The Hunt: Symbiosys Read online

  Further research has suggested that the Global Elliptical Ocean Phenomena is not natural, but artificial, possibly man-made.

  I do not believe this Japanese GEOP of Oct. 16-17, 1994 is an isolated event. An earlier event - recorded in 1925 in the Central-South Pacific Ocean, and coinciding with a drastic drop of sea-level in the Red Sea (Egypt) - may potentially have been a repetition of a much older and original 0-Event, (circa 1200 BCE), bisecting the planet through Egypt and its antipodes Central-South Pacific Ocean.

  Information collected and compiled in accordance with the CSIS-SAT-RCMP JTFC Synchronicity Mandate**

  * * *

  ** The Synchronicity Mandate

  The correlation of (seemingly) coincidental and unrelated events.

  The Synchronicity Mandate is a legal vehicle allowing legal authorization of specialized personnel to collect, compile, store, and correlate various sources of information and data, private, public, trademarked, and/or copyrighted.

  The Synchronicity Mandate was drafted January 29, 1993 and put into effect March 16, 1993 in accordance of the CSIS-SAT-RCMP JTFC under the authority of the United Nations Covalent Global Security Conclave.

  * * *

  Perth, Australia,

  February 15th, 2005,

  12:58 am

  (10 years in the future)

  This was the shittiest Valentine's Day Amber Miller had ever had!

  She would always frequent the bars, allowing the men to vie for her attention, buying her drinks all night. The initial interest her voluptuous breasts would attract had been eclipsed by her pregnant belly. Men still found her pretty – she was still a beautiful young blonde woman – but men stopped buying her drinks now.

  She was at the end of her second trimester and felt like a ripe melon. This was worse than wearing a wedding ring! She could hear herself voluntarily explaining that she was single, and it was coming off as desperate, and she knew it!

  'Those fucken' pricks!' she thought. More than happy to grope her and get into her pants before, but now?!

  She left the bar and into the cool summer night air. What was this? The fourth bar tonight? It wasn't even Valentine's Day anymore anyway!

  It bothered her when the baby was awake and active; moving and kicking. A few stiff drinks would normally quiet it down. But lately it seemed to be quieting down more often. Tonight it was still. Asleep.

  Good, Amber thought. She lit up a cigarette and waited for a taxi.

  Chapter 9: St. Laurence Flash-Flood

  Rural Montreal,

  Delson, Canada,

  November 3rd, 1994

  The special agents sat scattered about the barn. It was night outside and dark except for a low wattage reading lamp in the far corner. Two plain clothed officers chattered about the previous night's hockey game. They were playfully tossing a bright green Nerf football back and forth.

  James Leaman sat at the control centre watching the news on one of several small screens, his eyes half-shuttered, and his head repeatedly nodding off.

  Chief Superintendent Michelle Nesbitt sat opposite with her pistol apart cleaning it. Her face was a pale green from the control board's lights. She was a lean athletic woman. Jet black hair pulled back in a tight bun with aggressive piercing eyes.

  “...we come to you live from Rimouski where an unexplained sudden swelling of the St. Laurence has caused flash floods. People are evacuating...” the news reporter began. Leaman's head shot up.

  “You done your nap?” Nesbitt asked.

  “What? - I wasn't – I wasn't sleeping...” slurred a half-sleeping Leaman, his eyes bloodshot.

  “Oh, tabarnac! Crisse!” cried one of the French-Canadian agents. “You want I should make a run out for coffee?” he teased, “You were snoring!”

  “Quiet! Quiet!” Leaman raised his voice while turning the volume of the news station up. “When did this start?”

  “...only necessary emergency vehicles...” continued the newsman.

  “It just started.” Nesbitt said. “You haven't missed a thing. James, you were asleep.”

  “The St. Laurence flooding? Has it affected Montreal?” he asked while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Should we consider evacuating Mrs. Francois? Where is she?” He began scanning other screens.

  “Relax,” the officer with the green football answered. “She's watching TV.”

  “Yes! Yes, I do want you to make a coffee run. Would ya?”

  “...stay tuned for further updates and alerts. Now we bring you live, our own meteorologist, Genevieve Cadeux...”

  * * *

  “...stay tuned for further updates and alerts. Now we bring you live, our own meteorologist, Genevieve Cadeux. Genevieve.”

  Veronica watched the news intently. She sat at the edge of her seat.

  “This unusual event originally thought to have been a small oceanic tidal wave coming down the St. Laurence from Atlantic Canada has not been confirmed and our Gaspe's contacts have unofficially denied any sort of weather phenomena or coastal storms or sea-swells...”

  Veronica reached for the remote and turned the volume up.

  The meteorologist, Genevieve Cadeaux, raised her hand to her earpiece. “We have reports from the Ile aux Herons Migratory Bird Sanctuary – that's Heron Island, Lasalle, just south of Montreal. It is reporting severe flooding. The island has been evacuated and - I'm not sure I'm hearing this correctly – the island has been submerged.”

  The news footage changed back to the original news reporter, as he continued, “You appear to have been cut off, Genevieve. We have reports from Seguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean of severe flooding and evacuations.”

  * * *

  “...We have reports from Seguenay-Lac-Saint-Jean of severe flooding and evacuations...”

  Leaman was typing frantically on a nearby laptop. “Jesus! That's just north of us!”

  The officer with the green Nerf football tossed it onto the ground. “We're no more than 6 kilometres away!”

  “Gear up!” Nesbitt barked!

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” cried the officer, his eyes scanning across the computer screen. “We have a middle aged unidentified Asian male on site at La Bellefeuille Maison!”

  “What?!” Nesbitt voiced was piecing. “That's impossible!” She rolled her chair to a control keyboard and screen. “The perimeter hasn't been breached! I don't understand? Leaman?!” She shouted.

  James Leaman was talking on his headset. “...I repeat, unidentified Asian male. No perimeter breach. I repeat, no perimeter breach. Request instructions...”

  “Fuck them!” Nesbitt said more to herself. She made eye-conract with the two other officers. “We're going in.”

  Both men were surprised. They looked at Leaman and back to Nesbitt. “Ah... yes sir,” they answered.

  “...I repeat...” Leaman was still speaking with his supervisor. “Goddamnit!” He put his hand over the mic. “Nesbitt! Stay put! Do not enter La Bellefeuille Maison!” He turned his attention back to his supervisor. “Yes, you heard correct. Unidentified Asian male. No perimeter breach.”

  The two officers checked their weapons and holstered them, then turned to retrieve their machine guns. Nesbitt checked the ammo clip and slapped it into her weapon.

  Leaman pulled the headset off. “Nesbitt! I said, stand down! We don't have....”

  Nesbitt motioned to the two special agents to go ahead and she turned to face Leaman. “It's either him or an intruder.... you know it!”

  The two agents began to put on their body armour and helmets. Nesbitt turned back to them. “No! Guns only. There's no time.”

  Leaman grabbed Nesbitt's arm. She stared at his hand on her arm and back up to make eye-contract. “You don't want to do that,” she cautioned.

  The unknown supervisor's voice was small and tinny from the fallen headset, “- wait further instruction. Insure all audio is recorded. Repeat, all on site audio is to be recorded -”

  Leaman released Nesbitt's arm and started toggling switches and
pressing buttons. He put the headset back on. “Roger. Audio is recording...”

  Chief Superintendent Michelle Nesbitt and the two agents slipped out of the barn, weapons drawn.

  Leaman was still speaking with his supervisor and did a double take. “Goddamnit,” he whispered and switched over to the communications link with Nesbitt and the two agents.

  “Nesbitt? Copy.”

  * * *

  Genevieve Cadeaux had lost contact with her news anchor. The link was down.

  She could actually see the waters of the St. Laurence rising. Genevieve and her cameraman, Andre, exchanged looks.

  “We need to get out of here,” they said in unison as she turned her mic off and Andre took the camera off his shoulder.

  Andre got into their van's driver seat while Genevieve opened her laptop. She was looking for reports, news, anything, especially live local news from south-western Australia. Perth possibly.

  * * *

  “... we are now receiving numerous reports of sudden flash flooding, centralized mostly around the Montreal to Quebec City corridor of the St. Laurence...” the news reporter stated.

  Veronica stood up, the realization dawning on her that she may have to consider leaving. That's when she noticed the smoke. No. It wasn't smoke. She looked around and couldn't smell anything burning. It was a fine mist. It quietly and quickly snaked through the air and began to condense and solidify!

  Her eyes went wide as she backed away. It had been years since she'd seen this, but she remembered! Oh she remembered all too well!

  The mist congealed into a man and there before her stood a middle aged Asian man holding a violin.

  He smiled warmly. “It's me, Lorne.”

  * * *

  “We have verbal confirmation,” Leaman was speaking to both his supervisor and Nesbitt. “I repeat, we have verbal confirmation. Intruder has self-identified as Lorne Gibbons.”

  * * *

  The horizon was a dark indigo-blue line as dawn approached. Only the silhouettes of the three running officers broke it. Nesbitt jogged, one hand holding her shoulder-slung machine gun and the other hand on her earpiece. “Roger,” she answered. She turned to the first agent. “Maurice, you will enter through the rear-south kitchen entrance, protect and secure Mme. Francois.

  “Jean, you will enter through the garage mud-room. Once Mme. Francois is confirmed secured and safe, you and I will convene on Lorne. We'll attempt to have him covered in a crossfire pattern and...” Nesbitt began issuing a stream of orders, instructions, and strategies to the two special agents.

  * * *

  “Lorne...” Veronica half-whispered. “- oh my god... I thought... I thought you were dead.”

  “Marie's alive,” he blurted out, his eyes tearing up. “I found her.”

  Veronica's eyes went wider still. “Marie?” she whispered her daughter's name, afraid of saying it out loud; afraid to even hope.

  “And Tamara!” Lorne's eyes shone with pride. “Our baby girl!”

  Veronica openly wept. She was overwhelmed with information and strange emotions. She had no words, only tears; tears of joy, fear, sorrow, resentment, anger... only tears could express what she felt and what raged inside her.

  Lorne reached out with his free hand to hold Veronica's hand. “It's alright.”

  “Where's Marie?” she pleaded in a tiny voice. She glanced at the violin in his other hand.

  “She's safe – they're safe – in Tokyo,” he answered. As he noticed her looking at the violin he added, “Ah! But this is where it's better yet! I'm here to bring Henri home!”

  * * *

  “We have confirmation on the Tokyo lead,” Leaman said to his supervisor. “I repeat, we have confirmation on the Tokyo lead. Marie Gibbons is in Tokyo, Japan.” Then he paused, listening.

  “Yes sir. There is a third individual. A child, a baby. I believe a newborn.”

  * * *

  Nesbitt ran down the darkened road alongside a deep ditch. It was filled with black water and beginning to spill onto the road. Their boots were beginning to splash-up water now. The second agent had separated to circle around back the house.

  “Leaman!” she whispered, her voice harsh from the running. “I need intel! Where in the house are Lorne and Veronica?” She could hear muffled and distorted music from Leaman's end. “James! What the hell are you listening to? Turn it off!”

  “I'm not listening to -” Leaman began, not sure how to explain. “It's Gibbons. He's playing the music. He's playing the violin!”

  “Fine! It doesn't matter. I need...” Nesbitt's voice trailed off. Her mouth dropping open and for the first time since she ran out of the barn 30 minutes ago she slowed down. The Bellefeuille Maison was engulfed by a sphere of shadows. Although the RCMP officer couldn't have known it, it was the Gatesphere. The muffled and distorted music coming through her earpiece boomed before her, a deep bass drone that shook the ground and caused the ever rising flood waters to ripple and dance.

  She stopped running altogether and her breathing became heavy and laboured. “Leaman... what the hell...?”

  “I know, I know!” he answered back. “The perimeter cameras are all offline or blind. I still have audio and visual inside the house. Call your men off. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission.”

  Nesbitt walked closer to the sphere's shadowy surface. “Negative,” she replied to Leaman. “Jean, Maurice? Are you still with me?”

  Both agents confirmed through the static and distortion of their com links.

  “We go in,” Nesbitt said in wonder. “I don't think it's solid.” She put her black gloved hand up and met with no resistance. “We proceed.” And she stepped into the Gatesphere.

  * * *

  Veronica held onto Lorne's arm. He had stopped playing the violin moments ago. The sound, the noise, the music – whatever it was – continued... but it was different this time.

  Veronica held her breath and anxiously waited. She fearfully waited for Nyarlathotep to appear...but nothing.

  * * *

  Nesbitt slowly, silently crept through the inky black darkness. Her only connection to sanity was Leaman's voice through her earpiece. The hidden internal cameras were equipped with night-vision and he guided and coordinated the three of them. Nesbitt walked with the nozzle of her machine gun pointed at the floor as she had no target, no target yet.

  “Beyond the door in front of you,” Leaman explained, “you'll find both Lorne and Veronica. Lorne will be on your right.”

  Nesbitt reached into a utility pocket of her vest and pulled out a pair of glow sticks. She tried to snap them as quietly as possible.

  Leaman, in her ear, “Maurice and Jean are at the ready. On my mark. Three.... two.... one...”

  * * *

  Perth, Australia,

  May 30, 2005, 11:42 pm

  (10 years in the future)

  Amber was frightened. Seriously frightened.

  Her fingernails drummed nervously on her cell phone. The sound was loud and harsh off the cold hard tiled walls of her tiny bathroom.