Free The Doomsday Device by Darrell Pitt

right about that,” I replied. “Super-wow.”
    A man weaved his way through the maze of desks towards us. He was tall, clean shaven with short cropped brown hair, a grey suit and shiny black shoes.
    “Hello boys,” he greeted us. “I’m Mr. Floyd.”
    We introduced ourselves.
    “Mr. Jones told me you might be in contact with us,” he said. “I’m glad you took the initiative.”
    “Actually the initiative was taken away from us,” I said. “We were attacked last night by -.”
    He held up a hand. “Let’s find a meeting room first.”
    We followed him in silence past the back wall with all the television screens. Beyond it lay another sunken area where more people were working at desks inputting information and speaking on phones.
    My mind was whirling. All of this was taking place beneath Las Vegas. In fact, it was taking place directly underneath the Hound Dog Wedding Chapel. I was dying to ask him about the installation, but now was not the time. He led us into a meeting room with a large oval desk surrounded by about twenty chairs. A screen hung from the wall at the front of the desk. Mr. Floyd indicated chairs to us while the girl in the suit closed the door behind us.
    “I don’t know if you’ve been introduced to Agent Palmer,” Mr. Floyd said.
    We nodded greetings to her.
    “Okay boys,” Mr. Floyd. “Tell it from the top.”
    Between the two of us, we spent the next fifteen minutes describing the events of the last twenty-four hours. Chad even brought my fading super powers into the discussion which I wished he had kept to himself. Finally we told them about making our way back into town and arriving at the Hound Dog Wedding Chapel.
    Mr. Floyd nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get the bad news out of the way first. We picked up a news story earlier about your house in the desert. The fire department was called out there after motorists on the interstate saw a glow in the sky.
    “They found the whole place had burnt to the ground with nothing left standing.” He paused. “Regarding your powers, Axel, I’m not sure what to make of that. I know very little about The Alpha Project. Are there any scientists remaining from the original program?”
    I was surprised. I expected him to know more than me. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so. I think they were killed and the research destroyed.”
    He thought for a moment. “Twelve’s actions are infamous. He brought an enormous amount of disrepute to The Agency.”
    Chad and I didn’t say anything in response to this.
    Mr. Floyd continued. “I do have some thoughts about the group that attacked you. From your descriptions they sound like a group of vampires that call themselves Wormwood. They’ve been working this part of the country for decades.”
    “Vampires,” Chad repeated the word as if Mr. Floyd had said something in a foreign language. “We are talking real vampires.”
    “Of course,” he confirmed. “Vampires have existed for centuries. They prospered until Bram Stoker wrote Dracula. When that book was released they realized they had to revert to a low profile. They’ve remained underground while the view of their fictional selves has propagated.”
    “What would they want with Brodie and the others?” I asked.
    “Nothing,” Mr. Floyd said. “Wormwood are a type of bounty hunter. People pay them to carry out tasks and duties like a Special Forces team. They would have been under the employ of someone else.”
    “So this someone else is the one pulling the strings,” I said.
    “Exactly,” Mr. Floyd replied.
    “So where do we go from here?” Chad asked. “We need to get our friends back.”
    “And we want to help you,” Mr. Floyd said. “But we are going to need an assurance from you.”
    “What sort of assurance?” I asked.
    “That you are prepared to be affiliated with The Agency,” he said. “We need -.”
    “No way,” Chad interrupted. “I am not working for you people. Especially