Authors: Destiny Allison
“How about the guards? Where are they stationed? How many are there?”
Mac filled them in on what he knew. Based on the account,
CoCo reasoned the team had a fifty-fifty chance of infiltrating the lab without getting killed. As he formulated a plan, Bill radioed the team. The coms officer relayed the message, bringing CoCo up to speed on the new orders.
“Shit. How
’s that for perfect timing?” CoCo said. Malone caught CoCo’s eye.
“What
’s up?” he asked. CoCo explained what was happening and Malone winced.
“What do you want me to do?”
CoCo thought about that. Without Malone and his equipment, the team would be handicapped. Still, the colonel was adamant. It would take too long for all of them to reconvene with Bill, Don, and Ashley. Mac also posed a problem. They couldn’t leave him in the pipe and they couldn’t take him back into the building. After a minute he made his decision.
“Go. Take Mac with you. Mike and Trevor will keep you company. I
’ll stay here with the rest of the team. We’ll do some recon, see if we can find a way into the lab, and then lay low until everyone can get back. Move it, man. There’s no time to waste.”
CHAPTER 51
A
shley could not hear both sides
of the conversation. She had not even been allowed to look at the slips of paper Bill had extracted from the carved case. Unappreciated and in the way, she pouted next to the dead man’s bed. The sculpted, wood frame was beautiful. A rose duvet, embroidered with delicate flowers, laid across the king sized mattress. Pillows, covered in complimentary fabrics, adorned the head.
Ashley wanted to bury herself in the tasteful luxury, pull silky sheets over her body, and sink into softness. Instead, she studied herself in the heavy, full-length mirror that stood by itself next to a rich bureau on the opposite side of the room.
In her dark clothes and knit cap, she was trim, shapely, and dangerous. The black hat hid her mostly bald head, the tight turtleneck and close fitting jeans revealed every bit of her body, and the bruises and cuts on her face accentuated the paleness of her skin and the deep blue of her big eyes.
Usually, she camouflaged her curves with loose fitting garments to dissuade the men who occasionally flirted with her on the streets or in the cell. She had no interest in them and did her best not to invite their attention. Though she would not admit it, she was in love with Jeremy. That he was gone was heart wrenching, but he wouldn
’t have wanted her to cry or be weak. He would have told her to take the grief and turn it into something useful. Jeremy had valued strength. He had valued courage. Above all, he had valued reason. Emotions got in the way. Ashley had seen that for herself. As she stared into the mirror, she promised Jeremy she would not let him down.
When Bill finished speaking into his radio, Ashley turned to him. “What
’s going on?” she asked.
“We
’ve been ordered back to the rabbi’s house. There might be another one of these there,” he replied, indicating the mezuzah. “If we find it, and it’s the same, this whole thing could be over.”
“What do you mean? What about the virus?”
“It won’t matter. The only thing that’s stopped us from fire balling this whole fucking place is the threat of the Blue Flu. If that’s no longer a concern, then there’s no reason to keep the island intact. The Pentagon will destroy everything here. We won’t need a vaccine because there won’t be any virus,” Bill said.
“They would do that? What about all the people?”
“That’s above my pay grade. We’ve got to go. Like the man said, there’s no time to waste.”
Bill and Don shouldered their packs. Ashley followed them down the stairs and into the backyard. They hugged the ornamental bushes that bordered a short, wrought iron fence and then cut across an adjacent property
It didn’t take long to reach the manhole cover and drop into the sewer. The stench was overpowering. Don offered Ashley his mentholated rub. She accepted it and smeared a thick wad of the jelly on her upper lip. They donned their protective outerwear and ran through the muck, heedless of the sucking sound their boots made in the sludge. Time was of the essence.
As they neared the more populated section of the Zone, they slowed, breathing heavily. Ashley welcomed the respite, though the new pace prolonged their stay in the vile pipes. Stepping carefully to avoid slipping, they trudged beneath the
city. Then they surfaced in an area Ashley knew well. She took the lead, guiding the men through alleys and dark streets to the back door of the rabbi’s small Brownstone.
Climbing the stairs, she heard footsteps below her. She froze. If people were still in the neighborhood, they would be angry and possibly violent. Worse, there could be soldiers going door to door the way they had a few years before.
Her heart pounding, she tried to control her panic. The SEALs had pushed past her on their arrival and were already out of sight on the second floor. She wanted to call out to Bill and Don, yet she didn’t want to attract any attention to herself. If discovered, she would be defenseless. The footsteps continued. A loose floorboard creaked. Ashley crouched down, trying to become invisible. She had no weapons. Unlike the SEALs, she didn’t have night-vision or even a flashlight. In the deep dark of the stairwell, she couldn’t see anything. The footsteps came closer. Ashley bolted up the stairs. As she reached the landing, Don stepped out in front of her.
“What
’s up?” he whispered.
“Somebody
’s down there,” she replied.
“I hope so. Malone said his team was right behind us.”
In the little light that spilled in through the windows in Isaac’s living room, Ashley could only make out a tall, dark shape. While his face wasn’t visible, his posture was relaxed. All of a sudden Ashley was embarrassed. Of course Don would know they were coming. He had a radio receiver in his ear.
“You could have told me,” she said.
He chuckled. “Sorry about that. Didn’t occur to me. I’m not using to having company on missions.”
A minute later the other SEALs and a tall stranger joined them. Mac introduced himself to Ashley while the team drew the shades and pulled the curtains in the small room. They needed light to look for the mezuzah and didn
’t want their actions observed. Bill passed the papers he had found at Harry Rose’s house to Malone. The intelligence officer spread them open on a low coffee table, snapped several pictures with a tiny, digital camera, and uploaded them through a secure satellite connection. Don was busy examining the doorframe.
“Got it,” he called. Sitting in a lo
w-back leather chair, he pried the mezuzah open and eased the contents out of the narrow tube. The two small slips of paper were almost identical to those discovered at Harry Rose’s house. Malone recorded and uploaded them. Then he radioed the base and informed the coms officer that they would return to the plant and meet up with the rest of the team.
Ashley was tired, hungry, and desperately in need of a shower. The idea of going back into the pipes was revolting. The trek across the city would be tedious. She hadn
’t eaten anything since they had first entered the sewer system and the water bottle she carried was empty. Though in good shape, her legs shook from adrenaline and exertion. Finally she broke down to complain.
“Can we just stop for a few minutes? Please. Can we take a break?” she asked. The question was addressed to
the group and all the men stopped to look at her. Malone let his pack slip from his shoulders. He set it next to him on the floor and gestured to the others to follow suit.
“Yeah. Sure kid. Ten minutes, okay.” Malone sat on a sofa and rummaged in the pack. Then he pulled a package from its interior and handed her an energy bar. “This
’ll help,” he said.
He pulled out another one, gave it to Mac, and took one for himself. Ashley opened the foil wrapping and took a bite. The chocolate flavored bar was so sweet she couldn
’t swallow it at first. It had been years since she tasted sugar. Candy was a distant memory. Then she devoured it, reveling in its richness. Grinning, she asked for another. Bill tossed her one, cautioning her to go easy and save it for later. She ignored him. Ripping off the wrapper, she shoved the second bar into her mouth. Then, craving movement, she stood. The men remained sitting so she left the room to relieve herself and refill her water bottle from the tap in the bathroom. Upon her return, the men were ready to go.
The night air was cool and fresh as they emerged from the musty Brownstone. Stars filled the sky and an owl hooted somewhere in the park. Though they hurried, Ashley
’s senses were heightened. The world hummed at a pitch just beyond her ability to hear it. The vibration warmed her blood. For the brief period they traveled above ground, every tree, bush, and living thing sang. The pant of the team’s breath, the heavy scent of their sweat, even the slightly foul odor that drifted back to her as one of the party passed gas were beautiful to her. Unfortunately, the sensations didn’t last.
By the time they descended into the sewer, Ashley was ill from the sugar rush. Fumes assaulted her and it took all her willpower to refrain from complaining. Her stomach squished and sloshed like their boots in the muck. Hot, sweating, and nauseous, she wished the men would turn off their lights. She didn
’t want to see the lumpy slime or slick rats. Her pace slowed when she tried to walk with her eyes closed. Bill nudged her forward. The light tap of his hand on her shoulder startled her and she slipped. He grabbed her raincoat, preventing her from falling into the muck. “Steady now,” he said.
By the time they reached the ladder out of the sewer, Ashley was feeling better. Her body had processed most of the sugar, though a thick slime coated her mouth. She sprinted with the team into the alley and across the street on the other side. They zigzagged, avoiding lighted areas, until they arrived at the manhole cover that blocked their next descent. While Bill struggled to lift the heavy iron circle, the rest of the team clung to the shadows. Ashley opened her water bottle and took a swig. Next to her, one of the men tensed. A watcher was crossing the street diagonally, heading straight for Bill. Bent over and intent on his task, Bill didn
’t see the watcher approaching. Don whispered something into the transmitter on his lapel. Bill straightened, but did not turn around.
“Hey, what are you doing?” the watcher called, reaching down to unclasp the safety strap on his hip holster. Bill said nothing. “Turn around and let me see your face,” the watcher said. Ashley
’s mouth went dry. Her heart jumped as the watcher drew his gun. Then there was a soft pop and the watcher fell to the ground. Two of the team darted into the street. Bill pulled the manhole cover all the way open and stepped aside. The men grabbed the watcher by his feet and dragged him over to Bill. Together, the three of them picked him up and dropped him into the hole.
From her hiding place, Ashley heard the splash and thud of his body impacting with the floor of the pipe. Someone grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. She ran with the rest of the team and clambered down the rusty ladder. When everyone was in the pipe, Bill pulled the cover closed, and they flicked on their flashlights.
Ashley stared at the dead man. The wet sewage darkened his charcoal uniform. A neat, round hole graced the center of his forehead and his eyes were open in surprise. When a rat scrabbled over his face, she doubled over and vomited. Malone pulled her upright. “Go,” he commanded. She stared at him mutely until he took her shoulders, spun her around, and shoved her. She stumbled, regained her balance, and fell in line, jogging with the men through the muck.
CHAPTER 52
L
ewis narrowed his eyes at
the young scientist. He wanted to slap those flapping lips and shut them up, but refrained. His impulse would only further complicate the situation and prolong his stay.
He had been called back to the Farm to deal with an emergency. By the time he had reached the garage where his chauffeur waited, he was fuming. “Imbeciles. I have hired imbeciles,” he had railed at the man who accompanied him everywhere. The chauffeur, navigating the SUV through the empty city streets, had not replied and Lewis had yet to vent his rage at the unwelcome intrusion.
Now, towering over the little man, whose face boasted a pathetic attempt at a mustache, he wanted to scream. The emergency had turned out to be nothing. The air quality gauge in one of the sealed rooms was not registering correctly. All the techs were afraid to leave their monitoring stations to evaluate the specimens for fear of contamination.
In spite of their knowledge and acumen, the scientists lacked basic common sense. There had been a collective gasp when Lewis opened the airlock and stepped into the control room without benefit of a biohazard suit. What they had failed to remember was the sensors in the corridor were independently wired. He laughed as the blood drained from their faces, pointing out that none of the alarms had been triggered.
Recovering slightly, they continued to voice their concerns about the failed instrument and didn’t want to continue working until the gauge was repaired. The fine hairs on the tech’s upper lip quivered as he spoke. Lewis wanted to wipe them off like he used to remove the chocolate milk mustache on his younger brother when they were children. As Lewis pretended to listen, he remembered the boy who had not lived to see puberty.
His brother was tenderhearted, careless, and trusting, forever forgetting to tie his shoes or pay attention to his surroundings. Those traits had killed him. His death had obliterated what conscience Lewis possessed and it had twisted their mother. She had never recovered from the accident. Instead, she became bitter and abusive. No matter how hard he had tried, Lewis couldn
’t please her after his brother’s death.
She had picked, cajoled, pinched, and slapped him until he didn
’t recognize himself any longer. Hatred had become his driving force, along with his desire to accumulate the wealth and power that would finally quiet her voice.
He heard that voice now. Contemptuous, derisive, and shrill, it regaled his shortcomings. So did the man standing in front of him, complaining as if Lewis had broken the gauge. The pressure built, the voices competing for his attention. When it got too great, he grabbed the scientist by his collar and pulled him close.
“I will not hear another word. You will do the job I pay you to do. I don’t give a flying fuck about a fucking gauge and I don’t give a flying fuck about you. Do you understand you miserable, whining piece of shit?” Lewis released him and stood, shaking. The young scientist backed away, rubbing his throat.
“Ye, ye, yes sir,” he stammered. The room grew quiet. Lewis glanced around, straightened his shoulders, and left. His chauffeur followed. Together, they strode silently to the elevator. The chauffeur reached out to push the button to the fourth floor, but Lewis stopped him. “I think I need some air,” he said. The chauffeur nodded and the elevator descended to ground level.
They stepped out and crossed the dingy lobby, ignoring the man behind the reception desk. In the yard, Lewis took a deep breath. He blamed his behavior on the gashes in his face. Without painkillers, the wounds were tortuous. The cool night soothed them and he calmed. In retrospect, his employees had followed his orders to the letter. A month ago he would have taken a malfunctioning piece of equipment seriously. Every small detail had been crucial then. Now, he knew Priscilla 279 would perform to his expectations.
The last tests were only to convince the other administrators of his thoroughness because they still had the power to block him. His final report would be scoured for anything that didn
’t meet the criteria the designers had put in place after the first failed attempts. If the report wasn’t perfect, Lewis wouldn’t be able to count on their network once the virus was released. The world was simply too big, and while his own drug distribution network was well financed and substantial, it wasn’t large enough to encompass the project’s scope. Without the designers’ help, the project could still fail.
As he walked the paved yard, the gates swung open. A police cruiser pulled through and parked. Chief Bowen eased his large body out of the cramped car and stretched.
“Thought you’d be home by now,” he said, catching sight of Lewis.
“Likewise,” Lewis replied.
“Been doing some thinking. I finally managed to find Ramirez a job that won’t kill him, but something about his explanation didn’t jibe. It’s been bothering me and I figure he’s lying. Thought I’d talk with him, see if I can widen the cracks in his story.”
“I thought cops took care of their own.”
“Yeah, well, we do. But I don’t like liars. Can’t trust ’em. I’d hate to be responsible for saving his ass if he’s here for reasons of his own. Thought I’d better check before he does anything I’d regret,” Bowen explained.
“This could be amusing. Mind if I tag along?”
Lewis had known Ramirez was lying from the moment he saw him. It pleased him that Bowen had returned and he looked forward to the interrogation. As they entered the main building, the chauffeur’s radio squawked.
“We
’ve got company,” a voice said through the receiver. Instantly, all three men were on alert. The chauffeur pressed the talk button on his handheld.
“Where?” he asked.
“Third floor, near the cafeteria,” the voice replied.
“How many?”
“I don’t know for sure. Jake spotted something coming out of the can.”
“Get a team up there. Secure the stairwell. Don
’t let them out,” the chauffeur said. Then he turned to Lewis. “We need to get you to a safe location, Sir.” The chauffeur ushered them through the lobby and toward a small office on the main floor.
“No. Not here. Go to the lab,” Lewis said, turning toward the elevator.
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the chauffeur objected.
“I don
’t pay you to think.”
At the entrance to the lab, Lewis punched the code to unlock the security door. In the control room, he waited for the others to enter before sealing the airlock behind them.
“This is as safe as anywhere,” he said, indicating the video monitors that flanked the walls. They flashed images from the cameras he had mounted throughout the floor. The cameras weren’t strictly necessary, but he had installed them to keep the lab techs in line.
The technicians went wide
-eyed as the chauffeur pulled a slick, 9 millimeter Berretta from its holster, inspected the weapon, and checked the magazine. When satisfied, he slid it back into place. Leaving the safety strap unfastened, he focused on the video feed.
All was quiet. The people occupying the observation rooms were sleeping and the hallways, bathrooms, and lab were empty. Lewis paced. Several minutes went by before a breathless voice came through the radio transmitter.
“Shots fired. Man down. They’re Special Forces. Don’t know how many...” Before the man finished speaking, rapid gunfire erupted. The radio went silent.
“Come on! Move!” Lewis yelled, bolting for the airlock door. He flung it open, dashed into the hallway, and ran into the lab. Bowen and the chauffeur sprinted after him.
Lewis punched another keypad mounted to the right of a large cooler. When the light went green, he pulled the handle and stepped inside, returning a minute later with a small rack containing several rubber stopped vials. “Take this,” he said, thrusting the rack at Bowen. Then he went back inside. When he came out, he carried a thick, Styrofoam container and a leather briefcase. He hurried out of the lab and back to the control room where he flipped switches on the instrument panel, opening all the air valves and turning on the ventilation system. Then he turned off the automated air security system.
The young scientist who had accosted him earlier screamed, “What the hell are you doing?” He grabbed Lewis, trying to pull him away from the panel. The chauffeur stepped forward and put his gun to the young man
’s head. The man dropped his hands and backed away. “Come here,” Lewis said, gesturing to Bowen. “Roll up your sleeve and make a fist.” He took the rack from the chief, placed it on a table, and extracted one of the vials. Then he opened the briefcase, took out a hypodermic needle, and filled it with the brownish liquid.
“About time we got you vaccinated. Make a fist, Bowen,” he said. Locating a vein, he positioned the needle and inserted it into the chief
’s skin. Then he tossed the used needle onto the table. Handing the rack of vials back to the chief, he picked up the Styrofoam container and briefcase and stepped into the hallway, ignoring his screaming technicians. They ran for the door, but the chauffeur blocked their exit. Aiming his pistol, he fired four well placed shots. The technicians fell to the floor and the bloody room went silent.
Lewis paid no attention to the commotion. He walked to a fire exit, opened the airlock door to the stairs, and used the container to prop it ajar. Opening its lid, he pulled out a sealed, glass bottle and removed the stopper. Though unnecessary, he held the bottle up to a ventilation duct in the stairwell and smiled. The warning system picked up the air contamination. As a red light flashed and an alarm blared, thousands of tiny molecules rode the air currents through the building. The virus would find hosts and multiply. Nothing could stop it now. He would explain the early release to the designers as soon as he was safe. They would understand the circumstances and begin implementing immediately. Whether they liked it or not, Priscilla 279 was free.
As they descended the concrete stairs, an explosion rocked the building, dousing it in darkness. Emergency lighting came on, dimly illuminating the steps. The chauffeur stopped, raising an eyebrow. Lewis nodded and said, “Do it. Make the call.”