The Ghost Pattern (11 page)

...27

...Thursday, May 5, 12:19PM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)

...Russian Ministry of Defense

...Moscow, Russia

...Eight Days Missing

Vitaliy Myatlev finished his vodka-enhanced coffee and flicked the butt of his cigar out the window. It had rained that morning, bringing a luscious tint to all spring greenery, and cleaning the air of the constant stink of Moscow’s pollution. But rain also brought joint pain to his left shoulder and also to his lower back, making him irritable. He wanted to go home and get in bed, but he still had to be there, in his goddamned office at the Ministry of Defense. There were days when he just hated his life, but, for as long as Abramovich held the supreme position in the Kremlin, he had to walk the line.

“Anything else?” Myatlev asked Ivan, seeing how his aide and bodyguard shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hesitant to leave.

“Umm…if I may, I was thinking that now everything is in place at the lab and everyone’s working nicely, we should tie up all loose ends. Leave no trace.”

Myatlev rubbed his shoulder furiously, trying to make the pain go away.

“What the hell do you mean, Ivan? Stop fucking around and get to the point.”

“The plane, boss. We should destroy it. It’s evidence we don’t want to leave behind.”

Myatlev rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of frustration. People can be so stupid, even the smart ones.

“Where’s the plane now?”

“In a hangar, buried in the side of a hill. It’s an old, abandoned facility near a decommissioned airbase and ICBM site. Middle of nowhere, really.”

Then why destroy it? No one would ever find it hidden in there.

Myatlev resisted the urge to yell at his aide. Ivan had been his most trusted, loyal employee, and he valued that. He also knew he couldn’t afford to risk losing the loyalty of the man who knew so much about him. He tempered himself, bringing his anger down to a quiet simmer.

“Don't destroy a fucking 747, for God’s sake. We might need that sometime. Just strip it of all markings and recognizable features, and have it sealed and guarded around the clock. And get me a masseuse.”

Ivan frowned and hesitated a little before acknowledging. “Yes, sir.”

...28

...Thursday, May 5, 10:42AM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)

...Tom Isaac’s Residence

...Laguna Beach, California

...Eight Days Missing

Alex stood in the doorway, watching Blake from a distance. He’d been up since before dawn, skipping breakfast and avoiding company. He sat on the edge of a lounge chair, hunched forward, clasping his hands absently. He rocked back and forth, almost imperceptibly, and probably wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He must have been sick with worry, and she couldn’t make it better, not yet anyway.

She approached him quietly, and gently touched his shoulder.

“Blake?”

He turned toward her, watching her intently with sunken, bloodshot eyes surrounded by black circles.

“I need your help,” she continued. “We tried…we tried anything we could think of, to gain access to newer satellite imagery. We reached out to several satellite operators. We even tried hacking into one. Then we tried leasing a damn satellite. Nothing worked, so we need you to step in.”

“Me? What can I do?” He stood with difficulty, strained to straighten his back, and then rubbed his eyes furiously.

“Bring in the big bucks and that influence of yours. Can you get us satellite time? Do you know anyone who has a few? And, if not, can you buy us a couple?” Alex spilled her questions in rapid fire, not giving him the chance to answer.

He stood quietly for a couple of seconds, his eyes drilling into hers with increasing force, radiating strength, determination, and confidence. Then he spoke, “Consider it done.”

“Blake, it’s 55 million dollars apiece, these things,” she added hesitantly.

“Then let’s see how soon we can get a couple up there.”

He took out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number from the phone’s memory.

“Yeah, get me the earliest appointment with SatX’s CEO. We’ve met. Yeah, today, now, ASAP. Then set up, right after that, a conference call with DigiWorld.” He listened for a moment to what his personal assistant had to say, then continued, “No, I don’t care about their calendars. It has to be today.”

She smiled. That was the Blake Bernard she remembered: powerful, decisive, aggressive, going through walls when he had to. Together, they’d find that plane, no matter where on Earth it was hidden, and they’d find the 441 souls onboard. Together, they’d find Adeline.

...29

...Friday, May 6, 5:31PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)

...Undisclosed Location

...Russia

...Nine Days Missing

Dr. Wu Shen Teng watched the screens with deep concern ridging his forehead. The source of his worries was different from what the other doctors shared. The others obsessed about the ethics of their actions. They debated, under the dire circumstances they were facing, whether they should take actions that led to drug experimentation on human subjects, or risk everyone’s lives by saying no. However, Dr. Teng was concerned with the ineffectiveness of the compound they were testing.

The others didn’t have their families with them; they could afford to be concerned with ethics, the Hippocratic Oath, and the core issues of preserving their humanity in the face of hardship. They could do that all they wanted, while their families were safe, somewhere in the United States, Germany, France, or wherever.
His
wife and child were locked in a dungeon, hopefully still breathing, and most likely scared out of their minds.

So far, they’d managed to persuade the Russians that the first test subjects were supposed to be men, for the drug tests to be relevant. Women would be useful later, Dr. Davis had said, when they were going to add a hormonal component to the drug mix. Some scientific mumbo-jumbo had made the case sound plausible, when in fact the doctors were trying to protect the women and children. That Dr. Davis could lie like a son of a bitch, not a blink in his eye.

Wu Shen Teng stared at the screens, troubled by what he was seeing. Mostly nothing was going on with the test subjects. Some of the men had gotten into an argument; some were shoving, and cursing took place, but no real violence. The two men who had taken the antidote sat quietly on the floor, leaning against the wall, a little spaced out. The rest paced the room impatiently, or mumbled oaths under their breaths.

How long would it take the Russians to figure out they were being played? How long before they started shooting people? How long before they’d kill his family, just to teach the doctors a lesson?

The doctors were pushing it too far. There should have been some significant effects. This lame result was ridiculous. This was dangerous. Stupid bleeding hearts were endangering everyone.

The lab door unlatched noisily, giving Wu Shen a start. Dr. Bogdanov walked in, followed by one of the fiercest looking Russian goons, a monster they had dubbed Death. Just like King Cobra, his nickname had originated from one of the man’s ink jobs. His entire back was tattooed with a twisted image depicting death holding a child in the same manner that Mary held baby Jesus in the well-known depictions of Madonna and child seen on church walls.

Death closed the lab door and remained watch in front of it, holding his machine gun with both his hands, ready to engage.

“This,” Dr. Bogdanov yelled without any preamble, pointing at the monitors, “this is ridiculous. This is
der’mo,
this is crap! This is not the drug you have promised me. This is not what I expected after a week of work!” Bogdanov spat on the floor angrily. “This is shit! Lame shit!”

The doctors stood flocked together, watching Bogdanov grow angrier with every word he spoke.

Wu Shen felt the grip of fear taking a fistful of his guts and twisting it. He could barely breathe. What was going to happen to them?

“Make no mistake,” Bogdanov continued. “If you don’t give me what I want, I will start again. With others, who can give me what I want. The way I brought you here, I will bring others, as soon as I’m done waiting for you to deliver and I kill you all. That’s an easy job.”

Bogdanov looked at them with a threatening glare, then said, “Be ready for another test batch tomorrow. And make sure it works next time.”

Then he turned and headed for the exit, as Death opened the massive door.

Wu Shen didn’t think much. He just reacted, his intestines still knotted with fear. He jumped ahead and caught up with Bogdanov, and grabbed his sleeve, just as Death shoved the barrel of a Kalashnikov in his chest.

“Can I please speak with you, sir?” Wu Shen asked humbly, keeping his head down and his spine bowed, in typical Chinese mannerism to show utmost respect and deference in front of a superior. “In private?”

...30

...Friday, May 5, 6:25PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)

...Undisclosed Location

...Russia

...Ten Days Missing

Wu Shen Teng followed Bogdanov quietly, not daring to look at more than the man’s feet, waiting for the opportunity to speak. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt sweat drops forming at the roots of his hair.
What am I going to say?

He heard the lab door latch close behind him, and then Bogdanov stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?” he asked harshly.

“Doctor, please,” Wu Shen Teng pleaded, clasping his palms together. “I–I have my family here. Please promise me they’ll be safe…Please.”

“Humph,” Bodganov scoffed. “Take him back,” he told Death.

“No!” Wu Shen Teng said in a high-pitched, piercing tone. “No, please! Promise me they’ll be safe and I’ll—I’ll tell you things.”

“What things?”

He’d caught Bogdanov’s attention.

“Things…things you need to know.”

“Like what?” Bogdanov was starting to lose his patience, and sounded threatening.

“They’re stalling. They’re keeping drug concentrations low on purpose. That kind of thing I can tell you, if you promise me they’ll be safe. Please!”

Bogdanov reached out and grabbed Wu Shen Teng by the lapels of his lab coat, easily lifting the thin man a few inches off the ground.

“You have your family here, you say?” he growled. “How interesting! Keep me informed, or your family dies. Is that understood, you little piece of shit?”

Wu Shen Teng nodded his compliance vigorously, and Bogdanov shoved him toward the lab door. As Death opened the massive door, Bogdanov shoved Wu Shen Teng violently into the lab, and cursed behind him.

“
Tvoyu mat!”

Wu Shen Teng fell hard from the shove and rolled on the concrete floor, then curled up on his side, sobbing hard.

Dr. Davis rushed to his side, and kneeled right next to him.

“What happened? What did you tell him?”

“I begged him to let me see my family,” Wu Shen Teng managed to articulate between uncontrollable sobs. “He won’t let me see them.”

“This must be hard for you,” Davis tried to comfort him. “Hang in there, I’m sure they’ll be all right.”

“You don’t understand,” Wu Shen Teng said, trying to stifle his sobs. “Until now, he didn’t know they existed. He didn’t know I had a family in there. Now he does.”

Oh, God, what have I done?

...31

...Friday, May 6, 2:56PM PDT (UTC-7:00 hours)

...Tom Isaac’s Residence

...Laguna Beach, California

...Nine Days Missing

“There’s nothing I hate more than sitting idle and doing nothing, just waiting,” Sam said, getting off his chair and starting to pace the living room, impatiently, his fisted hands stuck deep in his pockets. “Makes me feel old.”

“The kids are working as hard as they can,” Tom said. “We just need to give them time to do their thing.”

Blake looked at them both, and said nothing. For him, waiting must have been the hardest.

Lou stuck his head through the open door and said, “Come on over, guys, we have passenger manifest analysis data ready.”

They all followed Lou into the den, where Alex and Steve were talking satellite deployment.

“One of the satellites is a loaner, it’s already launched, it just needs to be redeployed to that area,” Alex said, pointing at the map, right above the Russia–North Korea border, a tiny sliver of black line perpendicular to the coast of the Sea of Japan. “The other one is being launched tomorrow at 4:00AM local time. It will need a few hours to deploy. By tomorrow afternoon, they should be both operational and scanning. We’re looking to secure a third loaner today, leased from CNC News. We’ll see how that goes.”

“Do you have deployment patterns figured out?” Lou asked.

“Not yet. We’ll work on that right after this. What do you have?”

Everyone had taken a seat, except Steve, who leaned against the back wall of the room.

Lou searched everyone’s eyes, a little hesitant in saying what he needed to say. Alex felt a chill down her spine, but nodded an encouragement to Lou. Whatever it was, they needed to know, so they could deal with it.

“The passenger manifest deep background analysis is completed, and you’re not going to like it.” He cleared his throat a little, and then continued. “There’s a prevalence of accountants and salespeople on that flight, but somehow I doubt that the hijacking was about sales or taxes. A relatively large number of scientists who were onboard XA233, nine to be precise, represents the third most significant data cluster in this analysis. The scientists were on their way back from a pharma conference, the biggest one in the industry. They are a varied group of researchers—neuroscientists, neurologists, psychiatrists, a psychopharmacologist—all touching the field of neuropharmacology.”

They all fell silent for a little while, processing what they had just heard.

“Oh, my God…” Alex whispered.

“You might have been right about your third scenario,” Lou said. “This could be about chemical weapons.”

“What are you saying?” Blake asked in a high-pitched, trembling voice.

There was no way she could sugarcoat that. Alex looked him straight in the eye and replied, “Some kind of nerve agent.”