Текст книги "The Eden Plague"

Автор книги: David VanDyke

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Daniel picked up a few things he wanted to try out, a few things he thought would be useful. They all did. Then they drove on, well stocked.

-11-

The sun was coming up the next morning over Onancock as they deployed around the apartment complex where the Integrated National Strategies people lived. It turned out that they all had units at a place called Seaside Acres, built in the last ten years, cookie-cutter. Made it easier to recon. Made it easier for their security people to keep an eye on their own guys too.

Zeke, Spooky and Daniel sat in the Land Rover, parked down the street from the apartment complex’s single gate. Zeke munched cheerfully on his fourth ham-and-egg croissant. The XH had taken hold.

They’d already watched one little nerdy-looking guy get into a black Suburban driven by a big Hispanic minder. The Suburban was parked just inside the gate, by the leasing office. It was easily visible from the angle the guys had chosen.

“That’s Arthur Davidson, virologist. The heavy is Miguel Carrasco, former Texas Ranger.”

It was hard to say for sure, but Carrasco didn’t seem to be all that alert. Just another day on the job for him.

He got out of the vehicle again as another guy walked up. Caucasian, thin, grey and balding, thick glasses. His pants were too short and he had on a stained white shirt, and dirty leather shoes like fry cooks wear on greasy floors. “Roger Auprey. Epidemiologist. Nominated for a Nobel prize once, but apparently he has to be reminded to shower and change his clothes. Mad scientist.” One more of the watchers followed behind him.

“The guy behind him must be Rogett.” Karl Rogett, Master Gunnery Sergeant, USMC retired, Daniel remembered from his file. Looked tough as nails, like you might expect. These two hard cases seemed more focused on controlling their charges than protecting them. I guess they expect me to run and hide, not gather up my own personal A-team – well, Zeke’s – and come after them, Daniel thought.

Daniel really wanted this thing to go smooth, no casualties. He wasn’t sure the other guys were on the same page, despite his insistence.

Skull, Larry and Vinny had gone in the Cherokee, over Larry’s strenuous objections. A flashy Escalade just wasn’t any good for surveillance, so they’d parked it back at the chain motel where they were staying. They should be down at the biggest marina nearby, renting a nice big pleasure boat that would accommodate everyone. If they were lucky, INS’s corporate vessel would be at the same marina. If not, it would be easy to keep an eye out for them from the water between there and Watt’s Island. The harder thing would be not to be noticed themselves.

The Suburban pulled out of the gate and Zeke, Daniel and Spooky shadowed them from well back. They drove like locals, not too fast and not too slow, and pretty soon the Suburban pull into the marina where Zeke’s guys should be. Sometimes things do go smooth. For a while.

Zeke called the other vehicle on his walkie. “They’re here; look alive.”

They turned left where the Suburban had turned right, to go down to where their boat waited. They parked, schlepped their cases with various supplies and ordnance onto the boat, and loaded up.

Vinny stayed on shore to do some surveillance of everyone’s vehicles and residences. He had hinted he might try for something more than that; maybe sneakiness ran in the Nguyen family. Maybe Vinny was a younger version of Spooky in the techno-urban jungle.

Skull piloted the boat like a pro, taking them out about a mile then slowing down. They loafed along like lubbers out for a pleasure cruise. It was chilly but sunny and they bundled up and broke out the coffee thermoses, doughnuts and binoculars.

Pretty soon a nice thirty-six-footer came out of the marina and angled off to the north fast, toward Watt’s Island, which could barely be seen about seven miles off. They crossed to windward of Zeke and the others doing twenty knots, going northwest, and by this time Skull had them on a parallel course at ten or so. They didn’t want to look too eager.

They watched the other boat all the way in to Watt’s Island, a tiny patch of scrubby pines and rocks with the all-steel buildings showing quite clearly. The highest tree on the island didn’t stand more than twenty feet tall. The complex was on the southeast corner, and everything looked just like it had on the satellite imagery. They could see the white Jeep parked at the pier, with someone standing next to it, smoking.

They tooled along, not too near, not too far, and observed  as the cruiser pulled up to the dock next to the boathouse. Three people got out onto the pier, then into the Jeep, which drove the hundred yards or so to the tiny empty parking lot. The boat pulled away and headed back for Onancock.

By this time the team was looking at the south side, and then the back of the complex as they rounded the island. There were no windows in the big building, but there were two in the small one facing south. They could see the helo pad, which was empty except for a short pole and a wind sock standing stiffly in the north-by-northwest breeze.

“All right, that’s enough. We don’t want to get made. Head for Tangier Island,” Zeke ordered.

Skull turned the wheel and ran the throttles up to comfortable cruising speed. Less than half an hour later they came into Mailboat Harbor and docked at the marina at the north end of the island. Slightly less conspicuous than usual in a New York Yankees cap, he paid the docking fee and got the boat topped off with fuel. He could still frighten children with a look.

They wandered around the tiny island, splitting up to act like they were interested in the little shops, museums and restaurants along Main Ridge Road. The whole piece of land they stood on was barely a square mile, the southwest-most of three sub-islands that were all that remained of historic Tangier Island. It used to be much bigger, just like Watts Island, but rising ocean levels and erosion were slowly washing it away. In a couple of hundred years it would probably be completely gone.

They met up for an early lunch at a seafood place overlooking the water, within sight of a dozen fishing boats trying to eke out a living in the Chesapeake and the coastal Atlantic nearby. It was hard to hide, because the tourist season hadn’t started yet, and it was mostly locals. At the same time, that made it easier for them to spot anyone out of the ordinary, and none of the team reported seeing anyone that looked like they were watching. That was good news.

They headed back as soon as they were done, just a bunch of guys on an outing. Watts island looked the same on the way back, though they went around to the north of it this time. It was about noon, and not a creature stirred except for the sea birds.

They met back at the motel, and went inside Vinny and Tran’s room. Larry had been complaining because of the crowding in the Land Rover, so he was first out of the vehicle. He was a big guy.

On the other hand, Zeke was getting smaller. He didn’t seem as hungry as Daniel had been, but he was still eating more than normal and he kept grabbing the roll of his gut and shaking it, with a big pleased look on his face. “My pants are getting looser. Hot dog, this stuff is a weight-loss miracle too. It must boost the metabolism like crazy. I feel awesome!”

Daniel looked at him soberly. “Every high has its low, and every benefit has a cost. We just don’t know what this is yet.”

“You won’t just let me enjoy it, will you?” He laughed again.

“All right, enjoy it while you can. I’m a pessimist by nature, I guess.” Daniel had lived with that serpent too long, though he hadn’t seen it in a while. Maybe I never will again.

Vinny dragged the round motel table into the spot between the two beds, so they could sit on chairs and bedsides and all see. He had a row of portable computer stuff on a folding table on the other side of the room, and he’d printed out hardcopy photos. “Pictures of everyone’s apartments. Nothing much to see. They are either not home or staying indoors. If they take the two scientists back off the island this evening, then we can expect just Elise and one or two minders when we go in for the snatch.”

“What if some don’t leave the island? Or what if different ones come off? What if they rotate some overnight?” asked Skull.

“Does it matter?” Zeke asked. “Once we see, we’ll know something. We’ll go in with all five of us. Sorry Vinny. Wrong skill set.”

He shrugged. “No problem, man. Until I get some superhero powers too, I’d rather stay away from bullets, thank you very much.”

Spooky glared. Vinny shrugged again.

Zeke went on, “Okay, general plan. Skull will drive the boat and provide overwatch, secure our line of retreat. We’ll pull in here, into this channel, and disembark behind these scrubby trees. Spooky will take point. Then me and DJ, with Larry and Skull watching our backs. We’ll move in quiet. Here’s the objective rally point, where you post, Skull.” He pointed at a spot just inside the tree line, about fifty yards from the buildings. “Spooky, you’ll do the forward look and report back to us there. If we can’t pinpoint everyone, or anyone, we’ll enter, search and clear the buildings.

“We will try to stay quiet as long as we can. Once it’s time to enter the main building, DJ and I will breach and go in heavy. Presumably we can take more hits than you guys now, with the XH in us. Our objective is this woman, Elise Wallis.” He held up the picture. “Use your best discretion when engaging armed resistance.” He looked across the table at Daniel. “DJ, I know you want to keep this clean but I’m not going to tell people to add risk to the op just because you want to avoid hurting anyone.”

“Avoid killing anyone, you mean. Hurt them all you want; it will give me something to do,” Daniel said sardonically.

Zeke chuckled. “Either way, I hope we get in quiet, they surrender in their beds, we zip-cuff them, then get outta Dodge with our answer girl. That’s the overview. Larry, what we got?”

“I got flash-bangs for everyone, some boom-boom for me, and all sorta body armor, and a lot of other miscellaneous gear. Since we’re only moving a quarter mile or so, I suggest you carry all you want.”

Spooky snorted.

“Ev’body ‘cept you, I guess,” Larry said.

“Cannot be quiet in body armor,” replied the Vietnamese. “I will take the chance. You got NVGs?”

Larry nodded. “Yeah, I got goggles for you and anyone that wants ‘em.”

Daniel shook his head. Night vision gear was fine for certain circumstances but as soon as any shooting started or someone turned on a light, they were useless. They would be useful for Spooky for the first look-around, and for Skull on overwatch, maybe.

“Okay,” said Zeke, “Any immediate concerns?”

Spooky nodded. “Better to clear both small buildings first. Probably living quarters, separated from main building. Main building has no windows and this,” he tapped a photo, “look like NBC filter.” He meant nuclear-biological-chemical, a containment system. “See, negative pressure system to make sure nothing leak out. Maybe jail cell in there, but nobody normally want to sleep in dangerous laboratory.”

This was an unusually long monologue for Spooky, so Daniel knew he was concerned.

Zeke asked, “Anything else? All right, everyone start making your personal prep. We’ll meet back here at six, go over it in detail. I’ll order pizza.” He slapped his shrinking gut again and smiled.

-12-

Since returning to the island Elise had been unable to sleep much, or well. Most of her time was spent puttering around the lab, until the wee hours of the morning. Durgan was putting more and more pressure on her for results and the stress was keeping her on edge. He wouldn’t believe her that it simply couldn’t be done. Not by three researchers with this tiny lab.

She was glad they didn’t lock her up but Durgan constantly threatened her with the possibility. Her mind knew the threat was empty but her brain still reacted with worry.

She had the run of the facility but the ankle bracelet tracker they’d fitted kept her from even thinking about escaping. Not that she could swim very far. She didn’t even know how to drive a boat and it’s not like they left the keys lying around. No, she’d missed her best chance already.

***

Zeke’s men spent the evening going over the op plan. Then going over it again. Then again, ad nauseam. That’s the way to succeed at special ops: meticulous planning, perfect execution.

They went aboard their boat at about 2300 hours, eleven p.m. They figured it would be suspicious to go out much later than that. Skull took the conn again, threading their way among the moored and anchored boats toward the Chesapeake.

Vinny had kept watch while they went over the details, and had reported that the same four people had returned to the marina around sundown, on the boat. That meant one or two more of the shooters, and at most two civilians there, plus Elise, if their chain of reasoning was correct.

Vinny stayed in the motel room, monitoring his cyberware and the team’s tactical voice network. They were using the latest frequency-hopping radios with self-generated encryption keys. Vinny said nothing short of the National Security Agency or a full-blown signals intelligence unit would be able to even find them, much less break the encryption in time.

The team took a wide course that slowly circled Watts Island to come in from the northwest. It gave them time to do their final preparation.

Larry kept fidgeting with his mask, trying to get it fit to his satisfaction. He did the same with his body armor. He was wearing a full rig, head to ankle including the skirts, which was usual only for a full breach urban scenario. I wouldn’t be surprised to see him outfitted in a bomb suit, thought Daniel. He must have been carrying a hundred pounds of gear. Good thing they only had to move a quarter mile. Daniel prayed Larry wouldn’t fall off the boat.

The big man carried an AA-12 automatic shotgun. It took someone Larry’s size to really use one of those effectively. It could spray an awesome amount of firepower at short range. The recoil would also pound your shoulder to a pulp if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Spooky was all in black, and as they slowly wended their way toward the island he wiped camo onto his face in a tiger-stripe pattern, black and green. He repeatedly adjusted his web gear, everything carried and fastened to him, until he was satisfied. He walked fore and aft on the tiny deck, jumped up and down and then grunted, satisfied. No rattles, no clinks. He carried a suppressed P90, which was very good for a little guy like him – handy, lots of short-range firepower in a small package.

Skull was using a venerable HK91 7.62 NATO, night-scoped. Daniel had talked him out of the Barrett, because they didn’t need that kind of range, and a .50-caliber rifle bullet tended to kill with one shot to any body part – it could tear a limb right off a target. Daniel had insisted they limit casualties. The HK was also a lot handier in a general firefight, if Skull had to move from his position.

Zeke and Daniel both had their old standbys, M4 carbines. These were descended from the M-16 family that was first widely used in Vietnam. Daniel’s fit his hand like it was made for him. Old friends. The serpent stuck his nose out of his hole for the first time in a while, flicked his tongue. But Daniel had a surprise for the old snake, and anyone else who got in his way. He had a workaround for his conscience’s killing problem. Maybe.

He had his aid bag in his ruck, along with extra ammo and all the usual stuff any grunt carried – tape, zip cuffs, parachute cord, protein and granola bars, water, the list went on and on. Never knew what you might need. He also had his trusty XD on the thigh rig and his XD compact was in a holster on his left inner ankle. His right calf was taken up with a wicked-sharp KA-BAR combat knife that had gone with Gramps to Iwo Jima and back.

Waiting was difficult. Most of them dozed, with the thoroughly ingrained ability of every combat trooper to sleep anywhere, any time. But even the longest wait ends.

Coming up on 0300 hours they made their last commo check with Vinny and each other on the small tactical radios buckled high on their chests. Each of them had an earpiece in his shooting ear and a slim mike extending from it, snugged on the same-side cheek. The earpieces not only connected to their tactical radios but contained high-tech noise suppression circuitry that kept them from being deafened by their own weapons. A tiny counterpart was in each man’s opposite ear, so they could hear as well or better than normal, while maintaining sonic protection from the violence they were about to cause.

They motored slowly and quietly up to Watts Island, approaching from the north, out of sight of the buildings. Daniel lowered the anchor when Skull told him to, then watched as he filled a six-man rubber boat from a compressed air tank. They loaded from the dive deck off the back. Once they were in, they paddled the short distance to the rocky shore.

They startled some sleeping seabirds on landing. Daniel saw a Great Blue heron fly off, skimming up the shoreline like a living hang-glider. Other than that, they got in nice and easy. They carried the boat into the scrubby tree line, then locked and loaded weapons.

Despite the many missions under his belt, Daniel’s heart still thudded in his chest. It had been several years since he had been on a real, deliberate combat operation, not counting the bizarre actions that started this whole thing off. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but something in him was still sick at the thought of killing.

He’d never been this way before, and he was starting to wonder about it. The XH had improved him a lot; it had stilled the serpent and healed his body, but it had also made him different in some way. He had been trying to ignore it, to wish it away, but it was really making itself felt right now. He was starting to worry he couldn’t do the job. Only his choice of ammo was letting him function right now.

Daniel tried to imagine himself treating combat trauma, visualizing the blood, the pressure bandages, the IVs, the pain and the screaming. Nothing. But visualize shooting someone, and suddenly he felt sick. It was not too bad if he thought about shooting an arm or a leg. Deliberately recalling his execution of Jenkins, a wave of nausea and regret almost overcame him. He pushed it out of his mind as they moved through the low dense woods. He couldn’t indulge in thought experiments right now, or he would screw something up.

At least he knew he could treat combat injuries.

They came to the edge of the open space right where they expected, outside the northeast corner of the small complex. They were looking at the corner where the small northern building and the big central building almost touched. This was their ORP, their objective rally point. The helipad was to their right, next to the back of the big building. They could see the white Jeep through the gap between the buildings. Their angle blocked their view of the southernmost small building.

Zeke made a hand signal and Spooky moved off to their left, vanishing into the woods. A few minutes later Daniel saw him crouching by one of the windows at the back of the small building. He had been looking but had not even seen Spooky cross the open space from the trees to the building.

“Damn, he’s good,” he breathed.

A derisive snort from Skull was the only answer.

The wind sock at the helipad swung on its short wooden pole in the three to five knot breeze. Daniel watched the black shape against the white building move along it, looking in the windows. It slid around the corner a moment later, and they waited some more. While they waited, Skull prepped a hasty sniper position there at the ORP.

They heard a faint click, then Spooky’s voice. “North small building clear. Quarters, kitchen, office, rec room. I leave east door unsecured, advise occupy. Proceeding to south small building.”

“Acknowledged.” Zeke led them fifty yards eastward, staying inside the tree line. Then they hustled across the open space, shielded from sight by the empty small building. As they crossed the space they could hear the low grumble of a generator, well muffled, and a whining hiss that was less identifiable.

They slipped around the corner of the building to enter the door Spooky had left unlocked. Inside, they found everything as he had reported – two bedrooms with two single beds each, a shared latrine and shower, a kitchen, a recreation room with a pool table, and a small windowless office with a low-end computer, a printer combo, and not much else. They did a quick search, finding nothing of significance. The fridge held enough fresh food to indicate that they brought groceries at least weekly.

Zeke unlocked the door at the other end of the building, which if opened would face a door in the north end of the large building across an angled gap. He put an eye to the crack in the blinds of the door window, watching for anything amiss.

Daniel took the other side of the door and did the same, with Larry watching their backs.

About that time they heard Spooky report, “South building all clear. Quarters and kitchen, rest of building is general storage. Rally at north door of large building ETA one minute.”

Zeke replied, “Roger, we are inside north small building at south door, standing by.”

A moment later Daniel saw Spooky slip around the big building’s nearest corner and ghost up to the door in the near end. Spooky did something at the lock and then gently turned the handle. It looked like he had got it open. He reached into a cargo pocket and took out some kind of telescoping rod, like an old-fashioned radio aerial, and extended it. It had a little box on one end with a faint yellow LED, which he ran around the edge of the whole door frame. The light stayed yellow.

Some kind of alarm detector, Daniel thought.

Spooky collapsed it back to pen-size and slid it  into his pocket. Then very, very slowly he eased the door off its jamb the tiniest of bits, not even a crack. He stayed that way for a full minute before letting it go gently back. He then pushed his NVGs off his eyes up onto the top of his head, lay prone on the ground, to open the door enough to press a naked eye to the crack at the very bottom corner.

Daniel observed, fascinated. Watching a real pro at work was interesting.

“Hallway whole length of building. Low light,” Spooky reported. “Eight doors, some with windows and lights inside. No activity. Negative air pressure confirmed.” Daniel figured Spooky was able to feel the air rushing into the crack in the door, as the air system kept the pressure inside slightly lower than outside. This would ensure any stray organisms floating in the air were unlikely to make it outside, except through the filtration system. In fact, that was probably the strange hissing they had heard crossing the field. It was kind of the opposite of NBC overpressure systems, which were usually meant to keep bad things out.

Zeke responded, “All right, we go in. Larry, hold the door, me and DJ go first and start search and clear. Spooky, go around and watch the far door from the outside. Unlock it and be ready to come in. Skull, you got clear lines?”

“Ay-firmative,” Skull answered under his breath.

“Larry, you hold the door from the inside, watch our backs and keep the line of retreat open. Remember everyone: the civilians are non-hostile unless proven otherwise. Don’t get twitchy.” Zeke pulled the end of a sheaf of zip cuffs out of his cargo pocket, easy to grab. He then took off his gloves. So did Daniel. They were trained to shoot with gloves on, but anything delicate, such as threading a zip cuff or sticking in an IV, required tactile feedback.

“Spooky in position.”

“Skull in position.”

“Vinny in position,” came a faint sardonic voice.

Daniel strangled a laugh. He’d hate to be Vinny, just listening back at the motel, but someone had to do it. He took a deep breath, and tried to reassure himself, his twitchy conscience, that he wasn’t out for blood. A part of him felt like a total pussy for worrying about such things; a part of him was proud.

***

Elise sat staring at her screen as the machines in the lab ran more useless experiments, modeling drugs that might mitigate some of the virtue effect. She studied the data on her computer screen, the results of her latest batch. Nothing new. No progress. Part of the problem was that most of the new designer drugs were, of course, made to make the user feel good.

Durgan wanted something that made people feel evil and like it. Or feel nothing.

Something like that.

Dammit, I’m a microbiologist, not a neuroscientist. Roger is a virologist and Arthur is an epidemiologist. We need a couple of dozen specialists to do what he wants. But Durgan’s not listening.

She paced the floor absentmindedly chewing her nails then walked over to the small kitchenette in the corner of the lab and poured herself a steaming cup of coffee. Caffeine. Maybe that would help her think. Maybe she’d rather not.

As she stirred in her usual teaspoon of cream and two packs of sugar she inhaled the comforting aroma and her mind wandered back in time. Funny how scents and smells are often so vividly connected to memories.

When she was a girl the wonderful smells of coffee, bacon and toast would wake her from her slumber every morning. She would head into the kitchen to find her father sitting in his usual place at the table eating breakfast and reading the morning paper. Sneaking up from behind she’d scare him with a loud “boo.” He would always play along, clutching at his chest as if she had frightened him, then he’d scoop her up with a reassuring hug and kiss. I really miss you, Dad.

She thought about her father, a good man, solid, loving, dependable, honorable, and her thoughts turned again to Daniel. I know deep down Daniel is all of those things, too. She wondered where he was and if he was thinking of her at that moment.

***

“Execute.” Zeke pushed the door smoothly open, and Larry crossed the thirty feet or so to the unlocked door where Spooky had been so recently. They followed right behind, and Larry opened the door quickly, drawing it out of their way so all they had to do was go straight in.

They entered in two-man tactical stack. That meant Zeke was in front, Daniel slightly crouched right behind him with his left upper arm firmly pressed into Zeke’s back, so Zeke knew where he was. Daniel held his M4 to the right and down, covering the right side. His eyes swept the hallway automatically, center-up-right-down and back to center in a fraction of a second, the barrel of his weapon following in a tight circle. Zeke did the same on his left, and they heard the click of the door behind them as Larry closed and locked it from the inside, then took a knee.

They needed to get out of the hallway as fast as possible, to let Larry dominate it with his street-sweeper, and to give him a covered position. They took the first door on the left as planned. Daniel stayed stacked behind Zeke as Zeke reached out with his left hand to try the door. It opened into a tiny closet with cleaning supplies. Daniel turned and waved Larry forward. This would be his best position, allowing a right-handed shooter like him to keep good cover and still lash the hallway with heavy fire.

The plan was to stay to the left side of the hallway. They might find doors between rooms, and they wanted to avoid causing confusion if Larry had to start firing. Crossing and recrossing the hallway unnecessarily to opposite doors was asking for trouble. So they moved along the left side of the hallway to the next door on the left, passing a solid steel door on the right. Larry would have to cover that.

Zeke tried the handle. It was locked. They could call Spooky in to try to pick the lock, or they could break in.

Sticking to the plan, Zeke decided to break in as quietly as possible. The building was filled with the low rumble of the generator and the rushing sound of the air system, so there was a good chance they could get away with it.

Zeke pulled a crowbar out of the small of his back, where he’d had it taped. He fit it between the door handle and the jamb, leaning his weight on it slowly until it popped with a muffled clang.

***

Elise thought she heard a noise. It’s probably just Miguel doing a security check of the building. Damnit, I hope he doesn’t come in here and bother me again. She checked her watch. 3:17 a.m. No, Miguel went off duty over an hour ago, he’ll be fast asleep, Karl’s on watch now.

When no one materialized in the doorway she shrugged to herself, figuring it was just the sound of the building settling or the wind. She finished her coffee, rinsed her cup and set it on the counter. With renewed energy she returned to her station and began another drug model run. Beta blockers. Who knows, might have some effect.

***

Zeke immediately shoved the door open and swept the left side of the room. Daniel followed him in and swept the right. Each of them moved to their sides, out of the death funnel of the doorway.

A dark figure on the lower bunk of two rolled heavily out, tangled in blankets. “Wha-” they heard before Zeke stepped forward and gave him a left-handed whack on the head with the crowbar. The man dropped to the thin-carpeted floor like a sack of potatoes.

The room was lit only by the dimness of the corridor and the green numbers of a clock-radio on a night table. It read 3:17.

Perfect. Daniel poked the upper bunk with the barrel of his weapon, finding no one and nothing there but bedding.

Zeke whipped out zip cuffs and hog-tied the fallen man, then taped his mouth shut. He popped a pillowcase over the man’s head, then taped that loosely around his neck.

Daniel checked his pulse. Good and strong. Zeke knows his club work.

“One hostile neutralized,” Zeke reported over the net.“Still quiet.”