***
Peter muttered a curse under his breath as the alarms started to howl, an automated voice informing the crew that a full internal lockdown was now in effect. He’d assumed they wouldn't remain undetected indefinitely, but the British had caught on faster than he’d expected. They must have been watching their computer network for signs of trouble, he thought, as he knelt down next to the badly wounded Captain. Or perhaps the virus had triggered a security alert. Using it had always been chancy.
“Hold still,” he muttered, as he produced the monofilament knife and held it against the Captain’s palm. “This will probably hurt.”
He sliced into the palm, digging through blood and gore for the implant. It was tiny, no larger than a penny, but it was the key to the operation. He pulled it free and pressed it against his own hand, making sure it was still covered in the Captain’s blood. As long as it thought it was still working for its rightful owner, using it shouldn't trigger alarms. Peter straightened up, pointed his gun at the Captain’s forehead, then decided against it. There was no point in wasting more bullets. The Captain would bleed to death if he didn't get medical assistance quickly, in any case.
Straightening up, he walked out of the hatch and walked down the corridor. The hatch at the far end was sealed, unsurprisingly, but he pushed the stolen implant against the sensor and it hissed open on command. The Captain had full authority on his ship, even to override a lockdown if necessary. Smiling to himself, Peter kept walking. The countdown was moving faster now.
***
“Admiral, they attempted to use the codes,” Parnell reported. “The entire ship is in lockdown.”
He hesitated. “And they may be going for the bioweapon.”
Ted swore. He’d missed the bioweapon ... but it made sense. If the Russians wanted to upset the peace terms, using the bioweapon would work perfectly. Either the aliens would be exterminated or the war would resume, more ruthless than ever before. And now his ship was under threat ...
“Sweep up the diplomats,” he ordered. “And then secure the entire ship.”
“I’ve already got a team heading to the bioweapon lab,” Parnell said. “But the security systems there may have been compromised. There’s a Russian researcher as part of the team.”
“They can't be compromised without two researchers,” Ted said. He’d checked the security precautions himself. “One person can't override them alone.”
Parnell snorted. “They’ve used blackmail, sir,” he said. “They could have someone else compromised ... or they could just force someone to open the hatches at pistol point. Not everyone has enough courage to refuse.”
Ted went cold. “Lockdown the entire ship,” he ordered. “Everything has to be completely secured.”
***
Polly MacDonald barely heard the alarm as she sat, wearing nothing apart from a pair of bikini panties, in front of a handful of aliens. The heat and moisture in the air made wearing anything else inadvisable, although she still felt embarrassed to show herself to anyone human. She doubted the aliens knew or cared that she was practically naked. Indeed, they were naked themselves.
She smiled, remembering some of the more absurd suggestions for what the aliens wanted from the war. Women was one of them; the theorists, who had watched too many stupid movies for their own good, had speculated that the aliens wanted to crossbreed with humans to produce a superior form of life. Given that alien and human DNA were completely different – that had been established right from the moment the first alien bodies had been recovered – it was clear that it was biologically impossible. But that hadn’t stopped an increasing number of silly stories – I Married An Alien was the tamest she’d seen – spreading through the datanet.
“We talk to solve problems,” the alien said. It’s companions said nothing audible to human ears, but the sensors picked up their words. “We discuss every last detail before we proceed.”
That, Polly decided, might explain the somewhat scatterbrained approach the aliens had taken to diplomatic meetings. Instead of deciding what they wanted beforehand, the aliens had changed their minds several times, probably because their internal consensus had kept shifting from one point to another. On one hand, she could see the value of having the most comprehensive consensus possible; on the other, she could easily see it causing another war in the future. To humans, it suggested that they weren't serious about negotiating.
She looked up, sharply, as the hatch hissed open. It wasn't locked – the crew didn't want to convince the alien guests that they were actually prisoners – but Polly had thought there was an understanding that she wouldn't be interrupted unless she called for help. The last time someone had entered the chamber she’d covered her breasts – and then had to explain her reflexive motion to the aliens. It had been an embarrassing and completely pointless conversation.
The man who had entered the chamber was carrying a large gun in one hand and a box in the other. Polly opened her mouth, but he shot the lead alien before she could say a word. She gasped in horror, which only succeeded in drawing his attention to her. His eyes were cold and utterly dispassionate as he looked her over, then returned to shooting aliens. The aliens themselves either tried to swim away – a hopeless task – or lunged forward. Polly, frozen to the spot, could only watch in helpless disbelief as the aliens were slaughtered.
And then the man pointed his gun at her. Polly watched him, too shocked to feel anything, as he studied her, then turned and walked away. She started to shake the moment the hatch closed behind him, clutching at one of the alien bodies. It felt leathery against her bare skin ...
Gathering herself, she reached for her communicator and hit the emergency alarm. But no one came.
***
“Security alert,” the tech said. “The alien diplomatic lounge.”
Charles nodded, grimly. There were meant to be several Marines keeping an eye on the aliens, but he’d withdrawn most of them to prepare to swoop down and seize the Russians before they could act. His mistake, he cursed himself, silently promising his dead men that he would avenge them. They’d clearly underestimated the Russian capacity for deception – or skill at hiding their talents. If they’d done so well, they were commandos or other special operatives. The Russians were masters at producing unstoppable men.
And they were clearly trying to sow as much confusion as possible.
“Move the reinforcements to secure the bridge and the other priority-one locations,” he ordered. “And tell the team heading towards the biological lab that they’re to haul ass.”
The tech nodded once. “Aye, sir,” he said.
Charles ground his teeth in frustration. The Russians had been tipped off in advance, he knew, which meant there was another spy on board. Probably someone assigned to the diplomatic sector, he guessed, and probably one of the diplomatic assistants. They’d have the access to see the treaty, even if it wasn't shared with the observers just yet. One of them had sent the data to the Russians and triggered their operation.
And there were too many problems and he couldn't react to them all with the forces he had on hand.
“Sir, Midshipwoman Jenkins just raised the alarm,” the tech said. “The Captain’s been shot!”
Another diversion, Parnell asked himself, or something more sinister?
“Tell her to do what she can for him,” Parnell ordered. Under lockdown, the bridge crew wouldn't be allowed to leave the bridge, even for a piss. Jenkins – he vaguely remembered her as a young officer, still wet behind the ears – would need help as quickly as possible. “And order a medical team to get to Officer Country as quickly as possible.”
He cursed, wishing he was out there with his men. It had been so much simpler on Target One. There, they’d known the enemy and how to engage him. Here ... he wasn't even sure where the enemy were or how many of them there were, save that they were on the ship. It would take far too long to sweep the entire hull, sealing corridors, passageways and maintenance tubes of
f as they moved. But what other choice did he have?
“Start working through the sealed compartments,” he ordered, bluntly. “I want their inhabitants to sound off, then remain where they are. It should shorten our search time.”
“Aye, sir,” the tech said.
Parnell rubbed his shaved head. This was not going to be easy.
***
They hadn't realised he'd injured – perhaps killed – the Captain, Peter decided, as he made his way through a series of sealed hatches. A handful of crewmen, trapped in sealed corridors, stared at him in disbelief, too stunned to do anything before he stunned them and kept moving. There was no point in trying to use the intership cars. The Royal Marines would have deactivated them as soon as the lockdown began and using the Captain’s override would certainly trigger alarms. And then they’d check with the Captain and redirect the intership car somewhere they could hold it until the time came to take him prisoner.
He slipped through another set of doors and smiled as he walked towards the biological research centre. Doctor Galina Bezukladnikov was standing in front of the hatch, her face utterly expressionless. She was beautiful, in a way, with long blonde hair and a perfect patrician face, but also dead to the world. Peter had heard rumours that women like her, reprogrammed to meet the state’s requirements, were sometimes used to service the high-ranking officials in the Kremlin. Why not? A programmed woman – or man, if the official’s tastes ran that way – would be calm, obedient and utterly discreet. Unless the FSB had done the reprogramming ...
You couldn't trust anyone in Russia completely, Peter knew, if you wanted to work in government. Trust was a dangerous liability.
“These are the vials,” Galina said. Her voice was as flat and cold as her eyes. “One vial, released onto the planet’s atmosphere, will be sufficient. Tests have proven that the world has been adapted for alien life forms, thus they share the same biochemistry. It will spread rapidly through the planet’s ecological system.”
“Good,” Peter said. He’d used bioweapons before on a mission that had never been revealed to anyone outside the Kremlin. “How long before the disease takes effect?”
“One month,” Galina informed him. “There will be ample time for it to spread undetected.”
Peter took the vials and pocketed them. “Stay here,” he ordered. Galina was important enough not to risk, but he had a feeling the British wouldn't be interested in taking prisoners after their Captain had been killed. “Wipe the databanks completely, make sure there’s no hope of a cure, then hold out as long as you can.”
He turned, then started to make his way back down the corridor. It wouldn't be long before the Royal Marines arrived, even though they’d have to check every compartment they passed for hostiles. His remaining forces, scattered through the ship, would be doing what they could to keep the British busy. But without access to the Captain’s ID codes, they’d have real problems getting beyond a few compartments ...
Shaking his head, he forced himself to run. Time was definitely not on his side.
***
“One of the Russians attacked Main Engineering,” Sergeant Potter reported. “We killed him as he broke through the hatch, sir.”
“Good,” Charles said. Eight Russians on the ship; two dead. That left six. At least two more of them were launching other divisions, forcing him to divert his forces to deal with them. “Keep the compartment sealed, then wait.”
He cursed under his breath. Surprise attacks were always treacherous; there were always moments when the entire situation seemed utterly beyond repair, as if chaos had swept up and taken over the world. It took years of training and experience to look beyond the chaos, to realise that the smoke and noise was no substitute for firepower and solid protections, but he had enough experience to handle it. Or so he told himself.
“Keep sweeping forward,” he ordered. He clicked a switch and displayed a holographic diagram of the carrier’s interior. Entire sections had been sealed and deemed cleared, for the moment. The crew trapped inside them would be unable to help or hinder the Royal Marines as they swept the remainder of the ship. But what did the Russians have in mind?”
His communicator buzzed. “Major, this is Hawthorne,” a voice said.
“Go ahead,” Charles said.
“We had to break into the biological compartment,” Hawthorne reported. “The Russian woman fired on us, so we ended up stunning her. I think the entire compartment has been thoroughly trashed. The consoles look like they’d detonated their self-destruct charges.”
“Secure the woman; take no chances,” Charles ordered. He’d seen enough female special operatives to know that they could be deadlier than their male counterparts. Men tended to underestimate women, particularly if they wore revealing clothes and simpered at all the right moments. The file said that Doctor Galina Bezukladnikov was a harmless biological researcher, but the Russians had lied before. They certainly hadn't declared the presence of their commandos attached to the observation team. “And then ...”
He broke off. “What happened to the other researchers?”
“Four of them are stunned,” Hawthorne said. “The others are presumably in their own quarters ...”
There was a pause. “There’s a bloody trail leading to the inner vault,” he added. “I think someone used his ID to break into the chamber, then left him there.”
“Get the other researchers up and force them to open the chamber,” Charles ordered, although he knew it might already be too late. The Russians had had one of their people on the research team. They could have killed the other researchers already. “And have a medical team standing by.”
He thought fast. The Russians had abandoned their mole, which meant ... they’d already taken the bioweapon. But where were they taking it?
They’d want to deploy it, he thought. They’d need to go to the shuttlebay and take a shuttle.
“Redeploy Platoon Four,” he ordered. The closest shuttlebay to the biological warfare compartment was quite some distance, but a trained commando could cover it in minutes. “They are to seal the shuttlebay completely, then deactivate the shuttles.”
He paused. “And pass the word to the other shuttlebays,” he added. There was always a maintenance crew assigned to each shuttlebay, even during lockdown. “They are to shut down their shuttlecraft completely.”
***
“The Captain was shot,” Doctor Hastings reported. “Admiral, they also hacked his implant out of his palm.”
Ted cursed. “Pass the word to the Marines,” he said. He had to admire the idea, even though he would have dismissed it if someone had suggested it to him. The lockdown, designed to keep the Russians from running amok, actually worked in their favour. His forces had to clear each compartment and reopen the hatches before making progress. “And then lock out the Captain’s command overrides.”
“It can't be done,” Janelle reminded him. “The Captain’s overrides are hardwired into the system.”
Ted cursed, understanding – finally – why the Russians had wanted the access codes. If they’d had the codes they could have crashed the entire datanet – and then used the Captain’s ID to bring it back up, selectively locking out the Royal Marines and the remainder of the ship’s crew. The Old Lady’s internal security precautions would have been turned against her legitimate owners.
“Then track his ID codes,” Ted ordered. “They’ll need to use them if they want to get anywhere.”
But where were they going? The shuttlebays were sealed. There was no other way off the ship, was there?
He smirked in honest admiration. Oh yes there was. And the Russians were devious bastards for thinking so far ahead. Their first blackmail victim had been the CAG, after all, someone who could give them the access they needed.
“Redeploy the Marines,” he ordered. “Tell them to secure the starfighter launch tubes.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“You know,” Rose said, “we should have a lockdown
more often.”
Kurt snorted. The moment they’d heard the alarms, they’d jumped into Kurt’s office before the hatch sealed, trapping them in the compartment. Alone, they hadn't wasted time; they’d stripped, made love and then dressed again before the alert could come to an end. It was in direct breach of the Admiral’s orders, but after so long he found it hard to care.
“I think we probably shouldn’t,” he said. There had been no call for starfighter pilots since they’d entered orbit, but he’d kept his crews on alert anyway. Who knew when the shit would hit the fan? “What happens if we come under attack now?”
Rose shrugged. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
“No,” Kurt answered. But the sinking feeling in his chest suggested one possible answer, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. The Russians were finally making their move. “It could be anything ...”
The hatch, which had been locked, hissed open. Kurt started, half-expecting to see Marines and a pissed-off Admiral, then stared as he saw two men wearing ill-fitting uniforms. One of them was pointing a gun at him; the other was carrying a large roll of duct tape. He stared, then climbed to his feet as one of the intruders motioned with the gun.
Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit Page 31