Free Descendant by Graham Masterton Page A

just as Lieutenant Colonel Bulsover and Major Harvey had done fourteen years before. It was a hot, bright day, and they were both in shirtsleeves.
    “Captain Falcon?”
    I came out of my study and put my arm around Louise’s shoulders. “Help you?” I asked them. I didn’t like the sound of “Captain.”
    “Like to have a few words with you, Captain, if that’s OK.”
    “Sure. What’s it about?”
    “Maybe we could come inside?”
    I invited them into the living room. The dark oak floor was highly polished and the sun was shining on it, so that when they sat on the couch opposite me it was difficult for me to make out their faces. They were both young, though. One was sandy-haired and the other was wearing black-rimmed eyeglasses like Clark Kent.
    “We’re from counterintelligence at Fort Holabird, sir. We need to speak to you in confidence.”
    I turned to Louise and said, “How about some coffee, honey?”
    “OK,” she agreed, although she wasn’t especially happy about it. Louise was very petite, with bouncy brunette hair and an Audrey Hepburn look about her, but she had her own opinions about almost everything, which were usually the exact opposite of mine, and she never allowed me to treat her as if she were a “little woman.”
    She went into the kitchen and started a percussion solo for spoons and cups and coffee percolator. The officer in the black-rimmed eyeglasses leaned forward and said, sotto voce, “We’ve had a communication from British intelligence, Captain—MI6. It concerns a series of incidents in the suburbs south of London, England.”
    “Incidents? What kind of incidents?”
    The sandy-haired officer said, “Homicides. Well, I say they’re homicides, but they’re practically massacres, to be honest with you. Thirteen people killed at a business conference; six children killed at an orphanage; nine women killed at a social club. Altogether, seventy-three people dead in the space of five weeks.”
    I slowly sat back. I didn’t say anything. I had already guessed what was coming.
    “MI6 have kept all of these killings out of the news. They’ve been telling relatives that there’s some kind of bug going around—Korean Flu, something like that. In fact they’re actually calling their investigation ‘Operation Korean Flu.’ ”
    The officer in the eyeglasses said, “It’s not a bug, though, Captain. All of the victims were cut open andthe blood drained out of them. Exact same scenario as Operation Screecher, during the war.”
    Louise came in with a tray of coffee and gingersnaps, which she passed around with a tight, shiny smile. “Gingersnap? They’re homemade. Not by me, I’m afraid, my mother.” While she did so, none of us said anything, except, “Thank you.”
    When she had finished pouring coffee, Louise waited for a while, and all three of us looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. At last she said, “Maybe I’ll go outside and cut some roses.”
    “Sure, good idea,” I told her. She hesitated a moment longer, but the officer in the eyeglasses raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and she left. I could see her through the French windows, snipping away at the rose bushes as if she were giving all three of us vasectomies.
    “Before we tell you any more, Captain, we have to remind you that you are still bound by the same rules of confidentiality that you were during Operation Screecher.”
    “Maybe I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell me any more. We’re not at war now, are we?”
    “Well, yes, Captain. I’m afraid we are. It may not be an all-out fighting war, but it’s still a war, and your country needs your help.”
    “What if I decline to give it?”
    “We don’t actually think that you will, Captain.”
    “I see,” I told him. I wasn’t stupid. However callow these officers looked, they worked for one of the most secret and highly specialized counterintelligence units in the Western world, and I could tell when I was being seriously