Domination (A C.H.A.O.S. Novel) - By Jon Lewis Page 0,27

He’d need them to tie fake-Grandpa up, or there was no way he was going to make it back to the elevators without a fight. But if the agents were Thule too . . .

“Thank you, Colonel. You are free to visit the prisoner,” the orb said, interrupting Colt’s thoughts.

“Your turn,” Grandpa said. “Go ahead; it doesn’t hurt any more than a bee sting.”

“Yeah, all right,” Colt said, wondering if the needle was strong enough to pierce his skin. He swallowed hard as he raised a nervous hand. As the orb scuttled over and raised its arm to strike, Colt closed his eyes.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Colt hadn’t felt a thing, and as he opened his eyes he saw Grandpa standing there with his arms folded across his chest.

“How . . . ?” he asked.

“The needle?” Grandpa said. “Thule tech from Trident Biotech.”

“Interesting,” the orb said, as though a machine could be surprised by the results. “I’m detecting an alien contaminate.”

: :

CHAPTER 19 : :

Colt watched from the corner of his eye as one of the guards slid his finger over the trigger of an assault rifle. His chest constricted, his mouth was dry, and swallowing suddenly became difficult. Relax, he thought as he tried to control his breathing. Everything is going to be fine.

“Check the numbers against your database,” Grandpa said, his voice steady. “Or if you need to, put a call in to Doc Roth and he’ll set you straight.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the orb said. “The alien contaminates are spawning at an increased rate but are still within an acceptable range. Verification is positive. Thank you for your patience, Cadet McAlister.” Without another word, the orb’s arms contracted and it flew back into the compartment, where the panel slid shut.

“Breathe,” Grandpa said with a wink.

Colt exhaled as the DAA agent took his finger off the trigger and opened the door. The room looked like a giant pit where a glass cage stood on a pillar that was at least twenty feet around and forty feet tall. The only way across the chasm that separated them from the cage was a narrow bridge without any rails.

“You have visitors,” one of the guards announced through a sound system.

Aldrich Koenig looked up and smiled as he removed his reading glasses. His teeth were perfect, and so were his blond hair, square jaw, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. The blue of his eyes matched the color of his tie, and his shoes were polished to the point that they could have been used as a mirror.

“Wonderful,” Koenig said, his voice echoing through the cavernous chamber as he stood up. “I’m so glad you were able to accept my invitation.”

Colt was struck by his confidence. The man was being held in a secret underground facility with no way of escape, and yet somehow he was still acting like he owned the place.

“Go on,” Grandpa said, pointing for Colt to cross the bridge. “He can’t get at you.”

“Too true, I’m afraid,” Koenig said.

“You’ve got exactly five minutes,” the guard said.

“Thank you,” Koenig said. “That should be more than enough time.”

Colt felt a sensation like tiny fingers prodding at his thoughts, and he winced.

I can sense the monster raging inside of you, and yet you resist. Why? The voice belonged to Koenig, even though his lips hadn’t moved.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Colt said, trying not to show that he was shaken.

“Let’s not play games,” Koenig said, this time aloud. “Thule blood courses through your veins, offering you unheard-of strength. Why not embrace it?”

Without realizing what he was doing, Colt reached for the medallion that hung around his neck. It was the same medallion Grandpa had worn during the Second World War, and it was inscribed with Psalm 46:1. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Koenig laughed. “Yes, cry out to your God. But I wonder, where was he when the skies opened up and my brothers spilled the blood of thousands?”

“Let’s go,” Grandpa said, placing a strong but tender hand on Colt’s shoulder.

“You won’t win,” Colt said, trying to sound confident. “By the time you figure out how to keep a gateway open long enough to let your armies through, we’ll be ready.”

“Pitiable,” Koenig said. “Particularly since we both know that isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is,” Colt said. “We found the schematics for the weapons you were developing at Trident Defense—including the particle destabilizer.”

Koenig shook his head. “Those are merely experiments. Besides, even if by some