Then Jack shoved the pen into Mikhailov’s chest.
Mikhailov opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He clenched his hands at his sides and banged his feet against the top of one of the drums.
Had the pen been a needle, Jack remembered that he would have left it in. But the pen wouldn’t let any air into the chest cavity, which was the whole point.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled it back out again.
Mikhailov moved his right hand over the wound, covering it. Jack tried to get him to move it away, but Mikhailov shook his head as he inhaled. Miraculously, he was able to take a partial breath. As he exhaled, he lifted his hand from the wound, then covered it again when he took his next breath. He was able to breathe more deeply, and as Jack watched, Mikhailov’s color began to return to normal.
Jack leaned back against the bulkhead to the cockpit, relief flooding through him.
“Rudenko taught me about this,” Mikhailov said as Jack wiped the blood from his friend’s mouth.
“The old bastard probably operated on himself.” Jack smiled, thinking of what a character Rudenko had been. It seemed like a lifetime since his death.
“Thank you, my friend.”
Jack nodded, but didn’t smile. “You’re still bleeding inside, you know.”
“About that, there is nothing we can do. I will settle for being able to breathe again.”
“What is happening?” Khatuna’s shout caught them both by surprise.
“He’s okay,” Jack told her. “He’s going to be okay.”
“You might have wasted your time,” she called back. “I think the Air Force has found us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When Morgan revealed the destination of the Boeing 727, Hathcock, the sniper, was less than enthused.
“Grand Island, Nebraska?” He turned to Naomi, a grimace on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Is there something about the good state of Nebraska that you don’t like, Mr. Hathcock?” Morgan favored the sniper with a quizzical look over steepled fingers as he sat at the main conference table with Naomi, Hathcock, Boisson, and Harmony.
“It’s where this whole story began,” Naomi told him. “This new generation of harvesters was born in the research labs at Lincoln Research University, which was really nothing more than a New Horizons front operation to lure in geneticists like me. Before the Sutter Buttes incident when the Earth Defense Society was branded a terrorist organization, we recruited an FBI agent, Sheldon Crane, to help us get into the lab to find out exactly what the harvesters were up to. He found what we needed, the first samples of what you know as the Beta-Three corn, but it cost him his life.” She looked up at Morgan. “They vivisected him, cut him apart, looking for the corn, while he was still alive.”
“Then there was our little op at the New Horizons production plant.” Hathcock took a sip of coffee. “That was here, too.”
“So that really was you.” Morgan raised his eyebrows. “You don’t believe in half measures, do you. Harvesters weren’t the only living beings you killed.”
“We had no choice.” Hathcock’s voice, like his eyes, turned hard. “As it was, one of the damned things nearly got away.” He could still picture the harvester in the sights of his rifle, running on all fours to safety before he blew it to flaming bits.
Morgan held up his hands in mock surrender. Naomi could see that the gesture made Hathcock angry, and she shook her head slightly. Now’s not the time.
Hathcock got the message and clamped his mouth shut.
“Why Grand Island?” Naomi cocked her head. “And why in the world would anyone give a name like that to a town in Nebraska?”
“I’ll take the second question first: I don’t know, but I wish it really was a grand island. Then it might be a bit more balmy than it must be now, this early in the year. As for the second question, I have to confess that the choice of location was a bit of industrial brinkmanship. I wanted to position our company to start a new division that could compete with New Horizons. To do that, I needed our people to learn what our competitors had learned, to put them in a similar environment. We could have put the division in Lincoln, but that would have been a little too obvious with the research university there.” He nodded toward Naomi. “Yes, like you, we knew that was basically a research center for New Horizons. We couldn’t match that, but we did have a few sources of information there that helped things along.”
“More spying?” Boisson sat back, arms folded across her chest.
Morgan shrugged. “Call it what you will, Agent Boisson, but it boils down to competition. And not that it’ll make any difference to you, but we knew that New Horizons had their share of sources in my company. Fair’s fair.”
“Well, the location aside, we’re going to need some special equipment from the SEAL lab,” Naomi said, “and I’m not sure you fully understand just how tough it’s going to be to create a containment chamber for that thing.” She nodded toward the bottled harvester, which was being closely observed by the two cats.
“It looks like a big glass jug and a metal cap is working just fine.” Morgan smiled, but his quip failed to lighten Naomi’s mood. He sighed. “The equipment you want from SEAL is already on its way, courtesy of your friend Renee in Washington. As for the containment chambers, we have several large ones, originally intended for controlled crop plantings, that actually should work well. My people are modifying them as we speak to completely seal them and eliminate anything that’s not from the mineral kingdom, as it were. When they’re done, which should be before we land, we’ll be ready to handle our little friend there.” He glanced toward the carboy and the squirming larva.
“Just make sure the chambers can handle our tiny tot when he grows up,” Boisson told him. “The adults are like threshing machines.”
Morgan nodded. “We’re reinforcing one of the smaller chambers with steel, and are also adding a sensor pod with a taser-like device. Renee sent my people the schematics from the containment lab at the SEAL facility to work from.”
Boisson cocked her head. “Your people must be working awfully fast.”
“For what I’m paying them, they’d better be.”
* * *
Their arrival at the Central Nebraska Regional Airport was uneventful, and after Ferris shut down the aircraft and opened the door, everyone filed down the mobile stairway into the cold Nebraska air.
“I hope there’s a stash of coats close by or we’re going to freeze,” someone muttered.
While the operational areas of the airport and the roads were clear, there was a dusting of snow everywhere else.
“Don’t worry,” Morgan said, loud enough so everyone could hear. “You’ll have everything you need where we’re going.”
Waiting for them was a group of big SUVs with four Nebraska Army National Guard Hummers, two at the lead and two bringing up the rear of the convoy. The barrels of the big .50 caliber machine guns protruded over the gun shields on the top of each vehicle, the muzzles pointed in alternating directions, with a soldier manning each one.
“Talk about loaded for bear,” Boisson said quietly to Naomi.
Naomi nodded, noting that the machine guns weren’t locked in their travel positions. The soldiers had their hands on the triggers, and their eyes weren’t watching her and the others as they disembarked, but were scanning the approaches to the plane.
“A special request I made to the governor,” Morgan said, noticing where Naomi was looking, “backed up by Agent Boisson’s superiors. A prudent measure for troubled times.”
Boisson frowned. “A more prudent measure would have been a platoon of M1 tanks.”
“Unfortunately, even I don’t have that much pull, Agent Boisson. Now, if you’ll just get in, we can be on our way.”
Naomi was about to get into the SUV with the agent carrying the harvester, but Boisson guided her to the lead vehicle, where Morgan was waiting.
“No way are you riding with th
at thing,” Boisson said. “If there was an accident, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Then I’d be dead, too, because Richards said he’d kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
Trying to conceal her relief, Naomi followed Morgan into the lead vehicle. Boisson, Hathcock, and Harmony got in behind her.
Morgan called to the driver. “Let’s go.”
The driver spoke into his headset, and a few seconds later the convoy was moving.
“Hathcock, can I borrow your phone?”
“Sure.” He pulled his phone out and handed it to her.
Naomi dialed Jack’s number again. She’d dialed it several times on the flight out of San Bernardino, but the only thing she’d gotten was an out of service message.
“He’s still not answering?” Boisson asked.
“No. God, I hope he’s all right.” She handed the phone back to Hathcock. “And you left my phone back in LA, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I put it in one of the evidence boxes with the other stuff from your office. I meant to bring it to you at the safe house, but when I got orders to get the tac team together…” She shrugged. “As soon as we get this sorted out, I’ll get you a new one. Whatever color you want.”
Despite her worries about Jack, Naomi had to smile. “Purple, I think.”
“Done.”
Morgan’s phone chimed. “Yes?” He listened for a moment, looking at Naomi. “You’re sure it’s secure?” The other person said something more, and Morgan winced. “Here,” he said, handing the phone to Naomi. “It’s your friend Renee.”
Surprised, Naomi took the phone. “Renee? What’s going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, hon. But tell that bonehead billionaire that I know my stuff.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Our pet adult harvester. We’ve got one.”
Naomi caught her breath. She would have loved to capture one in Los Angeles, but just getting one of the larval forms had nearly done them all in. “That’s wonderful! When will it be at Morgan’s facility in Nebraska?”
“It’s already here. We’re here. We got in a couple hours ago, and they dragged the harvester in here maybe half an hour ago. Christ, I can’t remember the last time I slept, and I’ve got coffee in my veins and pouring out my bladder.”
“Renee, stop babbling!” Naomi rolled her eyes heavenward. “Who’s ‘we,’ and where did the harvester come from? If it was snatched in LA, we should’ve known about it.”
“Carl and I are here. Well, he’ll be here tonight. He sent me out early with some of the former EDS and SEAL folks to make sure these guys have a clue about what they’re doing. I have to admit, though, that Morgan runs a tight ship. This place isn’t as cool as our old base was, but I think it’ll do.”
“What about the harvester?”
“Yeah, the harvester. That was a fast-moving lucky break for us. The goddamn thing was on a plane out of Los Angeles that left earlier this morning, before flights out of there were cancelled, and it got off in Kansas City. It was mimicking a woman and had her boarding pass, ID, and everything else. It even ordered drinks on the plane. Talk about chutzpah.”
“How did they catch it?”
“They didn’t. The stupid thing walked out of the terminal and stepped right in front of one of the shuttle buses. I guess traffic etiquette wasn’t part of whatever it learned from its victim. The legs were crushed and it sustained some other injuries, and the airport security team had the good sense to wrap it up in nylon straps while it was still stunned. They called the FBI and Carl found out about it, of course, so he had them fly it up here. We’ve got it in one of the adult containment cells now, and it’s mad as hell. The gal it’s mimicking had a really impressive vocabulary. May God rest her soul.”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Yeah. They’re already out. That’s why Carl’s going to be late getting out here: there’s another big wheels meeting at the White House. The FBI and Homeland Security are going nuts trying to track down all the flights that left before the airports were closed to see where the next outbreaks might be.” She paused again. “Counting all the passenger planes, cargo jets, and small planes, there were a lot, both here in the U.S. and overseas.”
“Are they trying to get the overseas flights turned around?”
“The U.S. planes, yes, but we don’t have any jurisdiction over the foreign airlines. The State Department’s working on that, trying to at least warn the countries where those planes are heading so security is ready. Well, as ready as they can be for these nightmares.”
In Naomi’s mind, she saw a deadly spider’s web expanding away from Los Angeles and spreading across the world. There wouldn’t, of course, be a harvester on every plane; the chances of that were astronomical. But if even a fraction of them had harvesters aboard, many of those planes would have already reached their destinations by now, and the harvesters would have escaped. Chance had favored her new team with the mishap suffered by the harvester in Kansas City, but they couldn’t count on that happening very often.
“Jesus,” she breathed.
“Yeah, I know.” Lowering her voice, Renee said, “I’m shaking, Naomi, and it’s not just from the coffee or lack of sleep. I’ve never been this scared, even back at Sutter Buttes when one of those bastards almost got me when my fat ass was caught in the door to the lab.”
“Listen to me. I’m not going to tell you that everything’s going to be okay. You and I both know that it’s not, at least not for some time. But all of us have to be strong, Renee. Everyone’s counting on us, now. Shaking hands are okay. Being afraid is okay. Peeing out coffee is okay. But you’re not allowed to fall apart on me, all right? Especially with Jack away.” She almost said gone, but that sounded too final, too terrifying. She quickly blinked away her tears. She wasn’t about to cry in front of Boisson and Morgan. “Have you heard anything from him?”
“No, hon, I haven’t, but Carl did. Jack called him from Russia when he couldn’t get hold of either of us. Jack’s with Mikhailov and they’re okay.” She paused. “When you get here, I’ll tell you the rest of what he told me.”
That didn’t sound good, Naomi thought, and she bit back the urge to demand that Renee tell her now. “Okay. I’ll talk to you then.” After hanging up, she looked up at Morgan. “How long until we get there?”
Morgan nodded out the window at an expanse of stark white snow, in the midst of which was a gleaming silver and glass two-story structure. “We’re almost there.”
* * *
As the convoy approached the building, the vehicles passed through a checkpoint manned by Nebraska Army National Guard troops, backed up by a pair of armed Hummers. Naomi could see more soldiers at work, unloading materials from large CONEX storage boxes, and there were camouflage-painted bulldozers and ditch digging machines pushing snow and dirt around.
“They’re putting up a perimeter fence,” Morgan explained, and Naomi could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t happy about it. “Actually, they’re putting up two fences, one inside the other, both topped with barbed wire.” He pointed at a small structure some soldiers were building in between the fences. “Normally, they’d be using German Shepherds to patrol between the fences. Here, they’ll be using Maine Coon and Siberian cats that can stand up to the cold, and all the soldiers will be armed with incendiary ammunition and Tasers.”
“So the fences are to keep the harvesters in,” Naomi said.
“So they say.” Morgan shrugged. “And maybe us, too.”
The SUVs pulled up in front of the doors and stopped, and the team got out. Led by Morgan, they headed inside, where they were met by Renee.
“It’s good to see you, hon.” Renee threw her arms around Naomi, giving her a fierce hug, which Naomi returned.
“We brought you another inmate,” Naomi told her as they pulled away. She nodded at the larval harvester in the gla
ss carboy.
“Oh, great, another one!”
Naomi’s eyes widened as they began to follow Morgan through the outer vestibule, which had another set of thick coded access doors that hissed open with the help of hydraulics. “What?”
“The harvester we picked up in Kansas City spawned one of those little horrors right after you hung up. A bulge formed in its thorax and then — plop! — the thing fell away and splatted on the floor, just like that one in LA in that video footage we saw.”
“Have this one put into a containment chamber. I want to see the adult and its offspring.”
* * *
Morgan’s facility had four levels, two above ground and two below. The smaller containment chambers intended for the larval forms, which in many ways were deadlier than the adults, were on the lowest level. The elevators opened onto a central corridor that ran the length of the sub-basement, which was nearly two hundred feet long. Thick doors were spaced every thirty feet or so, and could isolate the various sections like watertight doors in a ship. The doors along the corridors were labeled, with about a third of them containing laboratories geared toward different specialties, and the rest split between storage and the containment chambers.
The chambers varied in size, ranging from what could accommodate a large dog to one that could comfortably hold a horse. They passed by a dozen men and women wearing hard hats who were putting the final touches on them.
“These chambers were intended for test animals, of course,” Morgan said as one of the technicians led them to a room that contained several of the smaller chambers. They followed the lab-coated woman through a door with a wheel that would have looked at home in a submarine. “They’ve been modified for our latest guests to eliminate anything that they might be able to attack. The chambers here are metal, but aren’t reinforced. However, this room,” he pointed above them, “has been reinforced with metal and ceramic, and there aren’t any penetrations through the metal except for the main door. All the sensors in here are wireless, and the main door has an expanding metal seal. So even if any of our little friends get out of their chambers, they can’t get out of this room.” He grinned, but the expression was totally devoid of humor. “And if they get unruly or the door is somehow breached, this little baby,” he pointed to a device on the ceiling that had two stainless steel tanks and several nozzles, “will burn them into ashes.”
The Last Days: Six Post-Apocalyptic Thrillers Page 37