PROJECT: STOKER----Part 1

"In all secrets there is a kind of guilt, however beautiful or joyful they may be, or for what good end they may set to serve. Secrecy means evasion, and evasion means a problem to the moral mind" 
-Gilbert Parker-
*Episode Subject to Edits in the next 48hours--please pardon any errors till then*

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Hacienda Ganadera

Tapanti, Costa Rica, Central America 

April 12, 2013----12:00 am 

            The vast cascade of stars painted a calm night sky over the herd of cows that grazed quietly in the open and hilly spaces of Costa Rica. It had been a scorcher during the day-light hours, so the farmhands thought it would be okay to allow the cattle to feed in the evening with the cooler temperatures the evening brought. Though usually there was nothing to fear lurking in the nocturne shadows. The cows instinctually knew that it was rare for the jaguars of the forest to come down into the more sparsely open farmland that laid across the fertile valley born between the jungle covered mountains of the Tapanti area; despite this though, the herd was on edge. Every night, less and less calls and melodies of wildlife from the forest; stray the song of the wind that would blows through the leaves. 

          The herd started to move closer to the patches of grass that bordered the thick forest; the rich volcanic soil allowing even at night the plants to show off their green by starlight. It was peaceful. Calm. An evening that lingered in the twilight of a world where the giant creatures called Titans have yet to appear in the most unlikely of places. 

         With the events of Singapore and Salt Lake City still mustering else where in the world; the docile life of a little calf turns for one of adventure. With a proud but little “moo,” the calf shook with excitement as he feels for once he is big enough to stray from his mother. Wiggling his small rear as the calf bounded for a patch of crisp grass from under the darker shades of the tree. To humans, it was just a tree. To the calf, it was a risk that he wanted to take; unknowing that hormonal instincts where preparing him to be able to venture out and become a powerful bull in his later years. But for now, it was just fun. He ran off away from the herd and towards the tree, his dark fur hid it from view under the night shadows casted by the tree. He looked up and couldn’t see the stars that hung over head from the thick branches and leaves. His youthful excitement of venturing on his own made the calf bleat triumphantly. He was on his own for the first time. 

           His mother soon called out for him to come back and the adrenaline of adventure faded into wanting the shelter that only a mother could provide. The calf began his scurry back to mother, his stomachs suddenly groaned. Sure it could come back in the morning for the grass, but it wouldn’t hurt him or his mother if he took his time to wander back to her. The calf lowered his head as he began to chow down on the grass at the base of the tree. The crisp taste of the plants made the calf complacent. Satisfied even with his self reward of independence. 

              The satisfaction was interrupted as a small splat of something wet dropped down onto the calf’s head. He looked up only to see the leaves and the branches of the tree casted in shadow. The calf’s thought was maybe rain? But it wasn’t raining. He kept chewing as he continued to look up at the tree. He couldn’t see the thing, blanketed in the shadows of the dark night and dark leaves watching hungrily back. 

             In a flurry of shadow and muscle, the calf saw giant clawed hand extend towards him, grabbing his small skull and instantly pulling the two hundred pound calf back into the dark confines of branches. He couldn’t even scream through the thick and rank smelling skin that covered the clawed paw as two sharp objects suddenly plunged painfully in his neck. The silence in his dying moments made the calf try and fight for except, but weakness started to numb his body as a sickening tongue lapped up the fountain of blood pour from his now punctured neck. The calf let out a weak plea for help, his dark doll-like eyes made contact to his attacker’s own soulless eyes. The glistening white orbs hung in a shadow mess of muscle and hair opened a window into the soul of a creature that the calf couldn’t even fathom. 

            

              Those eyes. 

              Those white eyes full of hunger, solidarity, and unbridled rage. 

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2 Miles Northeast of Hacienda Ganadera 

Tapanti, Costa Rica, Central America 

April 12, 2013-----11:50 am 

           “So you a naturalist?” the old Costa Rican cattle farmer said as he drove the thirty year old American wearing a black tee shirt and khaki pants down the dirt road that snaked its way through the Costa Rican rainforest that lay at the base of the mountain peaks that rose in the distance.

            The American man, neatly shaven smiled from behind his aviator sunglasses, “Yeah man. Studying the ecology of the area.” 

            “Right,” the driver said as they made a turn into another dirt road that lead into the forest itself, “Not about the things?” 

            “The things?” the American smiled, “You have to be more specific than that.” 

            “So you aren’t here about the disappearing cattle?” 

            “Disappearing?” 

            “At night. Cattle have been disappearing. We find some blood near trees, but its like the cow just up and vanishes.” 

            “Sounds like you got aliens.” 

           “Que?” 

           “A joke compadre,” the American laughed, “it is properly some rustler trying to make it look like jaguars are taking your cattle.” 

            The Costa Rican man looked at the American briefly before returning his eyes onto the road. Something about this American made him uneasy. He didn’t look like a naturalist. Almost like one of those action heroes you see in the cinema. Not even his name had been given to him, just that he was some university naturalist doing some private research. That fact alone made him suspicious. There was little traffic in this area except for tourists who wanted to stay near the farm to explore the natural park close by. Even naturalists came through here too, but never in the odd manner this man has gone. He just showed up and asked to be driven out to this specific part of the rainforest. The driver had questions about him, but this boss said to do what the man asked. He wondered if it had something to do with the phone call the boss got before the man appeared on the farm. 

          The whole situation didn’t feel right as he started to notice he was getting close to the foot trail where the man wanted to do his “research.”  

        “Here we go senor,” the man said as the truck came to a stop, “Do you know when you should expect a pick up.” 

“I will let you know.” The man said as he adjusted his sunglasses and got out of the truck’s passenger seat, “Gracias!” Slamming the door behind him, the driver watched as the American went to the bed of the truck to grab his black duffel, putting the bag onto his bag before going back to the trunk again to carry a large silver briefcase before heading back to the side window. He then gave a polite small salute of the forehead to acknowledge a “thank you” before turning towards the almost hidden path into the forest. The man watched the American disappear into the almost hidden footpath that lead deeper into the mountain’s jungles. The driver clutched the cross that hung around his neck, for whatever the truth behind the man and his  being in that jungle, he prayed for safety. 

        It wasn’t aliens, or jaguars, or bandits that were attacking the cattle. 

        It was a devil. 

       And for some reason, he felt that the man was tied to it. 

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-Undisclosed Location- (2 Miles into the forest) 

Tapanti, Costa Rica, Central America 

April 12th, 12:20pm------Local Time 

             Jordan Blevins walked through the jungle with nothing but a smile on his face. Despite the little info in the briefing he had in Washington DC yesterday, the odd way the US government sent him to Costa Rica shortly after, and the new order he was supposed to relay to the commander of the special forces unit that lay hidden in the forest; it seemed to out of the norm form US Special Forces procedure. The briefing made that his new mission was a sort of man hunt, something he was especially good at while doing his duty with the US Rangers in the Middle East. Despite the grin he bore in the blistering sun, his gut gave him a feelings of dread.  The protocol was so different from what he had learned in training and trying to figure out the purpose of the mission through the odd order he was to give to the commander left him stumped. Was he joining a task force to hunt down terrorists? Drug lords? Or both? He didn’t know at all. 

             But orders were orders, and he knew better than to question them. 

             He continued to on the path when he noticed something in the trees. He would have missed if if not for the sliver of sunlight that shot through the canopy, illuminating a flash of light of something reflective, something not of the canopy originally.  He stopped to look, lowering his aviators to his nose to better without the tint. Amongst the jaded leaves and gnarled branches, a network of what looked like tripwires were set up all around the forest’s canopy. It was a strange sight because it looked like all the defensive measures for this squad’s location seemed to be more in preparation from an arboreal attack then one from the forest floor.  

           “What are they doing?” he thought to himself, “fighting the monkeys?” 

            He stopped and took a look at his surroundings. He could barely fit on the small little jungle path, which was more like a game trail than an actual tourist’s walkthrough. He kept trekking though until he came across a small little clearing where the five men that were their, wearing a type of black gear that covered most of their bodied held their guns at him. He could tell that this was the group that he was to meet up with, but they didn’t seem like the Delta Force squad he was expecting. Nor was he expecting such a warm reception of the toughest SOBs he had ever seen with an arsenal of oddly black but familiar cache of weapons pointed at him.  

              One of the men, holding a black but apparently standard issued looking pistol aimed for Jordan’s head stepped forward. He was an older man, Jordan guessed about somewhere in the early forties. He had a thick brimmed mustache and unlike the other men in the squad, wasn’t wearing the almost bicycle helmet-like head gear that covered their ears with a set of what almost looked like padded earmuffs. The helps also looked like they had some kind of night vision visor that at the moment was up, making them soldiers look like some kind of science fiction space marine from video games. 

              “You’ve to about less then a minute before we shoot,” the man said in a distinct southern twang behind the cold visage of his strange but familiar pistol. 

              Jordan raised his arms up in the air, “Jordan Blevins. Army Rangers. I’ve been sent by the Pentagon to replace Jefferson.” 

             “The Pentagon?” the man said, confusion in his voice, “Why didn’t they go through the regular channels they use to contact us.” 

            “Because of the information I have in this case,” Jordan smiled as he quickly knelt down and quickly went right back up showing the silver case in hand, “and the information would have been easier to send with myself. Especially with your new order for the mission.” 

           “You’ve got an extension on your minute,”the man said as he cocked his gun,“What is the new order?” 

Jordan tried to keep his cool, though the heat and the pressure of five guns aimed for him was allowing small streaks of sweat to drip slow down his freckled face. 

          “You and your squad need to capture Target 004 alive.” 

           The squad leader lowed his gun with an expression of horrific shock than confusion, “What?” 

          “Target 004 needs to be captured alive.” 

          “Why?” 

          “Classified.” 

         The squad and Jordan seemed at stand off until the squad leader holstered his pistol, “At ease lads. Lets see what the Pentagon has for us.” 

         Jordan lowed his hands and walked over the group, “Was I unannounced, I was told you were to expect me.” 

        The squad leader looked at Jordan with a look that seemed like he was already fed up as he with the Ranger; or maybe he was fed up with the orders? Jordan felt that this wasn’t any old special forces group and from the look of the squad leader and their men, they have been doing this for a while. Though from the files that the Pentagon did have for him to read, the squad should have been ten men, not five. 

       The leader continued to bear a scowl, but Jordan wondered if it was the orders and not directly at him, “Come over here. Let me hear these orders.” 

       “Yes sir!” Jordan said as he followed the squad leader as the other four men went their ways around the camp. Jordan thought it was odd because it seemed like almost everything they had as equipment was covered in what looked like the black armor on their body gear. 

       “What is that gear by the way?” Jordan asked the man in front of him. 

        “Its specially for us. No one else needs use for it.” 

       “What does it do? You seem to have everything coated in it.” 

       “It absorbs sound. It makes things a little easier for us. We call it ‘whisper frames.’” 

       “Whisper frames? What are you trying to get down here?” 

       “What did they tell you at the Pentagon?” 

       “Its some kind of hush-hush manhunt, sir.” 

       “You can drop the ‘sir’ here boy.” 

       “Just doing orders.”

       The man turned and shook his head, “You have no idea what the mission is and who we are.” 

      “No,” Jordan said, almost letting a sir slip through his lips. 

     “Well for starters,” the man said, “I’m the squad leader, James Benson.” 

     “Benson?” Jordan asked.

     “Heard of me?” Benson grinned which evaporated his scowl.

     “Yeah,” Jordan said, “I thought you had retired.” 

     “I haven’t been retired since ’98” Benson replied, “This mission is to be my last.” 

     “Wait, 1998? This mission has been happening since 1998?” 

     “Boy, the Pentagon really doesn’t like talking about this operation.” 

      The two of them were around an ashen fire pit where they sat on cases that were also covered in the black whisper frames. “Take a seat in my office.” 

      “A joke?” 

      “Just because I appear as a hard ass, I can tell a joke son.” 

      “Apparently. There was little paper work on this operation,” Jordan said and looked around the camp. He then realized they didn’t even have tents. Just a black sheet (which he also assumed was whisper framing) tied between two trees that covered their computers and what looked like a tracking system. There were five sleeping bags near the fire, though he noticed that it may have been six due to drag marks of a missing sleeping bag that lead into the jungle. It was the strangest home base for a squad he had seen and looked like it was an operation that didn’t even fit anything he had seen before. Outposts in the Middle East made more sense in order than this small little five man team did. 

      “Not surprising. We are cleaning up one of America’s best kept secrets,” Bensen shook his head, “The case please soldier.” 

     “Clean-up?” Jordan said as he passed the silver brief case to Bensen. The squad leader opened it up and began to look through the paper contents. Jordan hadn’t open the case himself and saw from over its rim that it looked like there where ten bullet-like object in the case. 

       “Hmm,” Bensen muttered to himself, “Orders checked out. I don’t know why the hell they would want him alive though?” 

       “Him?” Jordan asked, “I’m sorry. This doesn’t make sense to me. Its way to hush hush and I can’t be 100% useful to you without knowing the facts. The Pentagon obviously didn’t want me knowing till I was here in this freaking jungle.” 

Bensen laughed and closed the case and its paper, “McBailey!” 

        One of the four other members of the squad looked up from his gun cleaning, “Yeah Bensen?” 

      “Our new orders are legit. See that you prepare the weapons with this new ammo. Then we will rework the maneuver for capture instead of kill.” 

        McBailey walked over and Jordan was at awe, “McBailey? I thought---” 

       “Retired?” Bensen laughed as he handed the tall man around Jordan’s age who, despite the whisper frame armor, Jordan could see his scarred face of the African American man. It looked like something had cut his right side of his face with a razor blade. The man gave off a serious demeanor and took the the case without question; walking back to his almost finished gun as the other men came over to check out the case for themselves. 

        “What is going on?” 

        Bensen smirked, “Welcome to Operation: Bloodstalker ” 

        “Operation: Bloodstalker?” 

       “Yep, we are the clean crew to a US Military project from the 80s. We’ve been doing this operation since ’98 during the Clinton Administration. Target: 004 is the last of the original nine targets from what was known as Project: Stoker.” 

       “Project: Stoker?” Jordan asked.  

      “Son,” Bensen smiled, “We hunt chupacabras.” 

End of Part 1 

Next time on PROJECT: STOKER: 

       Jordan joins the Bram Squad to help carry out its final mission to Operation: Bram. As they prepare for their encounter with mysterious Target: 004, Jordan learns of what is known of the dark history behind Project: Stoker and the terrifying truths that were born from it..........

all content unless otherwise stated is (c) Henry Winston Ball