Initial Sequencing Successful.
The message never failed to give him the warm and fuzzies. Nerdy? Yes, but he didn’t care. He was a well-paid nerd using his skills for a purpose, and that was more than most could say. The message confirmed that these skills were still intact—that all those hours in the biohazard suit were not suffered in vain.
He scrolled through the summary report. The good news was that all the samples contained identical viral DNA, which meant the dead pilot, the live baby gorilla, and the dead adult gorillas were all infected with the same thing. That was about as good as it got in terms of confirming zoonotic transmission between the gorillas and the woman.
Viral Identification.
Travis frowned. This was where the machine took a stab at figuring out what exactly it was dealing with. It compared its own sample results with an online database made up of thousands of already-mapped pathogen genomes. Normally there was an easy match, and he could call it a day. Maybe a few mutations here and there in some of the less important genes, but nothing to write home about.
But this was different.
Instead of showing the exact species and strain that the samples matched most closely, the report only listed the much larger genus name,
Orthopoxvirus
. This was like searching for the newest thriller by James Rollins on Amazon and getting a results page that showed every book ever written by an author with the first name James. Not so helpful.
Time to dig in a little further. A few more clicks brought him to the page he was looking for.
Travis brought both hands to his mouth, elbows leaning on the desk in front of him.
This is weird.
On one line, the report showed a 99.9 percent DNA match with an old monkeypox sample that had been isolated from a sick child during an outbreak in the Congo way back in the nineties. Right, that’s what they expected.
But the next line told a different story.
VARV: 99.1%
Variola virus. The causative agent of smallpox.
Travis pushed away from his desk and exhaled slowly. He picked up the phone.
“Bill, you’re gonna want to see this.”
Hear that?” Jake Russell kept his voice to a barely audible whisper. “Voices—on the road.”
“Yup,” Mikey said. “Guys said they concealed our route, but of course that doesn’t mean much when our friendlies here keep traipsing back and forth for no good reason.” The Special Forces sergeant glared at the small group of Congolese soldiers sitting in plain view on a nearby log.
They weren’t exactly the cream of the crop, that was true. But they would have to do. American troops were not allowed to engage the enemy by themselves here in the DRC, or anywhere in Africa for that matter. So instead they got to babysit these scared shitless city boys from Kinshasa who had never set foot in the jungle and wanted nothing to do with Joseph Kony or the LRA. These particular soldiers had volunteered, or rather been volun-told, for the mission by their commanding officer the night before. Unlucky for them. After a couple hours’ frenzied planning and coordination, the whole group had started into the park. Virunga, oldest national park in Africa, and one of the biggest, too.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much chance to enjoy the scenery. They bumped along through the night packed like sardines in the back of two old logging trucks, barely able to breath under heavy tarps and accumulating more bruises than any of them had managed to collect in jump school. Fun times. When they finally reached the drop-off point, there was only an hour of darkness left. Not much time to cover almost five miles, especially since they were fully kitted up in combat gear, but they managed. When the first rays of sun began filtering through the trees, they were safely hunkered down just three hundred yards outside the camp.
Rico looked across his handler’s body in the direction of the voices, ears up and an intense interest in his eyes. Poor dog, he’d been waiting a long time to see some action. But this was not the time, not yet at least. The operation would start at dusk with an admittedly risky infiltration attempt, but the actual assault, and Rico’s chance at getting his teeth dirty, wouldn’t come until the camp had settled down during the quiet hours after midnight.
“They’re coming closer,” Mikey whispered into his throat mic. “Stay quiet, stay covered. No confrontation here.”
The rest of the team was already concealed in the underbrush, arranged in a staggered diamond formation over about fifty yards. Every angle of approach covered. Jake sat up on one knee and signaled to the Congolese soldiers. They were equipped with the same high-speed earbud radios as his own guys but apparently didn’t see the need to keep them in their ears. Maybe because that made it too hard to shoot the shit with the guy sitting next to you? Jake tried not to be overly critical—”tried” being the key word. Finally, they saw him.
“Get down and stay quiet,” he whispered. “Don’t let these guys find us.”
The one English speaker said something to the others in French, and they all dropped down into the vegetation.
Thank you
. They really weren’t so bad to work with. Just untrained and undisciplined. Send those two motivated ones back to Bragg for the Q Course and they’d do just fine. No doubt about that. Unfortunately, they didn’t have six months to spare, and tonight’s rescue mission would require a flawless performance. Jake hoped they had it in them.
A minute passed. The unseen animal life that had been providing a steady soundtrack through most of the day went silent. Then a high-pitched shriek tore through the heavy air from somewhere high in the canopy. A bird? Monkey? Either way, something didn’t like what it saw down below. Military working monkeys. MWMs. That’s what he needed in a place like this. Dogs had their place, sure, but they were totally out of their element here in the rainforest of central Africa. He’d have to ask Cole about it, if they got him out of there alive tonight.
Not if. When.
A cough—a loud one—sounded from where Jake knew the Congolese soldiers were hiding. Seriously, now? Then another, followed by a whole series of them.
Shit. Here goes nothing.
The voices started up again, men shouting, and then the sound of leaves and branches breaking.
“Sir,” a voice came over the radio. “Request permission to apprehend target now.”
“Roger, go for it.” Jake brought one leg up, ready to move. “Remember, no weapons.” Their compact MP5 submachine guns were equipped with silencers, but he wanted to avoid casualties at all cost. Even enemy wounded required medical care, and that would probably mean aborting the mission.
In an instant, the forest came alive. Jake jumped up, rifle at his eye. He and Mikey made up the center of the diamond, and they would cover the other ten men.
There. Fifty feet away.
Three of his guys were tearing through the underbrush, converging on what looked to be just two armed men in olive fatigues. A fourth appeared behind them, diving across the final distance to hit one of the combatants squarely across the back.
It was over in seconds.
No shots fired.
“Nice work,” Jake said, arriving on the scene. This was what his team was trained to do. Elite warriors of the twenty-first century.
“They’d better hold still if they know what’s best for them.” Mikey gave Rico a generous lead, and the dog leapt between the two men, his vigorous sniffing only interrupted by an occasional low growl.
“I’m just glad it’s not me,” Jake said. “I’d be shitting myself right about now.”
The captives didn’t resist as the team finished securing zip-ties, gags, and hoods.
“Now what?” Mikey pulled Rico away.
“We’re not going to let them go, that’s all I know.” Jake crouched down beside one of the men. “I have no desire to reenact
Lone Survivor
out here.”
“I think we’d all agree on that, sir.” Sergeant Eric Olmsted was one of his EOD techs—explosive ordnance disposal experts—a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old out of Maine. Good guy to have around.
“You the one who made that flying tackle?”
“Might have been,” Olmsted answered, a ridiculous grin plastered across his face. “They made it too easy.”
“And we’re sure there’s just the two of them?” Jake looked around. This was not the time to get complacent.
“Rest of the team is out hunting,” Mikey said. “They’ll let us know.”
Back in position. The two prisoners were laid out on their backs, right between Jake and Mikey, with Rico keeping a close watch. The dog seemed to revel in his new assignment. He sat up straight, mouth closed, eyes flicking from one man to the next. Every time one of them dared to readjust or let a moan slip from his gagged mouth, Rico responded with a quick snarl. Maybe he was somewhat useful out here in the jungle after all.
“So what do you think?” Jake said. “Stick with the plan?”
“Hell yes.” Mikey took a long suck from his CamelBak. “Bump in the road, that’s all that was.”
“Still, gotta hate it when things don’t go just like they’re supposed to.”
“Sir, mind if I tell you something?”
“Preach on.”
“That’s just the nature of our game. We make a plan, sure. But we’re prepared for every contingency. You’d do well to stop expecting things to go our way every time.”
“I know, you’re right.” And he was. Mike Denison had deployed ten times in as many years. He was the kind of guy you knew you had to listen to. “Thanks man.”
“Just doing my job. That’s what I’m here for.” The master sergeant reached up to press a button at his neck and lowered his head. “Radio check. All clear out there?”
One by one, the rest of the team called in. Nothing to report. Jake hoped no one would start missing these two rebel fighters. From what he knew about the LRA, they were used to traveling in independent groups of twos and threes, even blending into the local communities, until the time came for an actual raid. Best-case scenario was that these two had been returning to the camp unexpected after an absence. They’d been searched, more thoroughly than they probably would have liked, and didn’t even have a mobile phone between them.
“Might as well get this thing called in while we can,” Jake said. “Will you get the boss on the line?”
“Sure thing.” Mikey pulled the satellite phone out of its case and dialed up a series of numbers. “All yours.”
“Sir, Jake Russell here.” He sat up a little straighter. It was ingrained, that reaction. He just couldn’t report to a senior officer, full-bird colonel, no less, without feeling the nervous tension leftover from all those years of training.
“Jake.” The colonel’s rough voice came through his earbud clearly. “I was wondering when we’d hear from you.”
“Sorry about that. I know I’m late on the call.”
“What’s happening over there? We’re getting all kinds of images from the Global Hawk above you, but not a lot to report on this end. Still no sign of our guys in the camp.”
“We’ve had some excitement, actually. Tied us up for a few minutes.”
“Go on.”
“Two armed combatants came off the forest track and discovered our position.” Jake’s hands were sweating. He knew he would take some crap for that.
“How in the hell?”
“My fault, sir. Didn’t control our host nation soldiers as well as I should have.” No reason to go into the details.
“I assume they’ve been neutralized?”
“Roger. Right beside me here, if you’d like to say hello?”
“I’ll pass.” Colonel Alsina’s steady tone was tough to read. “Any wounded?”
“Negative. My guys are hot shit.” He knew that would be good for a chuckle, at least, and he was right.
“You’ve got me to thank for that, Captain. I knew they’d have to make up for your deficiencies.” Now Jake could hear the smile in his boss’s voice.
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“So you’re still on for tonight then? I assume you’ll just lay low with those prisoners?”
“Roger, that’s the plan. We’ll send our two high speed Congolese into the camp just before sunset—see what they can do for us in terms of intel.”
“And then the snatch and grab later on.”
“Exactly. Quick and dirty. We’ll be in and out of there before these sleeping terrorists know any better.”
“That’s the goal, at least.” At the colonel’s words, Jake saw Mikey look up and give him a nod. He was listening in to the conversation on his own headset. Expect success, but plan for failure. Of course he was right. “But Jake, you know this is a risky mission. Be smart and think on your feet. I had to pull some strings to keep JSOC from stealing this one.”
“Thank you, sir. We won’t let you down.”
“The Ospreys are already on standby at Entebbe, ready to fly whenever you give the word.”
“Roger.” The CV-22 Ospreys had only recently joined the hunt. They were heavy-duty armed transport aircraft—futuristic hybrids between a helicopter and a regular plane—complete with their own Air Force special ops crews on loan from Uncle Sam. “Any more intel on our man Kony?”
“No, best we can tell he’s not around. If you’re lucky enough to find yourself in that position, though, you know the rules—grab if you can, shoot if you must.”
“Will do.” Jake looked over at Mikey, who was making little circles in the air with a gloved index finger.
Time to wrap things up.
“Okay sir, I’m out for now.”
“Hang on, Jake, just opening up a high side message now, looks like it might be relevant.” The high side was military-speak for a secure classified network. Usually meant something important. There was a pause. “Yeah.”
And another one. “Shit.”
“Sir?”
“Change of plans.”
If Travis was right, all hell was about to break loose.
Bill Shackleton hit the elevator call button for the third time, watching as the numbers above the closed doors kept climbing in the wrong direction.
Crap
. He didn’t have time for this. The tall director of Viral Special Pathogens turned quickly and half-jogged to the stairwell entrance. Four floors down, deep into the soggy Georgian clay. He took the stairs two, sometimes three, at a time, wincing all the way. The bad knee was getting worse every year, but he was still a long way from being convinced that a joint replacement would do him any good.