Chimera: A Jim Chapel Mission

"That's where I'm going," Chapel told her. "You're staying right here."

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+26:36

"You can't be serious," Julia said. "I've come all this way, and now-"

"The last time we tried to find Funt, we were both nearly killed by an improvised bomb," Chapel pointed out. "There's no telling what's down there, waiting for me."

"And you think you're safer on your own?" Julia asked. Her eyes were bright with anger. "I'm not some kid you're being paid to babysit, Chapel."

"No. You're a civilian who doesn't need to know all the facts of this case."

Even as the words came out of his mouth he knew he'd made a bad mistake with her. He could see in her eyes that he'd picked exactly the wrong thing to say.

Her mouth compressed in a hard line, and she folded her arms across her chest. "And that's all that I am. Right?"

He racked his brain for some way to explain what he'd meant better, to smooth things over. But there was no time for that. "I have to go, now. Lives are at stake," he said, which even to his own ears just sounded bad. "Listen, I need you to stay up here and watch for cops. If they come down after me, it'll spook Funt and he'll run away."

She shook her head and looked away from him.

At least she wasn't arguing the point.

He ducked through the short doors of the hatch and headed down the stairs.

Angel's voice sounded in his ear. "That's not the fastest way to a woman's heart, sugar," she said.

Chapel looked up and saw Julia's legs framed by the open hatch above him. He whispered his reply so she wouldn't hear it. "I'm still a professional, Angel. I have questions for Funt. He has information I need. Information a civilian shouldn't hear."

"I'm torn here," Angel said. "The part of me that works for Hollingshead thinks that's absolutely right, and that you're acting exactly as you should."

"And the other part?" Chapel asked.

"The part of me that's a woman thinks you're being a jerk."

"I'll settle for being half right," Chapel told her.

The stairs before him led down into a dark cavernous space filled with looming shapes. A storage area full of crates. He could see very little while his eyes were adjusting, but eventually he made out a line of pale light ahead in the darkness. It was coming from underneath a door. He reached for the knob and found it wasn't locked. Beyond lay a corridor painted glaring white, lit by fluorescent bulbs that buzzed angrily as if annoyed at his intrusion.

"-having trouble-" Angel said in his ear. "-losing your telemetry and-"

"Angel?" Chapel asked. "Angel, you're breaking up."

"-signal. You're pretty far beneath the-"

"Angel?" Chapel called. "Angel, repeat. Please come in."

A burst of static sounded in his ear, but it cut in and out.

Apparently there were some places even Angel couldn't tread. The vast amount of concrete and steel over Chapel's head must be blocking her satellite signal. Damn. He hated proceeding without her watching over his shoulder.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+26:47

Chapel stepped into the white hallway. Three doors, also painted white, led off the corridor in a number of directions. One of them was a heavy reinforced steel door with a sliding plate set into its face. Its latch was protected by a massive combination lock. Chapel lifted the lock and found it had rusted shut-it might have been hanging there for twenty years, for all he knew. The sliding panel looked like it was painted shut.

He could hear music. Faint music that sounded tinny like it was coming from a transistor radio. He banged on the door for a while, but there was no response. He tried the second door, but that was locked, too.

He headed down the corridor to the final door. The music seemed louder there. He rested his ear against the door and through it he could almost make out what song was playing. The sound had to be coming from behind that door.

His instinct was to draw his weapon. It was possible the chimera had beaten him here.

But he'd seen no sign of a struggle. "Mr. Funt!" he shouted. "Turn off your music and listen to me! I'm here to help!"

There was, of course, no reply.

Chapel grunted in frustration and grabbed the knob of the door before him. It turned easily and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.

Beyond lay a linen closet with a number of shelves. On one shelf sat the radio, playing some light jazz.

On another shelf sat a squarish box made of green metal, slightly convex, propped up on a pair of scissor-shaped legs. In raised lettering on the front of the box was the legend FRONT TOWARD ENEMY.

Chapel knew instantly that it was a claymore antipersonnel mine.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+26:51

Julia considered just leaving. After what Chapel had said to her, she was righteously angry-after everything she'd been through, for him to talk to her like she was an unruly child . . . it was sorely tempting to just walk away, to get a cab to the airport and go . . . somewhere else.

She was smart enough to know that would be a terrible idea, though. Laughing Boy was still out there somewhere, looking for her. He would eventually find her. And if she didn't have Chapel around to protect her when that happened, she would die.

But damn Chapel! She'd thought, after what had happened that morning, that maybe there was something between them beyond just his business. She'd begun to think . . . well, she had no idea what she'd begun to think. But that was over now. Right out of the question. He'd gotten what he wanted. He was the big strong knight in shining armor and she had fallen straight into his arms-arm-like she'd been following some cheesy Hollywood script, and she hated herself for that a little. Now that he'd fucked her he had lost all interest in her as a human being, clearly. Just like every other man she'd ever met before. If he thought she was going to share his bed again tonight, he was sorely mistaken. She was her own woman and she could make her own choices.

She couldn't just walk away from him, obviously. She was stuck with him. But while he was off gallivanting around, at least, she considered herself on her own recognizance.

There were shops around her, places she could go find some fresh clothes. Places to get something to eat. She was hungry.

And maybe if she left, the homeless guy would leave her alone.

"Do you like jazz?" he asked her, for the third time. He had a hopeful twinkle in his eye. Still.

"Not particularly," she said.

Chapel had been down there for what felt like fifteen minutes. What was taking him so long? He just had to grab Funt and come back up. That shouldn't have taken more than a few minutes. She wondered if maybe he'd stumbled on some booby trap down there and gotten himself blown up.

It would serve him right, she thought. Leaving her here with this wino so she could watch for the police.

From what she could tell, Underground Atlanta wasn't exactly high on the list of places cops went to hang out. It was clogged with homeless people and drug dealers.

"You're not a tourist, I can tell," the drunk said, as if he'd just proved he was Sherlock freaking Holmes. "That guy you're with, he's some kind of-what? Urban explorer? Thrill-seeking spelunker?"

"He's a building inspector," Julia said, thinking on her feet. "I'm his assistant. We had reports that radon gas was leaking from this place, so he went down to check out just how deadly it is. Just standing here is probably giving you cancer."

The drunk's eyes went wide, but then he laughed. It was not a sound she particularly cared for. Not after the previous day, when she'd had to lock herself in her own drugs closet while a laughing man claiming to be a cop tried to shoot her.

"You're just foolin' an old fool," the drunk said. "Tell you what. Let's play a game. The game's called Truth or Dare. You can pick which one-"

"I've played Truth or Dare before," Julia said.

"I'll just bet you have," he said, with a leer.

Julia just sighed.

"Okay, I pick Dare," the drunk said, and he moved around her until she couldn't help but look in his face.

"I dare you to go brush your teeth," Julia said. She turned away from him, not even wanting to look at him anymore.

But then she saw something that made her blood ran cold. A man in a charcoal gray suit. A man with a crew cut and a pair of thick black sunglasses, despite the gloom of the Underground. She knew his face.

It was Laughing Boy.

And he was walking right toward her.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:56

Chapel knew all about claymore mines.

They were designed to shred people. Nestled inside that green box were approximately seven hundred steel balls embedded in C-4 plastic explosive. When the mine went off, it would send all of them screaming forward, right through his body. The force of the explosion would deform them into the shape of bullets. Anyone standing as much as fifty meters away from the explosion would be cut to ribbons by the blast. As close as Chapel was, there would be little left of him afterward but red goo.

He threw his artificial arm up to protect his face. It would do no good at all, but it was a reflex action. So was screaming. He managed not to do that.

Instead he shouted, "Funt, I'm DIA!"

He knew something else about claymore mines, too. They weren't actually mines at all. They weren't designed to go off when you stepped on them or crossed a tripwire. They were designed to be remotely detonated by someone with a triggering device, someone nearby.

The claymore didn't explode. At least not for the moment.

Instead, Chapel heard a shrieking sound just behind him. He braced himself for instant death coming from some other quarter. When he didn't die, he slowly turned around and looked at what had made that noise.

The sliding panel in the reinforced steel door to his side was drawing back, tearing the paint around it as it moved. When it was retracted all the way, he saw a face behind it-the face of a man maybe sixty years old, wearing a pair of thick-lensed glasses. The eyes behind those lenses were hugely magnified. Chapel saw them narrow as they peered toward him.

"DIA?" the man asked. "They sent somebody from Military Intelligence this time?"

This time? Chapel shook his head. No time to unravel that, not with a claymore mine right behind him. "My name's Chapel. Captain Jim Chapel. I was sent to protect you from the chimeras," Chapel told him. His arm was still up across his face. Slowly he lowered it. "Please, please, do not detonate this thing. Are you still holding the clacker?"

Jeremy Funt-it could be no one else-held up the green metal detonator for the claymore. His thumb was resting on the trigger. "I am. I'm going to keep hold of it, for now. You have some kind of ID I can look at?"

"It's in my jacket pocket," Chapel told him. "I'm going to reach for it now." The man was a paranoid nut. There was nothing to be gained whatsoever by spooking him. If he thought Chapel was reaching for a gun, he might detonate the claymore on instinct. "Is that all right?"

"Sure. Just do it slow."

Chapel nodded and carefully removed his laminate from his pocket. He held it up before Funt's eyes and let the man read it.

"I hope you'll forgive me," Funt said, "if I'm a little careful."

"I understand," Chapel said. "There's one of them in Atlanta right now. We have to assume he's coming for you."

Funt shrugged. "So what else is new? That's an old, old story."

Chapel frowned in confusion. "I'm sorry? You're used to being hunted down by dangerous lunatics?"

"If by 'dangerous lunatics' you mean 'CIA hit men,' then . . . yes," Funt replied.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:03

"Come on, come on," Julia whispered, pressing the redial button on her phone. "Chapel, pick up already!"

But there was no answer. This was the third time she'd tried to call Chapel's number and he still wasn't picking up.

When she saw Laughing Boy coming toward her, she'd panicked. She just ran, not knowing where she was headed, not knowing what she should do. She'd gotten around a corner and found a women's restroom and ducked inside and started dialing.

She had no illusions that Laughing Boy wouldn't follow her inside. She just hadn't known where else to go.

"Shit," she said under her breath.

And then she nearly screamed, because her phone started to buzz in her hand.

She stared at the screen and saw she was being called by someone whose phone number was listed as (000) 000-0000. What the hell?

The phone kept buzzing. She swiped the screen to answer. "Hello?" she asked, keeping her voice as low as she could.

"Dr. Taggart," a woman's voice said, "you've been trying to call Captain Chapel for a while now. He's outside of cellular coverage and can't take your call, so I thought I'd make sure you were all right."

"Who are you?" Julia demanded. For all she knew this was somebody who worked with Laughing Boy trying to track her down.

"You can call me Angel," the woman on the other end of the line said. "I'm sure you've seen Captain Chapel talking into his hands-free unit. I believe you said it made him look like a douche bag. I was the person he was talking to."

Julia shut her eyes and tried to breathe. "Thank God. I'm in real trouble here. I need you to send help or something. There's this guy-this, I don't know, he claimed he was a policeman before, but that was in New York, this guy who tried to kill me, and-"

"You're talking about Laughing Boy," Angel said.

"Yes," Julia told her. "He just showed up here, in Atlanta. We're in some kind of underground mall and-"

"I have your location. Dr. Taggart, I need to ask you a personal question. From everything I've seen so far, you're a pretty strong woman. Would you say that's a correct assumption?"

Instantly Julia calmed down. She opened her eyes and changed her grip on the phone. "I like to think of myself as a competent person."

"Right now I need you to be one tough bitch," Angel told her.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:05

"I don't understand," Chapel said. "The CIA is trying to kill you? You know that sounds crazy, right?"

"Captain," Funt said, "I have a clacker in my hand ready to detonate the claymore mine behind you. I'm well protected behind this door. You might be smart about this and not insult me."

"That's a fair point," Chapel said.

"The CIA has been trying to kill me for nearly fifteen years. I know too much to be left free and alive. I've survived this long by being quick on my feet and not taking chances. You claim to be a DIA agent, but it would be relatively easy for a CIA assassin to fake those credentials. So I'm assuming that you're just the latest in a long line of hit men."

Chapel shook his head. "You have to believe me. You have to trust me."

"I do?" Funt asked.

"Yes! There's a man coming for you right now, someone who isn't a CIA agent but who definitely wants to kill you. I don't know what kind of threats you think you've survived all this time, but-"

"In 1998, they sent a team of men in commando gear, carrying M4 rifles, to my home. I happened to be coming back from the grocery store at the time and so I nearly walked in on them ransacking my place. I turned around and drove away and never went back. Since then I've been moving every few months, staying light on my feet. In 2001, they caught up with me in Montana. You ever been to Montana, Chapel? It's big sky country. Lots of open space, not a lot of good places to hide. They only sent one man that time, maybe because they figured I would be expecting a team, maybe because they thought they had me cornered. This guy was pretty slick. Claimed to be FBI, like I used to be. Said he wanted to discuss some old cases with me. I had him inside my house and pointing a gun at my face, ready to shoot. The only reason I survived was because I'd already poisoned his coffee."

"Jesus," Chapel said. This guy was crazy. Dangerously crazy.

"He lived. I didn't want to kill anybody, not back then. I just fed him enough rat poison to give me time to get out of there. To escape. I went to New Orleans. Now there's a place a man can lose himself. Or at least I thought so-until 2003, when the same man, the one I'd poisoned, came for me again. I couldn't take any chances that time. I set fire to my own apartment on the way out. Maybe he got out in time, maybe he didn't. I didn't go back to check. In 2006, a new guy started coming for me."

I'm going to die here, Chapel thought. I'm going to die because this man is insane and he thinks anyone who comes looking for him is an assassin.

"This one figured he'd play it real simple. No false ID, no tricky attempts to convince me he was an old friend. He just walked up to me in the parking lot of a Starbucks and started shooting. I got out of there by the skin of my teeth."

"So the bomb in your house-"

"Just in case," Funt explained.

The story was nuts, but it explained one thing. There had been dust all over Funt's house, far more dust than could be easily explained. At least, it couldn't be explained if Funt had set the bomb only after Angel called him.

No. This guy had been expecting an assassin for years. He had no idea that this time the assassin was real-but not human.

"Weird thing about this latest guy. He couldn't stop laughing, the whole time he was plugging away at me. He came back in 2009-it must have taken him that long to track down my newest identity. I saw him coming in time. Then in 2010-"

"Wait," Chapel said. "Hold on. Laughing? He was laughing the whole time?"

"It was creepy as hell. I don't know who you really are, Captain Chapel, but at least you look normal."

"I know that guy," Chapel said. "The laughing guy. He is CIA, that's true. And he's definitely a killer."

"Mm-hmm. Do you still think I'm crazy, then?"

Absolutely, Chapel thought. But maybe not delusional. It was possible that the CIA really was trying to assassinate Funt. The fact they'd failed so many times was a little hard to accept-but then again, how many times had they tried to kill Fidel Castro and never got him? "You said you knew too much," Chapel said. "That's why they're after you. I think I have an idea what it is you know, and why it's so sensitive."

"Figures. They would've briefed you on me when they sent you down here to kill me." Funt raised the clacker so Chapel could see it again.

"Wait! It's what I wanted to talk to you about. It's why I was sent here, yes, but to protect you!"

"Choose your next words carefully," Funt told him.

"It's about the chimeras, isn't it? That's what you know about. The chimeras they were holding in some prison camp up in the Catskills. You need to know something, Special Agent Funt. You need to know they escaped. They escaped, and one of them is in Atlanta right now, coming for you."

Funt looked like an electric shock had run through him. Chapel thought he could see the hair standing up on the man's knuckles.

"Malcolm got loose?" Funt asked. "Oh crap."

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:15

"That's right," Chapel bluffed. "Malcolm. Malcolm the chimera. He had your name and address and I came here to make sure he didn't kill you."

Funt stared at Chapel. "No offense, guy, but you're not up to this. I don't know what kind of training you've had, but Malcolm-he'll be all grown up now. He'll be more than a match for anything you bring to the table."

"I can handle him," Chapel promised.

"They must not have told you anything about the chimeras. They're tougher than you can imagine, faster than anything human. They're also meaner and more-"

"I killed one in New York, yesterday," Chapel said, because he needed Funt to trust him.

"If that's true-and I doubt it," Funt said, "then you got extremely lucky. When I first saw Malcolm, he was ten years old. Even then he left me in the hospital for months. No, if he's coming here . . . I'm as good as dead. Damn, damn, damn. I've got to think. I've got to think about this."

"I can help," Chapel pleaded.

"I'll need to lay some more traps. I'll need to get a gun . . . damn. Damn! Malcolm, after all this time-he won't stop. The CIA goons, they lose their nerve after a while, but Malcolm . . . he's got good reason to kill me. And they never even need a reason. Damn!"

"Funt," Chapel said, softly, "you must realize you stand a better chance if you work with me. If you want to live through this, you can't afford to turn down any help."

Funt stared at him through the sliding hatch in the steel door. He reached up with his free hand and scratched at his eyebrows. He looked like he was about to start screaming in panic. "Not here," he said.

"Special Agent Funt-"

"I didn't live this long by being dumb! I need to think. I need to make some plans. Damn!"

"Just come with me, I'll take you someplace safe," Chapel promised.

"No," Funt said. "No. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I'll assume you are who you say you are. And I'll meet with you so we can figure some things out together. But not here, not now. Oh my God-what if he's already on his way? What if he's coming here right now?"

"Funt-"

"Stone Mountain. The top of Stone Mountain, eight hours from now. Just be there, and I'll find you. We'll talk."

"Please," Chapel begged.

"Not now! Not here!"

Funt slid the panel in his door shut with a clang. Chapel grabbed at it and tried to force it back open, tried pushing it with his fingers. Eventually it slid back a fraction of an inch. He pried it open the rest of the way and peered through, even though he knew what he would find.

The room beyond was empty. Funt was gone.

ATLANTA, GEORGIA: APRIL 13, T+27:21