The Cobra Conspiracy

Prologue He flew face down, arms outstretched, with that eerie feeling of weightlessness. He knew he ought to fall. Men can’t fly. Beneath him stretched an endless, black void. He tried to climb up away from it, but he couldn’t. He tried to turn left, then right—no success. He twisted his body to one side, then the other, but the threatening blackness was everywhere. A terrible world, one nobody should ever see. The balloon of panic swelled in his belly. Miraculously, he was still flying, but what was the point? No buildings, no meadows, rivers, or mountains, and no people. If he flew forever it might still be like this. He could taste the blackness—taste it. He ran his tongue over its coarse surface. It tasted like blood. No, more like asphalt—like asphalt and blood. He withdrew his tongue, then tried again. The same. Bitter asphalt and blood. From somewhere out in the blackness he heard sounds, sounds like voices, but there were no words. He looked for the people but saw only the blackness. The voices grew louder. “-kay, urn -im ove- gent- -ow.” Strong hands grasped his flying body, slowing him. He was turning, slowing and turning. And then, he crashed. It was not a hard crash, but he knew he was no longer flying. The thrill of suspension was gone, and something cold and hard pressed rigidly, unforgiving against his back. The black faded to dark gray. Have my eyes shut? he wondered. Open—got to open! The darkness remained, but the voices grew louder, more distinct. He felt hands touching and probing about his body, some gentle, some firm, some almost rough. Something had a tight grip on his leg, his left one, squeezing, tightening, as though to pinch it off. He kicked at the enemy with his other leg. “Hey, man! Stop that!” a deep voice thundered. “He’s coming around—almost got me.” “Vitals look good,” a female voice said. “Got that bleeding stopped?” “Okay here, Angie. If he doesn’t kick my teeth out.” Who are they? What are they doing to me? he asked himself. Got to open eyes. Got to— A bright star appeared close to one eye, the left. It hovered, moved about briefly, then flew off into outer space. Suddenly it glowed again before his other eye, hovered, moved about, and just as abruptly disappeared again. “We’re paramedics,” the female voice said close to his face. What is that? he wondered. That nice voice smells of garlic? “You’ve had a bad time of it,” came the voice again, but you’re going to make it. What’s your name, mister? Your name?” “Buck. You—” “A little louder, mister? Your name?” “Buck. You—” “What’d he say, Angie?” “He said, ‘Fuck you.’ Nice guy, huh?” “I guess, if I took the kind of beating this dude took, that’s probably what I’d say, too,” the man’s voice replied. What? What’d he say? Got to open. Open! “Hisa name’sa Buck,” came another voice. “He’s a customer. Name’sa Buck.” That voice, that’s—I know that voice, he thought. That’s—that’s Dante! Help me, Dante! “You know him, Dante?” the garlic voice said. “What’s his last name?” “I dunno. Don’ta really know him. Justa Buck.” Dante! You know me, damn it. Help me, Dante! He screamed, but nobody seemed to hear him. The dark gray began to slip back into blackness. His body felt light. Oh, no, he thought—not again!