“Here, take this,” said Grace, handing Mitchell an assault rifle.
“Nate, time to go,” said Mitchell to his friend.
“Happy to oblige,” replied Jackson as he turned the Zodiac away from the platform and headed as fast as he could back out into the open sea.
Mitchell sat back and looked one last time at the platform. The fire, like a living beast, was consuming everything in its path. He thought about McMasters for a moment and wondered if he had been killed in the fiery blast. His gut told him otherwise. He knew their paths would cross again.
24
The Oil Rig
McMasters left the fire-control team to fight the growing fire. He staggered back to the control room and pulled the door open. Stepping inside, he grabbed the first phone he could see and placed a call. A second later, a man answered the call.
“Listen up,” said McMasters, “I need a helicopter, and I need it right away.”
“I have one getting ready to fly emergency personnel to your location,” replied the man.
“Screw that!” snapped McMasters. “Fill it with soldiers and fly it out here immediately. The people who sabotaged this rig are trying to escape out to sea.”
“Si, señor,” replied the man. “It will be on its way in five minutes.”
“Make it two,” said McMasters, ending the call.
In the dark, bouncing across the top of the waves, Jackson gunned the Zodiac’s engine for all it was worth. Unlike the military versions of the Zodiac, this boat didn’t have a V-shaped hull that would have allowed it to cut through the waves; instead, it bounced over the top of them like a bucking bronco. He looked through his NVGs and tried to spot their fishing boat. It was going to be tough as their ship had taken refuge among a dozen or so other vessels a couple of kilometers away.
Mitchell bent forward, looked over the bow of the boat, and saw a tall, dark wave coming towards them. He barely had time to hold on before the Zodiac hit it head-on. Like a shark leaping out of the water, the Zodiac rose up nosefirst, almost flipping over. Mitchell and Grace had to hang onto the ropes running along the side of the Zodiac to avoid being sent flying into the Caribbean. Water splashed over the sides of the Zodiac, soaking everyone.
Mitchell hollered at Jackson to slow down.
Jackson slowed the engine.
It was Mitchell who saw it first, a flashing light racing across the darkened horizon. He watched as the light raced over the top of the fishing fleet and turned towards the burning oil rig. A second later, a powerful searchlight mounted under the nose of a Venezuelan military helicopter switched on. A bright-white circle of light sped across the surface of the water.
It was looking for them.
Mitchell turned around and looked for the spare rifles Grace had put inside the Zodiac. He swore when he saw that weapons were all gone, thrown over the side when they’d hit the last wave head on.
“Hang on,” called out Nate as he turned the boat away from the bright spotlight surging across the water towards them.
Mitchell grabbed hold of a rope just as Jackson swerved hard to the right. A couple of seconds later, the light raced over the spot where they had just been. He was about to say something when he spotted Jackson’s silenced assault rifle lying on the waterlogged floor of the Zodiac by his feet. Crawling over, he scooped it up, quickly removed the suppressor, and ejected the magazine. Mitchell shook his head when he saw that there were perhaps no more than ten rounds remaining.
Mitchell leaned close to Jackson. “Try and keep us in the dark as long as you can. I’ll try to take out the searchlight.”
“Ten to one, the pilot and some of the crew have NVGs on,” replied Jackson. “We won’t remain hidden for long.”
“I know,” answered Mitchell solemnly. “Just do your best.”
Mitchell looked up into the night sky and watched as the helicopter banked over, quickly lining itself up for another run. Within seconds, the bright searchlight found the Zodiac.
It had them.
No matter how many turns Jackson did, he couldn’t shake the light.
Above, the helicopter slowed down and hovered in the air. A young door-gunner took aim and pulled back the trigger on his GPMG. Tracer rounds shot through the air, striking the water less than ten meters away from the Zodiac.
“Aim for the engine,” ordered the pilot.
The gunner acknowledged the order and adjusted his aim. His finger edged back over onto the trigger.
Mitchell flipped his weapon’s selector switch to semi-automatic to conserve his precious ammunition and took aim at the bright light hanging underneath the front of the helicopter. His first shot missed; however, his second round shattered the light, plunging the world around them back into darkness.
“Good shooting, Ryan,” yelled Jackson as he gunned the Zodiac’s engine, trying to put some distance between them and their pursuer.
“They’ll be back,” replied Mitchell. As if to emphasize his statement, another long burst of automatic gunfire shot down from the sky, hitting the water right behind Jackson, showering him.
Mitchell dropped down on his back and took aim at the large dark shape as it moved around to allow the door-gunner a better shot at the fleeing Zodiac. Mitchell took a deep breath and held it. Just before the gunner opened fire, Mitchell fired off two shots into the open door on the side of the helicopter, hoping to kill or scare off the gunner. Mitchell never saw his rounds strike home in the dark.
Blood poured from the door-gunner’s shoulder. In pain, he called out for help. The crew chief reached over and pulled the injured man back inside the crew compartment. He hurried to stem the bleeding.
“Bring us around,” said the pilot to his co-pilot. He could hear the cries of his injured man in his headset. Cursing whoever was down there, the pilot wanted revenge.
The helicopter banked over.
The pilot looked out his side of the glass canopy and tried to spot the Zodiac through his NVGs. “Felipe, when we come about I want you to kill those bastards,” said the pilot to the door-gunner on the other side of the helicopter.
“Si, señor,” replied the gunner, as he pulled back on the charging lever of his GPMG.
On the water’s surface, Mitchell watched as the helicopter gained some height and lined itself up for another run at them.
“The Motorola, pass me the damn Motorola,” called out Grace.
Jackson pulled it from his belt and handed it to Mitchell, who quickly moved forward to give it to Grace.
Grace snatched the radio and passed an order to her partner on the fishing boat. Mitchell hadn’t expected to hear her speaking Japanese. She clearly was multilingual. He knew it would have to wait, but he wondered what other skills Grace possessed.
“What are you planning to do?” Mitchell asked Grace.
“You’ll see,” replied Grace. “Tell Jackson to head as fast as he can for the fishing boats.”
“If we do that, I’ll never be able to get off an aimed shot.”
“Give it up, Ryan, you’ll never bring down that helicopter with your rifle,” said Grace. “Tell Jackson to give it.”
Mitchell wasn’t sure what Grace was up to; however, as he saw it, their options were limited either way. He told Jackson to gun the outboard motor. Like a prized racehorse hearing the starter’s bell, the Zodiac leapt forward and surged over the top of the water, heading straight towards the middle of the fishing fleet.
Mitchell looked behind them and saw the helicopter dive out of the sky like some kind of prehistoric animal. He prayed that Grace had an ace up her sleeve, or they were going to be shot to ribbons in the next few seconds.
On the deck of the fishing boat, Midori listened for the tone emitted by the weapon in her hands to reach a high pitch. Gently switching from safe to armed, she held her breath and pulled back on the trigger. A brilliant, blinding light flashed in front of her eyes as a missile shot out of a long tube and raced straight for the unsuspecting Venezuelan helicopter. Se
conds later, the missile’s one-kilogram warhead struck the engine compartment, instantly blasting it into thousands of pieces.
Mitchell’s mind barely had time to register what was happening. He saw a streak of light from the missile’s tail as it flew straight at the doomed helicopter. A second later, there was an explosion as the missile hit its target, followed almost immediately by a bright, orange-and-red fireball as the helicopter’s fuel tanks exploded. For a moment, the helicopter hung in the night sky, burning bright like a star. With another thunderous explosion, it began to tumble from the sky towards the dark waters of the Caribbean. Mitchell knew that everyone on board the helicopter was dead. No one could have survived the blast.
“Do you have any more surprises you wish to share with Nate and me?” Mitchell asked Grace.
Grace looked over, grinned at Mitchell, and shook her head.
A minute later, Jackson pulled up beside their fishing boat. Midori was waiting for them with a Russian SA-18 anti-aircraft weapon in her hands. Mitchell was first out of the boat. He turned around and helped Grace and Jackson on board the fishing vessel. Mitchell let go of the rope and watched as their Zodiac faded into the dark, carried away by the current.
“That’ll give them something else to look for,” said Mitchell.
“Folks, I don’t want to be the negative one here, but by shooting down that helicopter we just declared war on Venezuela,” asserted Jackson.
“Well, it was a clear case of them or us,” observed Mitchell.
“I’m not saying that it wasn’t,” replied Jackson. “It’s just that this place is soon going to be crawling with Venezuelan ships and helicopters looking for their downed chopper, and I for one don’t want to be put up against the wall and shot as an imperialist Yankee saboteur.”
Mitchell looked over at Grace. “Please tell me you have a contingency plan?”
“I do,” replied Grace confidently. Walking to the wheelhouse, Grace told the old man what she wanted him to do. Within seconds, the boat was sailing away from the other boats and picking up speed as it made straight for the lights of a fishing village on the shoreline.
“Don’t you think the authorities are going to think it’s a little strange that we’re heading for port?” Jackson asked Grace.
“If we stay out at sea, we’ll be found for sure,” replied Grace. “This way we have a chance to swim to shore before anyone arrives to board this ship.”
“Swim?” said Jackson as if the word was poison.
“Yeah. When we’re about a kilometer from the shore, we’re all going over the side.”
“Jesus, I haven’t had to swim that far since Ranger school, and that was a million years ago.”
“Me neither,” added Mitchell. “But look, you’re already soaked to the bone; consider this your workout for the day.”
When Jackson spotted Midori laying several spear guns on the deck, his dismay grew. “What are those for?”
“Sharks,” explained Grace. “There aren’t many reported around here, but better safe than sorry.”
“Wonderful,” muttered Jackson.
“You worry too much,” said Mitchell as he began to strip down for the swim. “Besides, look at things this way: once we get ashore, I have no doubt that the entire Venezuelan police force as well as their armed forces will be looking for us. The swim ashore is going to be a picnic compared to getting out of Venezuela before being arrested for sabotaging a multi-billion-dollar oil rig and shooting down a helicopter.”
“When you say it like that, I can’t wait to get in the water,” replied Jackson sarcastically.
Mitchell said to Grace, “I take it you have someone waiting to pick you up?”
“I do, but I had only planned for Midori and me,” replied Grace. “Our arrangement as I see it is now over. We’ve both failed. Whatever was in the probe that my employers wanted is now gone, and I somehow doubt that McMasters is dead. I’ve learned the hard way that cockroaches don’t die that easy.”
Mitchell didn’t know what to say. Grace was right. They had failed.
“Look, I’ll get you two into Caracas, but after that, you’re on your own,” said Grace.
“Fair enough,” replied Mitchell. He turned his head and looked up into the night sky. He spotted the North Star and silently prayed that General O’Reilly had contacts in this part of the world that could help them. If not, their future was bleak indeed.
25
Saint Petersburg State University
Saint Petersburg, Russia
More than nine thousand kilometers away, Jen fidgeted nervously on her seat while the old fluorescent bulb above her head buzzed loudly as it flickered on and off. She was tired and wished nothing more than to get back to their hotel, so she could take a long hot shower before crawling into bed.
Their trip from the rickety old barn where they had taken refuge to Saint Petersburg had thankfully been uneventful. The moment the snowstorm died down, Yuri went in search of help. He returned less than an hour later with a mustard-yellow Lada station wagon that looked like it was being held together by pieces of fraying duct tape. After dropping Pasha with an army buddy of his from the war, Yuri drove them to the Saint Petersburg State University. Professor Sergei Zharov, an old and trusted colleague of Tokarev’s, was waiting for them.
“Who wants some breakfast?” announced Yuri loudly, as he walked into the room with his hands full of food and coffee from a nearby McDonalds.
Cardinal jumped out of his seat to help Yuri hand out the food.
Sam dug through the bags and gave Yuri a disgusted look. “Yuri, I asked for some yogurt, where is it?”
“Sorry, little lady, this is Russia, not Los Angeles,” replied Yuri. “Here, have an egg sandwich.”
Sam grimaced, took the food, and then rummaged through the bags in search of some ketchup to make it more appetizing.
After taking a couple of coffees over to Tokarev and Zharov, Jen pulled up her stool and sat down. “Have you been able to learn anything new?” she asked Tokarev.
“Yes, plenty,” replied Tokarev. “Sergei agrees with my initial observation that the sample dug out the rock on the Moon contained genetic material and not platinum as you were told. He also concurs that what they found is a pathogen of some kind.”
“Has he been able to identify what type of pathogen it may be?”
“Not yet, he’s a very cautious man. He will examine every clue several times before he gives us an answer,” explained Tokarev.
His friend slowly got up from the table, stretched out his aching back and slowly shuffled over to a shelf piled high with old textbooks.
“I don’t understand,” said Jen. “How could something survive the deadly levels of radiation in outer space, not to mention the airless vacuum? Wouldn’t it need oxygen to live?”
“There are plenty of microbes that live deep within rocks or in environments lacking air. If we find life on another planet, chances are it will be microbial.”
“This is all heady stuff.” Jen took a sip of her coffee.
Tokarev looked over at Jen’s his face grave. “Jen, have you ever heard of a theory called panspermia?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Some people believe that life exists in abundance throughout the universe and that it is moved about by comets, asteroids, or comets. Some even go so far as to say that life here in Earth came from the stars.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Tokarev with a shrug. “There have been attempts in the past to prove this hypothesis; however, to the best of my knowledge all have failed under intense scientific scrutiny. That’s not to say it’s not true, it just means no one has proven it yet.”
Professor Zharov sat back down at the table and opened a book. He licked his thumb and flipped through the pages. He stopped when he found the article he was looking for. Zharov quietly read the article and with a troubled look on his face, he struck up a lively disc
ussion with his old friend.
Jen looked from man to man as they debated something in Russian. Finally, unable to take it anymore, she cut in. “Gentlemen, what is it? Has Professor Zharov discovered something?”
Tokarev said, “Sergei believes that the probe found an anthrax-like pathogen on the Moon.”
“Anthrax!” blurted out Sam from across the floor. Instantly, she was up on her feet. She walked straight over to the table and said, “Did he say that they found anthrax on the Moon?”
“Sergei said anthrax-like,” replied Tokarev. “Please don’t forget the instrumentation on board the Luna 15 probe was extremely rudimentary compared to the probes sent to Mars these days.”
“No wonder your people tried to destroy it back in 1969,” said Jen. “Who knows what would have happened if it had crash-landed near a city.”
“At the time I was bitter and angry at my government for covering up the truth,” said Tokarev. “Now I can see why they did it.”
“Can you scan for me all of your notes and the information from the probe?” asked Jen.
“Of course,” replied Tokarev.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked Jen.
“We need a second opinion. Mike Donaldson is bound to have connections at the CDC who will be able to better interpret this data.”
“Yeah, smart idea,” replied Sam. “What do you want to do next?”
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a hot shower and a change of clothes. I can forward the information to Mike via the laptop in my room at the hotel.”
“A shower sounds good right now. I’ll tell Yuri and Gordon what’s going on.”
Jen turned Zharov’s book towards her and looked down at the pictures of Russian soldiers in chemical suits examining the effects of weaponized anthrax on a flock of dead sheep. Right away, a cold shiver ran down her spine. There was no doubt in her mind that the people who had stolen the probe and murdered Maria were after the pathogen. The question she had was…why.
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