Gardens of Destruction
CHAPTER 6

The boat glided through the calm waters when suddenly, the figures of dolphins emerged from the deep. They swam gracefully, their sleek bodies glistened in the sunlight. Laughter of children echoed over the idyllic scene.

“Daddy, look! They seem to like us. I like them too! I want to touch

them... Will you buy me one? A real one?”

An irritating noise started to rise, gradually growing louder and louder, until it drowned out the laughter. That’s the alarm, the vague thought slipped in the dream. The picture blurred and faded away.

The room was enveloped in darkness, the stubborn beams of light penetrating the thick curtains being the only hint of outside life. It hardly resembled a living space. Among the disarray, an empty bottle rolled along the floor, the least of its worries. What once were white walls had transformed into a canvas of sorts, covered in an array of drawings — dolphins in various sizes, shapes, and colors occupied nearly every inch. But the peculiarity didn’t cease there. Flowerpots were scattered in a chaotic fashion throughout the room, a few even perched on the bed and pillow, the latter seemingly unused. It appeared as if someone had turned this space into a miniature jungle.

A piercing alarm echoed in the oddly decorated room. Captain Mark Davidson stirred, emerging sleepily from under the bed, fully dressed in his combat uniform. With bleary eyes, he scanned the room, a hint of panic flickering within. Frantically rummaging through the jungle of items, his agitation grew until he found it — not the phone but a tiny toy, clutched it desperately as if it were his lifeline. The figure? It was a rubber dolphin.

Relieved, Mark glanced at his cell phone. To his surprise, a prominently displayed coded alert message caught his eye, signaling the highest degree of alarm. He had only known of its existence theoretically, reserved for circumstances threatening the country’s survival. While such an alert was beyond his expectations, he accepted it calmly, embracing the role of a true professional — one of the best, or so he liked to believe.

Officially titled an officer of the National Security Agency (NSA), Mark was de facto performing various missions. His superior led the Unit for Special Activities, yet another elite group existed — GSO, a special operations team. They were considered the elite of the elite, a force not defined as soldiers but rather operators, though most of their missions were undeniably military in nature. Their duties spanned from subversion to the elimination of drug lords or inconvenient politicians, all included in Mark’s job description. Long ago, he had given up on the notion of leading a normal life, and he had his reasons.

In his childhood, Mark had never been interested in playing with soldiers like the other kids. It had seemed dull and pointless to him, preferring the companionship of books over outdoor play. His parents had dreamed of a prestigious future for him, envisioning him as an engineer, lawyer, or doctor. His mother often envisioned the day she’d call him “Dr. Mark” during dinner.

However, Mark couldn’t bear the pressure or the expectations. He struggled with exams, crushing all his future aspirations. Abandoning hope and escaping from everyone’s opinions, he chose to join the army, disregarding the pleas of his relatives. The army, however, was unlike what he had anticipated — filled mostly with misfits, some seeking stability, others fleeing their pasts. Few fit Mark’s vision of idealistic individuals striving to protect ordinary Americans from known and unknown threats.

Determined, Mark devoted himself to training, relentless in his pursuit of escape from his past, shutting out thoughts of his parents. He practiced until exhaustion set in. His perseverance didn’t go unnoticed, leading to an invitation to apply for the elite army units, known as the “Green Berets.” Passing the exams with flying colors, Mark transitioned to a unit beyond the regular army, feeling a newfound camaraderie among his peers for the first time.

Actual missions were a stark contrast to training. Mark was astonished by the tenacity and ferocity of their enemies. Deployed to the most dangerous areas, casualties were inevitable. After losing several friends, he decided to isolate himself from forming any more bonds. War became his profession, and death, his companion on long, sleepless nights. He didn’t mind it; he even found solace in secret conversations with Death herself.

Then came the call again. He was recruited by the Agency, joining the Special Forces Unit. Few knew of its existence, and fewer understood the true nature of his work. Everything was top secret. His identity had been wiped clean, allowing him to become anyone required for the job. They held onto a semblance of private life until the call came in. No task was beyond their boundaries, and they felt invincible.

Mark was weary and in need of a different kind of rest — not physical, but a quest for self-discovery. He harbored resentment toward his incompetent superiors, ignorant of the realities on the battlefield, sacrificing soldiers in the name of fabricated causes. There was something else buried deep within, something he preferred to keep hidden and unexamined.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, Mark turned to leave his humble abode, but something halted him. Returning to the room, he opened the cupboard, its disorganized contents a testament to his indifference toward vanity. Retrieving a slightly rusty photo frame from beneath a sweater, he gazed at it for a while before trying to return it to its place — only to fumble and shatter the glass onto the floor. Frustration took hold as he struck the closet door, leaving a new mark. With swift precision, he salvaged the remains of the photo, tucking it into his pocket. The metal frame slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground, but Mark remained unfazed, as if nothing else mattered but the crumpled picture.

***

Captain Davidson drove recklessly, disregarding the horns and profanities of other drivers. He was consumed by his thoughts, recalling the past and contemplating his future. An annoying melody persisted in his mind — ‘How I want you to stay by me...’

Arriving swiftly at the plant, Mark didn’t notice the journey, lost in reminiscence — ‘How I want you to stay by me...’

The secretary tried to stop him but he entered the office anyway.

“Come on in, Mark!” his boss invited with an affected smile into the smoky room. “You look, um, how to put it… amazing. Have you been drinking again?”

“Thanks for the compliment. Thanks for the compliments, you are handsome too! But I would not marry you until you grow some hair. You know I’m into the hairy types!” Mark retorted sharply. “Why am I here?”

“Charming as usual! And when did the word ‘Sir’ vanish from your vocabulary?”

“Would you mind briefing me, or should I grab a morning beer... Sir?”

Truthfully, Mark held no fondness for the man or the cigarette smoke that filled the office. His boss mirrored all the other politicians in Washington — individuals Mark couldn’t stand, but he acknowledged their role in the political system. He had encountered enough bosses to know that they were untrustworthy, leveraging their connections to secure positions, then executing ‘favors’ for their benefactors, unhesitant to deploy Special Operations Group for their dubious dealings.

“What is it... Sir?” Mark inquired, locking eyes with his boss, knowing it unnerved individuals like him with his sharp features.

Mark, lean and athletic, possessed reflexes and survival instincts that garnered attention within the Management. His habit of staring at people made them profoundly uncomfortable. A loner by nature, others regarded him as a superhuman or a potential demon. Chuckling to himself, Mark noted how easily he could intimidate those before him.

“We have a serious problem!” His boss began, somewhat formally.

“You don’t say” – Mark inserted swiftly.

The administrator was more frustrated than irritated.

“I may have exaggerated with the coded message, but I needed you here urgently. I wasn’t sure where in America you were. I’m relieved you’re nearby; we need to discuss the situation.”

“I’m all ears... Sir!” Mark’s stony expression remained unchanged.

“I’m sure you’ve been following the news about the colossal asteroid that fell in North Dakota,” his boss finally got to the point.

“Yes, I felt the earthquake and saw the reports on television. But I’m not sure why we’re involved. Shouldn’t NASA handle this?” Mark replied, puzzled.

His boss rose from his seat and paced around the room anxiously. Mark sensed something gravely wrong but waited patiently for an explanation. Perhaps it involved terrorists, although organizing such a mission in such a short timeframe seemed unlikely.

“Apologies for the delay,” his boss returned to their conversation.

“What we need from you is to monitor certain individuals!”

“Consider it done! Nothing else to do.” the soldier said solemnly but smirked inwardly.

Mark was renowned for his ability to track even the most elusive people. Over the years, he had successfully located and neutralized extremely elusive targets.

“Yes, I know you’re the best,” the commander grinned before growing serious again.

“But it’s not what you think,” he continued, “The reason I need you is because everything must be handled discreetly.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, curious why it took so long to assign him the task.

“Mark, I want you to go to the research station at the asteroid. I’ve arranged for you to lead the forces guarding the perimeter.”

The captain grinned. This task piqued his interest. He hadn’t imagined he’d don the special forces uniform again. The Beret had been buried deep in his wardrobe, and he doubted he’d ever have reason to wear it again.

“One of your duties will be to closely monitor the activities of the Russian scientists!” Finally, the heart of the matter.

“Yes, Sir!” the soldier responded. “But might I ask, how the hell did Russian scientists end up at the asteroid site in the first place?”

“They haven’t arrived yet! But they’re due soon. It’s simple. After the asteroid crash, the world is pressuring us to open our research to international teams. However, we know that many of these so-called scientists will be foreign spies. That’s why we’ve been refusing until now. Unfortunately, the Pentagon and NASA control the operation, and we have little influence there.”

“Understood. Send me the docs,” Mark replied in a business-like tone, rising from his seat.

However, his boss appeared lost in thought, as if something grave weighed on his mind. Evidently, there was more to discuss on the matter. The captain realized he was not given all the information on the task and decided to dig deeper.

“What’s the other problem, Sir?” he inquired.

“What do you mean?” his boss seemed taken aback.

“A moment ago, you mentioned the Russians being one problem. What’s the other?” Mark pressed, fixing his commander with an intense gaze.

A heavy silence lingered in the room.

“I think you should tell me everything,” Mark continued to stare, the tension escalating.

“What else should I know? No one sends their best operative just to spy on people. You could send anyone for that. Moreover, you used the code signifying the most serious threat to our country’s survival. There’s something else, and I believe I should be informed to prepare for the task!”

His commander stood, staring fearfully. Mark had never seen him like this. Clearly, he wanted to convey something but struggled to find the right words. Mark began to form his own suspicions. Logic led him to only one conclusion, and he hoped for confirmation.

“It’s about the asteroid, isn’t it?” he inquired directly.

The chief remained silent, gazing at the floor. Slowly raising his small pig-like eyes, he wiped his sweaty forehead and removed his glasses. In a feeble voice, he spoke.

“My boy, I don’t know how to tell you…”

Mark detested being addressed as “my boy.” He wasn’t a boy, nor was he his boy.

“Mark, the latest information from the highest echelons is that the object is... not an asteroid! And, to preempt your query - it wasn’t crafted by human hands. I dread what might lie within! I’m petrified to my core; I want you to be there to contain... whatever lurks inside!”

The captain chuckled inwardly. Many of the adversaries he had encountered seemed like extraterrestrial, but now he faced the possibility of confronting a genuine one. A sensation, long buried in the recesses of his consciousness, began to stir. Almost imperceptibly, an emotion he had long neglected attempted to surface: Fear.

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