COURSE OF CHAOS

by CRAFTER
(William Ja-On Campbell Hillman)


Chapter Six: Contact

New York City, New York. 0200 hours.

The harbor of New York City was as quiet as it was dark. A lazy mist rolled in over the docks and piers of the sprawling port, and the moon was silently covered in a haze of opaque cloud. Slowly, the wind picked up, and the fog began its travel over the city, but the wind felt strange… almost unusual as if it were the bearer of some unseen visitor. Out in the waters lurked three quiet shadows, the quiet waves of the ocean rocking their wooden frames.

Inside the main office, the sleepy atmosphere became one of sudden shock as a voice from the approaching ships broke over the communications lines. The communications officer’s jumped up and looked out the window, gasping as he saw the approaching shadows. His jaw dropped and quickly he contacted his superior, his wide eyes staring in awe at the movement in the water.

 “Um… sir… we got three ships wanting to dock… somewhere in the harbor…” the officer gasped as his shaky hands struggled to hold onto the microphone.

 Immediately, a voice shouted out in anger over the intercom, “So let them come in you fool! That’s your job, so don’t wake me up over some damned yacht that wants to dock at three in the morning! This is a damned harbor you idiot!”

 The communications officer cleared his throat and replied, “Yeah… but since when do we get Spanish Galleons docking in New York City? Sir?”

                    Kreitos of Atlantis has arrived…


Outside Seattle, Washington

 Training was DeMagi’s life. Weapons, fighting styles, body building; it all came down to one thing… being the best in order to survive the longest. Now since Morlock was somehow alive once again, he had to be in top physical condition at all times. DeMagi’s small cottage just outside Seattle provided the most comfortable area to train in. Away from the city and people, he could fight without any chance of intruders… except of the Immortal variety. Lately, he seemed to have a lot of those kinds of intruders in his life. Soon there will be more, he thought, more as the Gathering becomes closer and closer.

Several days had past since he was in the Vatican, and he was more than happy to leave Monte and Caernarvon there. They had said they would get in contact when the mission is to be done. Oddly enough, he was looking forward to the mission. The sooner it was done, the sooner they would tell him about Gaelynne, and then she will be in his arms once again…

A large portion of his house was a training area with a hardwood floor. Bare essentials alone, except of course, for the wide screen TV and incredible stereo system in the next room. The gym had all the necessities which he deemed important to his survival. One section was a freeweight gym, with benches and weights. Another was a weapons room, with an amazing array of weapons from ancient history, some of which had never been identified by historians. Another area was noticeably Asian, a padded floor in a dojo fashion. Yet another section held a small variety of gymnastics equipment such as rings and bars, and of course, the health spa.

Today, DeMagi focused entirely upon weapons. He frowned as he grabbed an unfamiliar weapon from the wall, a weapon which he hadn’t used in several decades at least. A weapon from the Island known as Atlantis, where he encountered the ancient immortal Kreitos, weapons-master of times long gone. The weapon had retractable two foot blades on each end of the two foot baton. When a single blade was used it could be swung as if it were a sword, but when both were extended, it became the most lethal quarterstaff in history.

He released the blades, and they snapped to attention, forming the lethal staff. Becoming familiar with the weapon was quick and simple as he swung it around with ease and formed an immediate connection with the weapon. Swiftly, he gained his momentum, spinning the weapon in his hands like a cheerleader does a baton, striking his invisible opponent with both blades. After a short time, he stopped and held the weapon in his hands calmly, his body just beginning to break a sweat. He stood in the middle of the dojo, and searched the room for the Quickening that had just entered his house.

 “Come out! Show yourself!” he shouted as he stood ready with the weapon in his hands. Breathing heavy, he walked towards the wooden door to the main part of the house, grabbed the door handle and opened the door. Much to his surprise, he saw his old friend Caernarvon standing at the door with a couple of matching Guinness’s in his hands.

 “Greetings and salutations my old friend. I see that the years have treated your stamina well!” he exclaimed with a hint of excitement. Carefully, he cracked the ales open and handed one to DeMagi.

“Caernarvon… it’s been a while.” Kameleo replied as he took the beer and drank it down. He smiled, dropped the pole-arm and grabbed Caernarvon in a brotherly embrace. “Must have been days…”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” Caernarvon laughed as he eyed the staff. “You never said you learned the Atlantian pole-arm, Kameleo? Who taught you?”

“Kreitos of course. It was during the 20 years I was on the island in the 15th century. But enough of the small talk! What brings you here?”

Caernarvon smiled, sipped his beer and spoke, “We have the job for you…”

"Sounds good... when do we leave?"

Caernarvon was shocked, “You seem unusually enthused about this job…” Casually, he looked outside as a pair of Harrier jets slowly descended upon Kameleo's lawn. "Ten minutes ago... Shall we?"

Kameleo sighed, shrugged his shoulders and walked out the door towards the jets. "Sure, why not. After this, maybe I'll go to Maui..."

As the Harriers slowly took off, carrying their deadly cargo of Immortals, Kameleo's phone inside his refuge began to ring its ominous ring through the emptiness of alone.
 

 Several hours past as DeMagi quietly slumbered, ignoring all conversation the pilot of the jet he was in had to say. Dreams flashed through his sub-conscious as he entered REM sleep, and he tossed and turned in his seat. Kreitos… he thought as he saw himself training with a tall, lean warrior… I must find Kreitos…

He awoke to the sound of the pilot requesting permission to land, and wondered why he was dreaming of Kreitos. Something was odd. It had been centuries since he saw Kreitos, maybe he had come to America? The Gathering is near, but why must I find him?

Slowly, the jets came to a hover above a small landing pad, and below stood Monte beside some sort of attack helicopter. Kameleo stared in shock as he saw this machine of destruction. “What is the chopper for?”

“It’s one of the choppers for the mission!” Caernarvon said through the headset. “That is unless you wish to walk to the site?”

Kameleo slowly looked over at his friend who was looking over at him from the other jet. With a wry look on his face, Kameleo extended his third finger at Caernarvon.

 “Copy that!” laughed Caernarvon as he shook his head, and the jets slowly descended towards a small cottage in the middle of a forest. Caernarvon pointed down to the ground, and Kameleo inquisitively looked.

Below, men were running around like mad. Kameleo sensed them as immortals, but there was something more... their buzzes were weaker. In a swift movement, the men on the ground grabbed corners of the long grass and pulled. DeMagi watched in surprise as the ground literally rolled up, revealing a hidden hole in the ground. The entire lawn was a huge tarpaulin of some sort. Underneath was a large military style assault helicopter, considerably larger than the one that was sitting a mere hundred yards away from it. Kameleo looked in awe at the sight of the black monstrosity, weapons bristling from the sides and an extremely large caliber machine gun on the front.

“It is a modified AH-64 Apache helicopter my friend.” Caernarvon said as he smiled. “We took the liberty of acquiring one from the military several months ago, and it has been undergoing intensive modifications. Our Research and Development team has spent millions refitting this baby with more power. The propellers now operate more silently and efficiently. So much so, that we took the standard chain gun off the front and loaded the front cannon of an A-10 tank killer on the nose.”

Kameleo couldn’t help but be impressed. “You mounted a small cannon on a helicopter?”

Caernarvon began to laugh as he smiled. “You would be surprised what we can do!” he fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a small golden credit card. “The Corporate Gold Card... Membership has its privileges!”

“Cut the chatter up there!” shouted Monte over the intercom. DeMagi looked down and saw the evil immortal standing by the helicopter, leaning slightly on a wooden cane, “Get the hell down here and we’re on our way!”

“You heard the man, pilot...” Caernarvon said, “Let’s have some fun DeMagi.”

Kameleo weakly smiled.



Outside Seattle, Washington. Kameleo’s House

John Sire stood in the empty dojo, confused and almost worrying about his ancient friend Kameleo DeMagi. Kameleo has to be here, he thought. The Corvette is parked outside still, and Kameleo would never leave without his ‘Vette! Sire wondered what had happened that forced DeMagi to leave so suddenly as he walked around the room. Behind him, half a dozen immortals walked in single file, blades drawn, their eyes darting back and forth as if anticipating an ambush. John turned around to them and motioned with his hand for them to fan out and search the building. Sire walked through the dojo towards the large glass doors which led to the back yard. Leaning against the wall was an Atlantian Quarterstaff. Kameleo was here! Only a handful of people on this planet can still effectively wield the weapon without killing themselves. Casually looking outside, he noticed a disturbing sight... someone was already here... and recently. The grass in a two, twenty foot diameter circles was pressed down as if something had compressed it to the ground. Something like a pair of engines from jumpjets.

Sire cursed out loud and began to walk outside when one of his men came up to him holding two black cans with gold writing. Sire turned around, and with a surprised look on his face grabbed the cans from the immortal. His heart sank, and a frown grew over his face.

“Caernarvon...” he hissed through his teeth, as he turned and stormed towards the front door. “To the jump-jets! Move out! We meet at the rendezvous point in one hour, full battle-gear! We’ve got a shit storm a brewing!”

Kameleo... you bastard...
 

...to be continued in chapter 7...
 

GATEWAY TO INTRODUCTION 
Contents

Introduction
Cover Page
Chapter One:
The Beginning
Chapter Two:
Enroute to Revenge
Chapter Three:
The Proposal
Chapter Four:
Encounters and Agreements
Chapter Five:
Montegue LeMoynne
Chapter Six:
Contact
Chapter Seven:
The Heist
Chapter Eight:
Ambush at the Safehouse
Chapter Nine:
The Dividing of the Quests
Chapter Ten:
The Soul-Stealer
Chapter Eleven:
Macleod
Chapter Twelve:
The Marnin' Gull Tavern
Chapter Thirteen:
Coming to America
Chapter Fourteen:
Monte's Fall from Grace
Chapter Fifteen:
Prelude to Hell

THE HILLMAN ECLECTIC STUDIO SITE 

Copyright 1999 ~ William Ja-On Campbell Hillman