The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Steven Konkoly

  Larsen gave him a quick look, which David strained to avoid. They were holding something back from her, and she wasn’t in any mood to play games.

  “What is it?” she said, taking a step toward Larsen.

  “What’s what?” he said.

  “The look you gave David,” she said. “Just when I start to trust the two of you, you’re still keeping some bullshit secret.”

  David held both of his palms out in symbolic surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t want to complicate things, but our situation here is a little different. We arrived with Chang early this morning, in an airplane.”

  “He landed it on Interstate 70, less than a mile from here,” said Larsen.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What are you telling me?”

  “I guess I’m telling you that we’re not stuck here like everyone else,” said David.

  “Right after you told me you were,” she said.

  “I guess so,” said David. “We’re supposed to leave with Dr. Chang tonight. Hopefully slip away undetected. That was the deal.”

  “Still is the deal,” said Larsen. “Someone wants Chang dead. Someone with enough pull to change my team’s orders at the last minute.”

  “I’m not following any of this. Exactly what do you do?” she said.

  “I’m a special agent with the Department of Homeland Security. Part of their CHASE program.”

  She stared at him without saying a word.

  “Critical Human Asset Security,” said Larsen. “We’re trained to protect and transport people the government deems critical during a specific crisis. In this case, we were sent for Dr. Chang, a scientist who specializes in the kind of rare viruses that may be related to whatever is happening out there. Basically, my orders went from protect to neutralize within the span of fifteen minutes.”

  “He was working on some kind of vaccine that could have prevented all of this,” added David.

  “Why would they want him dead for that?” said Hale.

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” said Larsen, shifting uncomfortably on his leg.

  “I need to look at your leg,” she said. “We can worry about all of this conspiracy stuff later, unless you’re hiding something else from me.”

  Larsen started to laugh.

  “What?” she said.

  “The plane is full,” he said. “In case you’re wondering.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” said Hale. “But my place is here now.”

  Two men dressed in the same body armor and helmets worn by Howard burst through a nearby door with exasperated faces.

  “Jesus. Is he really gone?” said one of the security officers.

  “It happened too fast. There was nothing any of us could do,” said Larsen.

  “He insisted on being the last through the turnstile,” said David. “A hero right until the very end.”

  “His family is going to be devastated,” said the guard.

  “Do they know he went out there?” said Hale.

  “No. They’re in the cafeteria with the rest of the people. He stops in when he can to spend some time with them, but we’ve been busy since they arrived.”

  “Don’t say anything to them right away,” said Hale. “Let me get things organized at medical, and I’ll send for them when we can all be there. I have a little experience breaking this kind of news. The last thing we want to do is approach them in front of everyone. They’ll need time to process this as a family.”

  The guard held out a hand. “I’m Sean. This is Mitch. We’d really appreciate you doing that.”

  “It’s the very least I can do for a man that sacrificed his life to bring me here,” said Hale. “I owe all of you.”

  “Just doing my job,” said Larsen, nodding at David. “Not sure what his excuse is.”

  David winked. “This guy can be very convincing.”

  She slid an arm under Larsen’s right shoulder, lifting him off his wounded leg.

  “How long have you known each other?” she said.

  Larsen checked his watch. “I’d say about six hours? Maybe seven?”

  Hale took a moment to process what he’d said. Two nearly complete strangers—one leaving behind a son—had embarked on a suicide mission to bring her back to the NevoTech campus so she could treat injured people neither of them had ever met.

  “What?” said David.

  She realized she had been staring at them for a little too long.

  “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this,” said Hale, shaking her head. “I mean, who are you people?”

  “How long did you work in the ER before finally making your way to Chang’s?” said David.

  “I don’t know. Maybe seventy-two hours?” she said.

  “On how much sleep?”

  “A few hours here and there.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I was ordered to leave by Dr. Owens, the acting head of the ER. I wanted to stay, but the National Guard showed up with some bizarre plan that he seemed to think would be a problem.”

  “You’re just like any of us,” said David. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  For the first time in over three days, she felt slightly buoyed, once again ready to tackle anything.

  Chapter 26

  David rushed past Mitch to get into the security hub, where his son, Joshua, had remained during Dr. Hale’s rescue. The overwhelming reality of his son’s recent torment hadn’t fully sunk in until the moment they reached the door to the hub. Joshua had helplessly experienced the entire ordeal from this room, watching and listening to his father under repeated attack.

  “Joshua!” he said, searching the room for his son.

  His son stood up from one of the computer stations in front of Gary Hoenig. He tore his headphones off and ran to his dad. They hugged for several seconds, David finally grabbing him by his shoulders and looking into his watery eyes.

  “You okay?” said David.

  Joshua nodded. “I don’t want to be apart ever again.”

  “We won’t. I promise,” said David. “I had to go out there this time, but that’s it. We lie low until dark. Then get out of here.”

  “I tried to keep him distracted. Your son has been a big help in here. Took over all of the remote monitoring while I focused on you and—” Hoenig paused, unable to speak.

  “Dan will not be forgotten,” said David. “Dr. Hale wants to—”

  “Mitch already briefed me,” said Hoenig. “I’m grateful. I don’t think I could face his wife. Certainly not alone.”

  “You won’t be alone,” said David. “When the helicopters leave and things quiet down, we’ll go out there and cut him out of the turnstile. Bury him properly and bring the family over. Something like that. They can’t see him like this.”

  “I’m glad someone’s thinking,” said Hoenig. “I can barely function after that.”

  “You’ve been functioning just fine,” said David, turning to the screens. “What do we have so far? I heard helicopters. Black Hawks by the sound of it.”

  Hoenig selected one of the smaller peripheral screens and sent it to the center of the screen bank. The tops of several buildings appeared.

  “I have this camera set to panoramic mode, centered on Chang’s apartment building. Nothing has arrived so far,” said Hoenig. “But I can hear helicopters.”

  “You have audio?” said David.

  “Yes,” he said, clicking his desktop mouse and filling the room with the unmistakable beat of helicopter rotors.

  “They’re here somewhere,” said David.

  “How wide are the streets?” said Hoenig.

  “Not wide enough for helicopters, and it’s crisscrossed with power lines,” said David, squeezing his son’s arm as he moved closer to the screen. “They’re probably hovering nearby, trying to contact the team. Assess the situation. My guess is they’ll fast rope a team down onto one of the rooftops. What’s the closest open area they could use fo
r landing?”

  Hoenig split the screen, displaying the satellite filtered Google Map overlay of the area next to the live feed of the building tops.

  “Our parking lot,” he said.

  “They won’t land here and travel there by foot,” said David. “They should have enough intel from their ground teams to avoid that kind of mistake. They might be able to land a bird on one of the nearby rooftops.”

  “The top of the parking garage could work,” said Joshua. “Tight squeeze but guaranteed to be solid.”

  Hoenig cast Joshua an admiring look.

  “Thousands of hours playing Call of Duty and Battlefield,” said David. “He probably knows more than either of us.”

  “My son is fifteen, and I wouldn’t dispute his knowledge of modern or historical equipment,” said Hoenig, zooming in on the top of the parking garage. “You were there. What’s your impression?”

  “A little tight, but they could use it as an insert and extract point,” said David, nodding at his son.

  “If they don’t draw the entire city to their location,” said Hoenig.

  A sharp, prolonged buzz saw sound cut through the rotor noise.

  “They have ways of rapidly dispersing crowds,” said David.

  “More like disintegrating,” said Joshua.

  “What the hell is that?” said Hoenig.

  David and Joshua responded at the same time. “Miniguns.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Hoenig, sitting back in his seat. “Look on the bright side. They might do us a favor and clear the streets.”

  “Let’s just hope they don’t do it anywhere close to NevoTech,” said David. “They could skip a few hundred 7.62mm bullets off the parking lot pavement and into this facility with one of those bursts.”

  Hoenig pointed at the screen. “There!”

  Two Black Hawk helicopters cruised into view from the right side of the screen, flying at rooftop level. One slowed and hovered over Chang’s apartment building for a few seconds before drifting forward and stopping over the parking garage. The helicopter turned ninety degrees until it nearly faced the camera.

  “What are they doing?” said Hoenig.

  Long bursts from the miniguns mounted on each side of the aircraft answered the question.

  “Sweeping the street,” said David.

  The second helicopter hung back for several bursts before moving forward and hovering over Chang’s building. Still appearing to be lined up with Virginia Avenue, the helicopter slowly descended until it vanished behind the building.

  “They’re going after Ochoa’s last reported location,” said David. “The other team leader.”

  “And what happens when they find him, you know—”

  “Dead?” said David. “I don’t know, but my guess is it won’t be pretty.”

  Chapter 27

  When Frank Ecker’s boots hit the hard asphalt surface, he released the thick rope and quickly moved away, making room for the next member of his team. He removed the heat-absorbing gloves used specifically for fast roping and tossed them to the deck. By the time he’d reached the rooftop access door a few seconds later, the rest of his team was on the deck, forming a tight perimeter around him.

  “Team deployed,” he said over the tactical net. “All clear below.”

  There was no reply. With a heavy thud, the rope struck the rooftop and the helicopter drifted away into a nearby over-watch position.

  “Valkyrie, this is Ajax. Leave your sniper team on the rooftop, covering the VIP’s apartment. We’re seeing broken windows on both sides of the street, corresponding to both target apartments.”

  “Copy,” he said, turning to the sniper team crouched next to him. “Any questions?”

  They shook their heads and took off for the street-facing side of the roof.

  “Let’s get this over with,” said Ecker.

  D-Bird, their breacher, slid his short-barreled M500A2 shotgun out of its over-the-shoulder scabbard and placed the tip of the barrel against the doorknob. Ecker stepped away and nodded, the shotgun booming simultaneously.

  The frangible metal-powder slug penetrated the doorknob, obliterating the lock mechanism. Ecker kicked the hollow steel door, which flew inward and banged against the stairwell wall. He triggered his rifle-mounted light and scanned the interior. Nothing waiting for them below except concrete stairs. He’d been briefed about the situation on the ground—though the briefing had been complete bullshit.

  You didn’t clear civilians from the streets with miniguns in any biological warfare scenario he’d war-gamed in his career, or any scenario for that matter. This was something different, and he didn’t want to get caught up in it. He’d been told to shoot first, then shoot again—and that was exactly what he intended to do.

  Ecker descended the stairs, reaching another locked door. Shit. They’d made enough noise already. He signaled for D-Bird. It didn’t really matter. In and out of here in sixty seconds. That was the plan. The shotgun blast left his ears slightly ringing, the concrete stairwell intensifying the already harsh sound waves. D-Bird sheathed the shotgun and produced a compact crowbar, hitting the doorknob sharply with the curved chisel end and punching through the door. He pulled sharply on the tool, swinging the door inward.

  The four operators slipped into the third-floor hallway, Ecker immediately identifying their target location by the door, which had been blasted open, and the dozen or more bullet holes in the wall around it. He lowered his helmet visor for a quick skim of his heads-up display, finding no change to the missing team leader’s status. MIA/HIGHPROB-MISSIONINTERCEPT. Missing in action with a high probability of a mission intercept. By who? Nobody seemed to have that answer, so he wasn’t taking any chances.

  A series of hand signals set his team in motion. Weatherman and Horton, his primary shooters, stacked up on the door, ready to enter the room. After each of them nodded, D-Bird pulled the pin on a flash-bang grenade and released the safety lever, waiting far too long for Ecker’s comfort to toss it inside. The two shooters poured into the room a fraction of a second after the detonation, clearing their sectors. Ecker and D-Bird followed, and they all pushed farther inside the hazy, bullet-shredded room.

  “I have two KIA,” said Weatherman, crouching near the couch. “Living area and kitchen clear.”

  “Concur. Visible areas clear,” said Horton.

  “Secure the rest of the apartment,” said Ecker.

  When the team vanished into the bedroom hallway, he took a close look at the grisly scene, not sure what to make of it. He immediately recognized the dead men as Paul Ochoa and Dan Ripley. Both of the men had been shot multiple times, in various locations, but Ochoa had a bullet hole right in the center of the forehead—surrounded by the blackened powder tattooing associated with near-contact gunshot wounds. This guy had been executed, possibly while seated in the dining room chair that had been moved behind the couch. None of it made sense, and it didn’t matter. He was here to confirm the missing team leader’s status and look for signs of that team’s VIP.

  “The rest of the apartment is clear,” said Weatherman. “Nothing unusual. No signs of struggle or recent occupancy.”

  “Copy that,” said Ecker. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He picked up the CTAB lying next to the murdered team leader and stuffed it inside a secure pouch attached to his vest. A final look around the room led to a discovery he’d surprisingly missed until now. One of their rifles was missing. A suppressed, longer-barreled HK416 lay on the couch, like it had been discarded. Another piece of a puzzle he had no interest in solving. He transmitted over the net, “Ajax, this is Valkyrie. Ochoa and Ripley KIA in apartment. CTAB recovered. No sign of VIP. Moving to primary extract point.”

  He slapped Horton on the back and the team slid out of the apartment, the piercing buzz of the helicopters’ miniguns leaving him with an uneasy feeling. Who the hell was still pushing their luck against guns that fire a hundred rounds per second? Something had gone really fucking wro
ng in this city, and he couldn’t wait to get as far away from it as possible.

  Chapter 28

  Karyn Archer, call sign Ajax, kept a stone face as she listened to Ecker’s report, even though she wanted to scream and throw someone out the open helicopter door. How the hell could Chang have vanished? Ochoa had reported everything under control, with the scientist in custody—less than fifteen fucking minutes ago! Nobody was going anywhere until they had some answers.

  “This is Ajax. What is your immediate assessment of what happened in that apartment?”

  “Something doesn’t add up. The apartment door was breached with compact charges from the hallway, but the apartment is riddled with bullets that came through the balcony sliders. Ochoa and Ripley both had several gunshot wounds. Whoever fired into the apartment couldn’t have been worried about the VIP.”

  “Or they didn’t care,” said Archer.

  “Someone cared enough to shoot Ochoa in the forehead at extremely close range. Powder burn pattern suggests an execution. It’ll take an FBI forensics team to make sense of the rest of this mess.”

  “No sign of the VIP?”

  “Nothing,” said Ecker. “I’d be surprised if he was ever here.”

  She thought about the situation for a few moments. Ecker was right. Little to none of what she’d just heard made sense. Ochoa had been sitting on Chang’s apartment for several hours, with no sign of the scientist, then suddenly reports Chang in custody—only to be found executed less than fifteen minutes later. This whole thing was a massive cluster fuck. None of the teams had located Chang prior to Ochoa’s report.

  Actually, nothing she’d heard all night made sense. Larsen’s team had suddenly gone offline shortly after landing at Chang’s residence northwest of the city. She had sent Ragan’s nearby team to investigate Larsen’s silence, only to divert her to the city when Archer received a bizarre tip regarding Chang’s whereabouts.

  A 10th Mountain Division emergency broadcast bulletin had been flagged by the CHASE system, detailing a gun battle at a regional airport northwest of Indianapolis. A small group of civilians had somehow managed to blow up a forward refueling point to cover their escape—in an aircraft registered to Dr. Eugene Chang.