Tonight, he earned them. The least Roman could do was share his knowledge. Betraying their employer didn’t seem to matter anymore. Roman wanted to do it. He would do anything for Kurtis.

  “Very well Master Kurtis,” he replied. “I'll tell you everything.”

  August 8th, 1983

  Lawson, Missouri

  Donald Viseman breathed deeply into his folded hands, carefully analyzing every step of the procedure. Medical equipment flashed countless multi-colored lights representing various tests and their results. Pinging noises dulled his hearing. Though, not with the same ferocity as the screaming. The walls of this dank pit were seemingly getting tighter as this place had become his second home for the last nine months. He could feel the tension build up in his brow while watching the medical staff pamper the patient. Donald closed his eyes, attempting to remove himself from the scene, and trying to enjoy a deep breath.

  Three years have passed since Donald proposed this project. Previous attempts were deemed too dangerous for field use. However, in spite of all previous defeats, Donald gambled on this one last experiment. He prayed this would be the project to save his career and not his ticket to unemployment. It was hard to pass up on a brilliantly experienced biochemist and genetic engineer like Dr. Donald Viseman. Some of his own colleagues labeled him a genius in his field. Many of Donald’s studies were published in scientific journals, not to mention six published textbooks under his belt. The name Viseman is revered in the world of science. Some even dubbed him the Isaac Newton of genetics.

  Despite the constant accolades and admiration he received, Donald led a modest life. He and his lovely wife Dana enjoyed simple pleasures and valued their morals and religious beliefs above all else. Their idea of thrills included watching their children grow up and skipping church on Sunday for a late family brunch. This modest lifestyle led him down the path of becoming a trouble-free yet world renowned professor of genetics.

  When he wasn’t teaching classes at New York University, most of his time was spent as a project manager for the United States Government. Even though he was content with his teaching career, working for the government provided more lucrative opportunities. Donald definitely had the future in mind with three little girls to call his own already and a fourth on the way. Still, even a project of this magnitude would take a mental and physical toll on anyone approaching their forties. Ensuring the safety and stability of the project and its host became his top priority. Donald’s career depended on it.

  Moments passed slowly unlike with Donald’s patience. He had stared at this all too familiar scene for the past 90 hours and yet nothing had changed. His body desperately cried for sleep but he drowned out that annoying call with regular doses of coffee. Anticipation was the most processed emotion followed closely by fear, frustration, and buried deep within him even a little tinge of regret. Donald took his hands away from his mouth and began tapping his fingers on his desk. At this point, all he could do was watch.

  Three medical doctors in the room, as well as one assistant, surveyed the patient laying flat in the medical bed. The patient’s breathing had grown rapidly and in very short bursts she began screaming ferociously for relief. Doctors used the full extent of their abilities and equipment to calm the woman but her cries made it seem like she was possessed by a crazed spirit. Thankfully, the carefully strapped harnesses kept her in place without jeopardizing anyone’s safety. Including the subject.

  “Here you are, sir,” as stone cold ceramic mug is placed before him. The powerful aroma of bittersweet coffee crept out from its core sending out a signal of its impressive strength. Donald would placate his assistant with a thank you but that would ruin the irritable mood he was trying to set. He stopped his irreverent tapping to indulge in a sip without any regard for adding sweeteners or other chemicals to lighten its blow. Months ago, the very thought of drinking a cup of coffee to keep one’s attention made Donald sick. Now, he couldn’t sit straight without it.

  Another death-hardened yell from the woman echoed in the room, this one a bit louder than most which instantly caught Donald’s attention. His assistant almost dared to warn him about it first but she knew better then to point out the obvious when Donald teetered so very close to the edge.

  Monitors revealed all measurements to be stable. This seemed to calm things down; for the moment anyways. Donald took this instant to force himself to relax. As a scientist, it was relatively easy to do so because he was in complete control of his experiments. However, at this stage, he was entirely at the will of his doctors’ analysis and the patient’s determination.

  As well as the mercy of God.

  “This is too much,” Donald whispered to himself. He stood away from his desk and approached the operating table where his staff peered through countless pages of updated information. A distant ringing bounced in the air but his brain chose to ignore that and focus on the patient instead. The doctors worked furiously, trying to maintain the stability of the patient despite her defiant nature at this stage. This was expected. Even the kindest woman can be turned to a ravenous monster when they are nearing the end of pregnancy.

  “Excuse me sir,” called his assistant from the background. “There’s a phone call for you. It’s the Secretary of Defense.”

  Donald’s mind instantly froze once she uttered that name. He hadn’t expected him to call this place directly but obviously there was a good reason. Results should have been in days ago. Donald couldn’t compute a straight answer to give. He wasn’t a medical doctor in even the vaguest of terms but as the official project overseer and architect he should know everything that was going on. The government wouldn’t easily tolerate failure as the private sector would. Especially with a secret and expensive endeavor such as this one.

  He took the phone from his assistant without giving her even a glance and stood by his d
esk. Not even sitting could ease him into the approaching storm.

  “Mr. Weinberger.” Donald stated. An unsettling pause followed.

  “Viseman, what’s the status?” A raspy voice questioned from the other line. It might have been the connection or from his lack of sleep but Secretary of Defense did not sound pleased.

  Hearing this phrase became as common as blinking. Donald thought it best to give the straightest answer possible, even if it was one they both didn’t want to hear.

  “She’s still in labor sir.” He could feel disappointment drip from the other end of the line.

  “How much longer?”

  Donald gave a quick peek at the patient and let out a disheartened sigh. Knowing he couldn’t keep silent on his end of the conversation, the genetic engineer replied with his best educated guess.

  “Given the estimated time in labor and our current test results,” he concluded hoping to sound positive, “birth should be imminent.”

  Clearly a lie and a bold one to boot. Truth be told, Donald had no idea what would happen, let alone assume that the birthing process could actually be completed. One thing Donald was forced to accept was that working for the government meant producing results with little time and money spent.

  Relief swept over the Secretary of Defense. “Good. I’ll be expecting a call as immediately afterwards.” His somewhat chipper demeanor waned as he delivered the last parting message, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  Things were definitely driving into a direction out of Donald’s control, which was the number one pet peeve for every scientist. He knew that the Secretary of Defense would be waiting for the final phone call any minute now. If there were no results to give, Donald would have a lot more to worry about than just the safety of his experiment.