Free Species II by Yvonne Navarro

previously, and also because we have created another form of the alien species, my team at Monroe has developed a very specific precautionary procedure to follow. The plan includes a suggestion for investigative procedures and ways to identify possible initial suspects.” As she paused, silence filled the room, broken only by the faint hum of the unseen signal-scrambling equipment. When her voice came over the speakers again, it was so quiet, the four men had to lean forward to hear her words. “I don’t expect you to be pleased at the initial list. You have my recommendations, of course.”
    They all nodded as if she could see them, glancing automatically at the “Top Secret” folders they’d been given just half an hour earlier.
    “Thank you, Dr. Baker,” said the second man. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before continuing. “You will, of course, help us track down this creature.”
    It wasn’t a question and they all knew it. Colonel Burgess raised an eyebrow at her wry response—
    “Oh, I’ll wait with bated breath.”
    —but none of the other men seemed surprised. Without bothering to say good-bye, Burgess reached across the table and hit the DISCONNECT button on the speaker. He waited until they heard the sound of a dial tone, then hung up the line altogether.
    For a moment, no one said anything, then Burgess watched as his three superiors held a whispered conference to which he wasn’t privy. Annoying, true, but in his military career, he’d become accustomed to following orders, and the fact that he sometimes didn’t have input into them was something about which he could do nothing. At this particular point in his life, Burgess had only so much power, though there might be a point in the future when if he could help capture the alien bastard running around out there by using whatever means were necessary, he might be able to change that.
    After a few seconds, one of the four-star generals at the table looked up and caught Burgess’s gaze; his expression left no room for argument.
    “Get Preston Lennox,” was all he said.

6
    T hey hit the Hungarian Embassy in broad daylight.
    Not a single shot was fired. The men were heavily armed but even suppressed firearms made far too much noise for the leader’s liking, and they knew to use them only if there was no alternative. For this job, the commander needed stealth and speed, but he would risk only as many men as were absolutely necessary—his boss would not take lightly to the loss of a team member’s life. And if a life was lost and they couldn’t bring the body back, then they might as well not come back themselves. He sent a ground team of twenty in and, once they were established, brought another four men in via a swift-flying Huey helicopter painted a dull black. By the time the air team was dropping down the ropes to the garden below, the terrorists guarding the entrances to the embassy’s mansion had been utterly disabled and his team was inside; another thirty seconds and the hostages were freed and being hustled to the roof, where the helicopter was waiting to lift them to safety. Two of the air team would return with the helicopter to defend the pilot should one of the hostages turn out to be a plant; the other two would melt into the surrounding estate with the ground team, leaving the terrorists tied and gagged on the grounds for the locals to deal with as they would.
    Had it been a real assault and rescue, he and his team would have killed the terrorists.
    “T here you go, gentlemen,” Press Lennox said amid a round of enthusiastic applause. He smiled graciously at the collection of Eastern European diplomats gathered a hundred yards away from the front of the mansion, where his crack team members were helping the would-be terrorists to their feet. The “terrorists” had been supplied by the group, which had asked him to demonstrate his company’s skills, and what a sad defensive they’d shown—so-called experts