The Lambda Tribe

Table of Contents

Introduction

A Note from the Author

Prologue – The Concept

Chapter 1 – Breaking Away

Chapter 2 – The Test

Chapter 3 – The New Life

Chapter 4 – Leaving a Trail

Chapter 5 – Where is the Other Man?

Chapter 6 – Indiscretions

Chapter 7 – Picking up the Trail

Chapter 8 – Getting Closer

Chapter 9 – Found Him

Chapter 10 – Dreaded Reunion

Chapter 11 – Found the Pattern

Chapter 12 – Bring them Down

Epilogue

Contact the Author

The Lambda Tribe

A Bruce Highland Novel by Alex Ryan

©2017 by Alex Ryan

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Catherine Stone

Other works in the Bruce Highland series include the following, listed in order of publication date:

The Gatekeepers

The Man with Three Selves

Gauthier's List

The Vine Fraternity

Deadly Heirloom

Leon’s Fire

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between real persons and fictional characters is entirely coincidental. Certain historical facts have been modified and altered to suit fictional purposes. This material is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in part or entirety without permission.

Introduction

A scientist, Dr. Wiljam Koenig, working on a CIA funded primate research project, disappears from his research facility along with his animals. Ace private investigator, Bruce Highland, is called in to find him. In the course of the investigation, Highland discovers a bizarre, diabolical twist in the nature of his research.

This is the sixth book in the Bruce Highland series. Bruce Highland is a private detective who is a former military intelligence officer with connections to covert government agencies.

A Note from the Author

Genetically engineered primates? What is this, Planet of the Apes? No, not hardly. Honestly, the book was decent, although the movies were horrid. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t be able to get away with the plot and premise, had it been my idea.

This novel isn’t about monkeys taking over the world; they aren’t taking over anything. They are pawns. They’re used as tools. It’s a story of corruption, deceit, greed, and the displaced morals of radical philosophy. The chimpanzees may be trained killers, but they aren’t really the bad guys; the bad guys are the humans behind them. In the end, the story is an exercise in the triumph of good over evil, when it isn’t clearly apparent who the evil party really is.

How about the technology? Is it possible to create a primate with a nearly human brain by implanting stem cells? That’s already been broached in mice. I’m sure somebody somewhere is doing some experimentation and they’re just not talking about it. It’s not a matter of ‘if’, but a matter of ‘when’.

Prologue – The Concept

Rio San Juan Region, Nicaragua, 1987

Augusto Salvatore ran his fingers through his short curly beard as the two and a half ton military cargo truck negotiated a muddy jungle road.

Detener! he called, in a frantic voice. The driver stopped the truck and shut the engine down. The two men were dressed in olive drab fatigues and similar colored front billed headgear. They sat in silence. Then the faint rumble of vehicles approaching in the distance began. They are coming. It’s time.

Salvatore grabbed his prized AK 47 assault rifle. He so prized it because it was an actual Soviet production AK 47 with a milled steel receiver, not the common AKM with a stamped receiver typically and incorrectly referred to as an AK 47. It was a gift from the ARDE Frente Sur commander himself. The driver grabbed his own AKM and went to the rear of the truck. Inside were eight chimpanzees. Using hand signals, he motioned for them to follow, in silence.

The two men crested a hill under the jungle canopy, and took positions behind a short rocky outcropping by the side of a paved roadway; the chimpanzees crouched at the ready. The target: an approaching FSLN convoy. Two Ural transport trucks and a UAZ 469, which is the Soviet version of the Jeep. It was a supply run to transport weapons and ammunition to a FSLN garrison. Technically, the road was within a Sandinista controlled zone, so the convoy should be safe. But, in any case, resistance from any number of the operational Contra groups could and should be expected, including the predominant ARDE in the region.

Both Urals had two armed men up front, including the driver, and two armed men in the rear. The open UAZ had three armed occupants, including the driver. There were exactly enough chimpanzees to engage all of the men on both Ural trucks one to one. But they didn’t need one to one coverage. The chimpanzees were strong and fast. They had rehearsed the attack in the camp. The chimps would scale the Urals’ fabric tarp covers, and simultaneously engage the front and rear occupants, disarming and disabling them. The men would engage the occupants of the UAZ with automatic fire. It should be easy.

Logistically, there was a problem. The mission was two-fold: Deny FSLN of weapons and ammunition, as well as resupply the ARDE Frente Sur wing controlling its respective sector. Ideally, the ARDE fighters would commandeer the vehicles and drive them to the camp, but there were no direct roads leading from the highway back to Contra territory. That meant that they would have to carry as many arms and ammo cases as they could manage, in one trip, back to their own truck. Although fast and strong, chimpanzees are not particularly adept at hauling heavy, square boxes of ammunition for long distances. The solution would be to empty the trucks, and transport the cargo a short distance within the jungle and hope that FSLN would assume the attackers made off with the cargo in its entirety, and return at a later time when the heat was off to scavenge the cargo.

Conventional logic would dictate that enough fighters be present to complete the munitions transfer in one trip. That, however, was not an option. The chimpanzees did not work effectively in the presence of humans other than their handlers. They were trained to kill. Also, their mission was secret. They didn’t reside in an encampment with Contra guerilla fighters. They resided in a separate, secret encampment. This isolation was necessary to keep the Sandinistas from learning of the campaign. That also meant that no witnesses could be left alive.

Salvatore wiped the sweat off his face with a handkerchief as the slow moving convoy approached. He crossed himself and flicked the fire selector to automatic, and his comrade did likewise. As the convoy passed directly broadside, the driver gave the signal.

In an instant, the chimpanzees scaled the fabric covers of the trucks and slung themselves in to the open cabs and rear cargo entries, lashing fiercely at the armed men. In a fit of confusion, the driver of the UAZ stopped the vehicle, and the men aimed their weapons towards the chimps. But who do they shoot? The chimps were literally right there, on top of the men, gouging their eyes out, choking them, and breaking their necks. Salvatore and the driver opened fire, and mowed down the three standing occupants of the UAZ immediately.

Quickly! Empty the trucks! Salvatore commanded, as he dashed out on the road. The disarmed, maimed, and dead occupants of the Urals were tossed to the ground. They started methodically transporting assault rifles, grenade launchers, and ammunition boxes into the dense brush, and did their best to cover them in an inconspicuous hiding spot under some downed trees and brush.

There was no time to gather a load back to the truck. The sound of approaching vehicles could be heard. FSLN would be all over the area like flies, momentarily. The driver hurriedly fired up the two and half ton truck as the monkeys scurried back in to the cargo area. Twenty nervous minutes later, they were safely back in Contra territory.

The main command center for the Contras was located in Honduras, just north of the Nicaraguan border. A United States military UH60 Blackhawk helicopter lifted off a pad with the destination of an ARDE encampment within the northeast region of Nicaragua. There were two occupants in the troop area – both wearing black military fatigues utterly devoid of insignia. Both sat on the right side, Sergeant First Class Paul Barth, 7th Group Special Forces, military advisor assigned to El Salvador, sat in the rear bench seat facing forward; CIA staffer Matt Kensing sat in the forward seat.

Barth was a tall, lanky man, sporting a high and tight haircut. They say that a longer hair makes you look less military, and therefore less of a target out of garrison, but on the other hand, a fit white guy in the region, at the time, would have been assumed to have a military affiliation anyway, so why bother. Escorting a staffer, alone, to a meeting in the jungle with unknowns was not a choice assignment. Sure, the Contras were friendly to the United States, but, on the other hand, they didn’t get the same support that the rebels in El Salvador got and they knew it.

The chopper settled down on a ridgeline just above the encampment. Barth debated on whether to have the pilots keep the engines running or not. The truth of the matter was, if something went south, Barth and Kensing weren’t getting out anyway. Maybe the helicopter could be saved. Barth spoke through his headset to the pilots. Not sure how long this will take. Go ahead and shut down. An idling helicopter is annoying, and, frankly, a hazard with children running around.

And children were running around. It was like some sort of post-apocalyptic scene. Most of the fighters were in their teens. Girls even, sporting camouflage trousers, boots, and various forms of top wear. A brownish girl with shoulder length, straight hair, wearing a translucent white tee shirt, approached the helicopter. She toted an AKM assault rifle. The damn thing had a Hello Kitty sticker on the buttstock. She addressed Barth, assuming he was in charge. Ven por aqui.

What’s she saying? Kensing asked. Kensing was a short, bald man, who had the appearance of someone that was along for the ride. But, technically, he was in charge. This was his trip.

Follow her. Barth said. Damn, am I going to have to translate for him? He wondered to himself.

I don’t have any problem with that. Kensing replied, with a smirk.

Don’t even think about it. Barth said flatly. There are places you can go to get you some of that, but this ain’t one of them. They’ll kill your ass dead if you mess with her. Of course he knew Kensing was joking, but still, it was worth reinforcing the vulnerability of their position. On the other hand, maybe Kensing wasn’t joking, he thought. She has a killer figure, and that sweaty shirt did little to hide those small, unbridled, tight brown breasts. If only circumstances were different…

She led them to the inside of a large green tent. It looked like something out of MASH, except more ragtag and all the occupants were Hispanic. An older man, resembling Fidel Castro, wearing a set of pressed green fatigues, stood up from a table bearing quad maps and turned to greet them. Barth saluted him. He smiled and made a small, awkward saluting motion and extended his hand. Gentlemen, I am Commandante Luis Perez. he introduced himself in almost unaccented English. Barth breathed a sigh of relief. What can I do for you?

It was an odd question, really. Kensing assumed that the messenger would have informed Perez about the purpose of the meeting. My name is Matt Kensing. I am with the United States government. This is Sergeant Barth with the Army. I wanted to learn more about your chimpanzees.

Perez looked around the tent. Quiero estar solo! he snapped at the group of rebel fighters milling in the rear of the tent. They exited. The slight smile he carried disappeared. Mr. Kensing, what do you know about our chimpanzees?

All I know is that you guys are using a pack of monkeys to carry out attacks. Kensing replied.

How do you know this?

"Well, Commandante, I am with the Central Intelligence Agency. It’s kind of our job to know about these things."

It was a fairly stupid question. As much effort as they put in to keeping the chimpanzees low profile, word was bound to get out, eventually. There were stories. Rumors. I see. Have a seat. Perez sat down and leaned on the maps. What, specifically, would you like to know?

What do these monkeys do?

As you have stated, we use them in attacks. In fact, just this week we ambushed a Sandinista convoy, and gained some arms and ammunition.

They are effective?

Yes, they are. They are strong, fast, and they have some intelligence. They can be trained. They can take on hand to hand fighting far more effectively that a man can. Or, a woman. Perez chuckled as he realized what impression Estilita must have left on the men. They move so fast, it is difficult to counter them with weapons. And once disarmed, the opponents don’t have a chance.

How many do you have?

Right now, we have eight. We started out with twelve. We do lose them sometimes.

So these are more effective than armed troops?

"In some ways yes, and in some ways no. They have their limitations. They only work with their handlers. And their handlers have to be there with them. They understand simple directives, like attack and kill, but not complex instructions. They are, after all, chimpanzees."

What gave you the idea to train monkeys as soldiers?

It wasn’t my idea. When the two men that train and handle them joined our forces, they suggested that the chimpanzees could be used. They were researchers at a university; primates were their specialty. In fact, that is where the monkeys came from. They were displaced when the Sandinistas took over the university.

Do you think your program is worth expanding?

Perez sat back and twiddled his thumbs nervously. I don’t know. Training these animals is a specialized skill. It takes experts. It takes time. And honestly, it does consume some resources. But, if only….

If only what? Kensing asked, with a quizzical expression.

Did you read the paper? Perez held up an internationally circulated Spanish language newspaper. I don’t mean this one specifically, I am sure the story appeared in your newspapers as well.

What is that?

International researchers have claimed that it is possible to implant human brain cells into animal cells. They are already planning experiments using mice. Stem cells. Gene splicing.

"Really. Yeah, I had heard about that, actually. I’m not sure how well it will work. It’s just theory right now."

"True. But just imagine. If we could have something with the strength and speed of a chimpanzee, or maybe some sort of small gorilla, but with the brain of a human, it would be so much more effective. There would be no need to accompany them. They can travel faster than a man on foot could, and could survive far more easily in the wild than men would."

Interesting. Kensing said.

Commandante! A voice boomed through the opening of the tent. A brief exchange in Spanish occurred.

Perez turned back to Barth and Kensing. Gentlemen, I have some urgent issues to deal with. I would recommend that you leave, quickly and quietly.

Gracias. Barth said gratefully.

De nada. Perez replied, as he stepped out of the tent and followed a man in a dark jumpsuit. The helicopter pilots must have gotten the sense that something was under way, as he heard the turbine engines of the Blackhawk spinning up. Barth broke in to a short jog toward the helicopter as the blades started to rotate, and Kensing followed. Looking back, the guerilla fighters began to assemble, as if their camp was about to become the subject of imminent attack.

As soon as they got in the chopper and closed the door, they noticed the girl sitting in the seat, AKM between her knees. It was Estilita, the girl that greeted them. Haces aquí? Barth asked.

I… come with you she replied in broken English, tugging at Barth’s uniform. Her eyes were full of tears. Pleading. She had the face of an angel.

No, you can’t. It is not possible. There is no place for you.

The helicopter lifted off the ground. Barth threw on his aviation headset. Hey, you need to set it back down, we have a stowaway! How the hell did the pilots miss that?

It’s too late, shit’s getting hairy; we need to get the hell out of here! Now! The sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance.

Can you set it down once we get out of the hostile area?

Not a lot of options down there. If I see a place, I’ll stop.

Fifteen long minutes went by. Barth placed an aviation headset on the girl’s head.

Cuantos años tienes? How old are you? Barth asked.

Diecinueve. She replied. Nineteen. Damn, she looks fifteen or sixteen.

The pilot spoke. Okay, I see a clearing. I’ll set down.

Barth surveyed the clearing. The helicopter traveled a long distance in that fifteen minutes. And the clearing was in the middle of desolation. He looked at the girl. There was no way he could just leave her there.

Never mind. Barth grumbled. Just get us home.

Kensing had a wide smile. Looks like you got some baggage now. he said in to the mic.

Got what you need? Barth demanded.

Yeah, I do. Thank you. Kensing replied.

Well, you owe me Barth replied. Kensing wasn’t entirely sure of the context of Barth’s reply. Owe him for escorting him in to hostile territory to talk to friendly rebels, or owe him for the girl? The girl was cute, but he wouldn’t wish the baggage on anyone.

It was a far cry from the jungles of Central America, but in some respects, the Washington DC government scene was much like a jungle in itself, in a sort of convoluted urban context. CIA staffer, Matt Kensing, was seated at a restaurant on the outskirts of McLean, Virginia next to Dr. Wiljam Koenig, who was an expert in primate research. Both placed their drink orders.

Koenig opened the dialogue. To what do I owe the pleasure of addressing the CIA?

Kensing scanned the menu, and put it down. I understand you contacted the agency with a proposal to do some sponsored research with primates.

Koenig pushed up his glasses. That’s right. They are intelligent. They could have a useful purpose.

What kind of use to you envision with them?

They can gather things. Maps. Plans. Electronics. You name it. They can even be used to plant things. Like…

Like bombs?

Koenig laughed. You get the idea.

I see. Kensing had a slightly disinterested look. Then again, he always had a disinterested look when he’s not ready to show his cards. So, why do you want to work on a funded research program of that nature for the agency?

Koenig sat back in his seat and thought for a minute. Of course, that was a good question. And really one that he should have been prepared to address. But, he didn’t know why he was meeting with the CIA staffer to begin with. He suspected it was about the proposal but he didn’t know. Well, frankly, I want to put primate research on the map. It’s an underappreciated area of academics.

Good answer, Kensing thought, although, probably bullshit. It’s probably about the money. You know, Mr. Koenig…

Wiljam.

Wiljam, then. In the CIA, we tend to be secretive about what we do. It’s sort of, our nature, if that makes sense.

Of course. Understood.

Well, I’m going to be straight up with you. We actually, believe it or not, explored that idea just recently. And decided not to pursue it further. I’m going to be frank with you, it’s going to be a tough sell.

The waiter arrived with two glasses of red wine and took their food orders. What’s good here? Koenig asked.

The filet.

How’s the fish?

This is a steak place. You really don’t want to order the fish.

Waiter, I’ll have the filet. Koenig said.

And I’ll have the fish. Kensing said. Koenig turned a shade of purple. I’m joking. Give me the filet. Rare. Kensing let out a short laugh. You have to have a sense of humor if you want to be around the agency. Most of these bastards are humorless.

So, you fly me out to Virginia, put me up in a hotel, give me an expensive dinner, only to tell me that my proposal will just end up in the waste basket? Is that a joke too?

No, I’m not here to joke around. And I’m sure you aren’t either. No, I invited you out here because I’m intrigued by a possibility. One that I couldn’t talk about over the phone. One that I can’t talk about at my desk in HQ.

What’s that?

You might be able to sell this project… if you were willing to up the ante a little bit.

Up the ante? In what way?

How up to speed are you on genetic splicing?

I have a working knowledge of it, but I’m no expert by any means, why?

Let’s say we can do some work and produce some monkeys with human or partially human brains.

Koenig fell back in his seat. Are you suggesting we do human brain cell splicing with primates?

That’s what I’m suggesting. I’d like to know if that’s a possibility.

Koenig looked up at the ceiling in deep thought. I’m not sure that is possible.

Some people seem to think it is. People that do this kind of stuff for a living.

I… I don’t know, I never thought about it.

Would you be open to it?

I have to tell you Mr. Kensing, that kind of experimentation would tread on some very basic and serious ethical considerations.

"Think big picture. Obviously you don’t understand how the agency thinks. Of course not, I wouldn’t expect you to. What I am telling you is that, if you were to put that in the mix; and I mean you really have to be careful of how you broach the idea, but if it’s spun right, I think the project could be saleable, particularly if we can keep the director himself out of the details."

So you’re telling me that if I do genetic mutations on my primates, that you would approve the project?

Well, let’s back up, it’s not quite that simple. I personally don’t approve projects but I have both some pull and some motivation to work on such a project. Let’s just say, I can get it approved for you.

What’s your interest in this?

Same as yours. I want a cut.

Koenig choked. You’re right, Kensing, he thought. No, Kensing, you’re not right. There’s more to it than that. I can’t tell you exactly what it is, but okay. I wouldn’t even know where to begin on the gene splicing side. I’m a behavioral scientist, not a microbiologist. Plus, reputable experts in the field wouldn’t touch that.

Kensing pulled a business card out of his wallet and slid it over the table towards Koenig. Then let’s go to the unethical ones. You might want to have a chat with this gentleman. When I brought him here, he ordered the lamb.

Koenig looked at the card. Dr. Vijay Mahindra. Okay. I see no harm in talking with him at least. I will do that much.

Now, of course, when we sell this to the agency, the tagline we will use is ‘selective breeding’, not ‘genetic manipulation’. That way we can avoid a lot of red flag issues.

Understood.

Kensing paid the bill and downed a couple more glasses of wine before getting in to his Mercedes sedan. No sooner had he started the engine, his Airtouch Cellular car phone rang.

Kensing.

Hey, Kensing, this is Paul Barth. Sergeant first class, you know, from El Salvador?

Oh, Sergeant Barth. Yes. What can I do for you?

Excellent question. Um, remember the girl, Estilita?

Yes I do.

Well, my rotation is up. I need to get her to the States. But the State Department has some issues with that.

Geez, man, let it go. Leave her ass there.

"Um, we’re