Chapter Twenty-Nine

May 8

The Hummer was taking a real beating as it made its way down the narrow, unpaved trail in the Pine Barrens.

Between the boulders, the sand pits, and roots as thick as tree trunks, its shock absorbers were ready to give up the ghost, in more ways than one.

The two men in the Hummer had just driven from Free Tennessee to New Jersey, seventeen hours, nonstop. Buzzcut and ripped, with tat sleeves and earrings, they’d gone by many aliases over the years. Currently, they were Phil and Don. But most people knew them as the Cobra Brothers, the best helicopter gunship team in the world.

They’d gotten through to Bull Dozer just two days ago; he’d said he’d be in touch. A follow-up message had arrived twenty-four hours later: Start driving and leave your copters home. We’ll have some for you when you get here.

Normally Phil and Don flew AH-1 Cobras, heavily armed, highly maneuverable gunships—hence their nickname—but Dozer said he just needed pilots.

The Cobra Brothers were hardened veterans of the many wars fought across the continent in the past few years. They’d been in battles against the Russians, the Asian Mercenary Cult, the Fourth Reich, the Circle, and others—all of these clashes involving heavy combat. But they’d never experienced anything as frightening as driving through the Pine Barrens at night.

Strange lights in the trees. Bloodcurdling shrieks around every turn. Bizarre creatures running in front of them just long enough to get caught in the headlights before disappearing again. Worst of all, that feeling, which they could not shake, that someone was following them.

By the time they reached the base’s main gate at about 2100 hours, just past 9:00 p.m., they were nervous wrecks. The gate consisted of a recently cut white birch that lay across two stacks of boulders. That was it. Two folding chairs were nearby.

But no one was there to meet them as Dozer had promised. True, they were about an hour early, but still, where were the guards?

They could see into the hidden base, which wasn’t so hidden at the moment. Dozer had told them what to expect—and this wasn’t it. The camouflage roof was wide open; anyone flying overhead could easily spot the place. Vehicles and runway equipment were scattered all over; the place looked abandoned. There was no sign of life anywhere.

“Not the fun place I expected,” Don said dryly.

“All’s not right here,” Phil replied.

They collected their M-16s and night-vision goggles and started across the runway. They were heading for the Quonset hut, but halfway across the landing strip, they came upon a large red drawing someone had smeared onto the tarmac.

Viewed through night vision, it looked like a grotesque smiley face, except the smile was depicted as a semicircle of garishly drawn surgical stitches. The crudeness of it made it even more disturbing.

Phil reached down and touched the reddened part of the tarmac.

“Bull said this place was kind of spooky, right?” he asked Don.

“The ride out here didn’t give that away?” Don replied, his weapon up. He was feeling the really bad vibes now.

“Well, it gets worse,” Phil said, looking at the red substance on his gloved hand. “Because this ain’t paint. …”