“The problem, Mr. President, is these people will have possibly passed the antiviral on to hundreds of others in their daily lives during the past ten days, and those people to hundreds more. No matter what, we’re looking at an exponentially growing outbreak. We just don’t know to what degree of the population it will impact. It could be small again, or it could be very large.”
For a brief moment she could have sworn she saw fear flash on the face of the most powerful man on Earth. It made her even more scared than she already was.
“What can we do?”
“We have to shut down all travel into and out of the country.”
“That’s already been done by the rest of the world. Europe grounded all flights, as have the Russians, Chinese, and everyone else. Canada closed the border last night and we’re cooperating in reinforcing the entire border. The word is out in Mexico, so the number of illegals trying to get in has dropped to next to nothing. Will it be enough?”
“I doubt it. I’ve spoken to my colleagues at the World Health Organization and they are reporting cases showing up in Europe, Asia, Australia and other locations. They might get lucky, they might have more time to develop a cure as the majority of infected are here. We and BioDyne have already released all of our data to the WHO and it has already been disseminated to all who want it.”
“Is there anything more we can do?”
“Let us keep doing our jobs. We need to determine who is being targeted, then try to figure out a way to kill it. As well, sir, we need to start thinking worst case scenario.”
“What do you mean?”
“Survival of the species, sir. If it is all men that are being targeted, we need to start isolating men who are not sick. This has to start now, before it’s too late.”
There was a bonging sound from the speakers as someone else logged into the conversation. A black box flickered and became the image of the man from the CIA who had taken Katherine for a ride in his limousine.
“Leif Morrison here. Forgive me for being late, Mr. President. I have Dr. Hermann Kapp from BioDyne Pharma here with me. He has something you need to hear.”
Quarantine Zone, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Leroux felt painfully self-conscious, the hazmat suit he was wearing had him thinking all eyes were staring at him and judging him. Check it! As he walked through the halls toward the isolation unit the Delta Force team were being held in, he realized almost every second person was in a hazmat suit.
The world doesn’t revolve around you, a-hole!
The thought he might be able to steal a minute and see Sherrie distracted him, and by the time he reached the isolation area he had forgotten his earlier nervousness, and had a smile on his face as he pictured the last time they were “together”. A stirring had him quickly glance down to make sure a hazmat suit didn’t accentuate the obvious.
Grandma in a bikini! Grandma in a two piece bikini!
Done.
He showed his ID to one of the security personnel guarding the entrance and he was let inside, only to find more personnel, all in hazmat suits, awaiting him. He was sprayed down to make certain he hadn’t carried anything into the quarantine area, asked who he wanted to see, then let into a waiting area where he was allowed to take his head cover off. A few minutes later he was shown into a room, one side all window looking into an identical room, the rest all plain white walls with acoustic shielding.
He sat at the table and lone chair. A microphone sat in the middle of the table, along with a computer terminal. While waiting he logged in and found he had complete access to his data.
Movement had his head darting toward the window where he found who he assumed to be the leader of the Delta Force unit that had been involved in the Brass Monkey incident. Delta identities were even hidden from people with his clearance levels.
“Hello, sir—”
“Sergeant Major.”
“Sorry, Sergeant Major, my name is Chris Leroux. I’m an analyst with the CIA.”
“How can I help you, sir.”
Leroux felt very uncomfortable with this turn of events. Having a man probably fifteen years his senior calling him ‘sir’ just didn’t seem right. But then it was the military, and a sixty year old sergeant would still need to call a twenty-two year old Lieutenant fresh out of officer training school ‘sir’.
“Sergeant Major, you of course are aware of the antiviral situation we are currently facing?”
“Of course.”
“Are you aware that there is a second strain?”
“I’ve heard rumors.”
“Well, there is, and this strain threatens to wipe out a significant portion of the population of this planet, perhaps all. We just don’t know yet. What is clear is our containment efforts surrounding New Orleans were useless, as the more significant threat was being spread outside the city limits.”
There was no response, except a slight downturn on the corners of his mouth.
“We managed to track down the source of the money funding this operation. We believe a man named Scott Fowler, a former VP at BioDyne Pharma, the company that originally developed the antiviral, is behind this. Unfortunately we have no idea where he is.”
“I’m not sure how I can help you, sir.”
“Well, we found the man—or rather the body of the man—who placed the canisters containing the antiviral. He was killed, stuffed in a freezer, then when the body was found, a booby trap went off, a bomb, killing a police officer and seriously wounding another. Analysis of the bomb fragments and trigger led one of our agents to postulate someone with former Soviet or Russian training might have been involved. That led to this man”—Leroux held up the photo of Major Anton Koslov—“being identified as having entered the building after our suspect, we assume to kill him then set the booby trap.”
“What’s his name?”
“Major Anton Koslov. Our information is he left Spetsnaz shortly after the Brass Monkey incident.”
“I met him once at an exchange program a few years back. Nice guy, but intense. I could see him going private. The pride isn’t there anymore.” He paused a moment, as if looking into the past, then returned his attention to Leroux. “I still don’t see how I can help you, sir.”
“Well, a friend of mine had an idea.”
“A friend.”
“Well, he’s an agent, actually, who’s also a friend. He suggested I get you to call Major Anton Koslov’s former commanding officer, a Lt. Colonel Kolya Chernov, and ask him to help us track Major Koslov down. A soldier-to-soldier call is the way I think he put it.”
The Sergeant Major laughed.
“Your friend I think overestimates the level of cooperation there is between the Russian and American militaries.”
“My friend is Dylan Kane,” said Leroux, gulping as he revealed the name of an agent.
The Sergeant Major paused, his eyebrows shooting up for a moment as he too apparently realized the significance of what Leroux had just done.
“Really.”
“Yes. I got the sense you knew each other, even though I never mentioned your name, since I don’t have it.”
The Sergeant Major chuckled.
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, and I suppose he would.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Leroux, if Dylan Kane thinks I should make this phone call, then I will.”
FBI Mobile HQ, New Orleans, Louisiana
Dylan Kane sat on the running board that surrounded much of the FBI’s Mobile Headquarters. He imagined they were for personnel to ride into or out of a situation on, the handgrips he spotted above seeming to confirm it. It had him thinking that the design was good only if you had control of the situation outside. If you were trapped inside, and tried to get away, your enemy would be able to hang on and ride with you.
This is America! Shit like that doesn’t happen here.
Then he pictured G8 riots and realized things like that do happen here. Isabelle sat beside him, her legs outstretched, her
face turned up to the faint warmth of the sun.
“If you tune out what you know, this would just be a normal, beautiful day. The kind of day that should be spent on a patio sipping beer.”
Kane smiled at her then turned his own eyes skyward.
“That sounds like something we should do when this is all done.”
She looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the sky.
“Do you think we’re going to get out of this? I mean, stop this virus or whatever it is?”
Kane smiled, staring at the clouds as they were pushed through the sky by a steady but gentle breeze.
“My philosophy when I took this job was to treat life like I was already dead. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve lived about five years longer than I should have. If this is the end, then so be it. But, I like to think God has a plan for us that goes beyond allowing us to destroy ourselves with some damned virus cooked up in a lab.”
“Perhaps. Or He’s pissed that we were playing God, and that’s His job. Have you read those briefing notes on the antiviral? It’s amazing! They would be able to wipe out almost any type of virus in the entire world, especially now that this wacko has aerosolized it. They could just spray the cure for AIDS across Africa or Haiti. Just imagine the possibilities!”
“Yup. The problem is the virus they are wiping out is mankind.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“It’s my job.”
“There’s no way you’re FBI. What are you? Military? CIA?”
Kane continued to look at the sky.
“If we don’t get out of this, I’d like to say goodbye to my parents before the end.”
He closed his eyes and tried to picture the last time he had seen his family all together, but couldn’t, instead images of explosions and charred remains appeared, forcing him to give up and open his eyes again.
“Do you have any family?” he asked Isabelle. “I assume you’re not married since I didn’t have to spoon with your husband last night.”
She chuckled.
“No, the job always seemed to get in the way of that. Cops, especially female cops, are chronically single. Men want to be the tough guy in a relationship, and most can’t handle a strong woman who can quite often kick their ass, shoot them and arrest them.”
“So it’s just a series of meaningless hook ups then?” asked Kane with a wink.
He was rewarded with a none too soft punch to the shoulder.
“Watch it, mister, or you just might be sleeping at some fleabag hotel tonight.”
“Hey, I never sleep with a woman I just met two nights in a row.”
“Me neither.”
Kane laughed out loud, tossing his head back.
“What the hell is that?”
He jumped to his feet and rushed away from the mobile HQ, pointing at the sky as Isabelle joined him.
“It looks like some sort of private airplane,” she said. “What the hell does he think he’s doing? Everything’s supposed to be grounded.”
“It’s a Cessna 172. Some civie trying to make a break for it.” Kane surveyed the sky then spotted what he was looking for and pointed. “Here they come.”
Two F-22 Raptors screamed across the sky, chewing up the airspace in an amazingly short period of time, the Cessna seeming to be at a standstill. They buzzed the aircraft, most likely the flight leader ordering him to return to whatever strip he had taken off from, but the Cessna seemed undeterred.
It merely reduced altitude, probably with the intention of trying to fly between the buildings.
Ballsy. Stupid, but ballsy.
The amount of training it would take to escape and evade Raptors in a Cessna probably didn’t exist.
Suddenly the door to the Mobile HQ burst open and Hewlett, along with several others rushed out, looking at the sky.
“What’s the situation?” asked Kane.
“They’ve just been given the go ahead to shoot him down.”
“Shit,” muttered one of the FBI techs. “How far do we have to take this?”
“We’re fighting to save the world,” said Hewlett, not sounding that convinced.
“The world’s already lost,” said Isabelle. “If we’re shooting down our own, it’s already lost.”
The two Raptors circled, coming in for an attack run, one in the lead, the second hanging back. As they circled, the Cessna made a last ditch effort to evade, banking sharply to the left, turning completely around, now heading back toward the Superdome.
But it was too late.
A missile dropped from the wing of the lead Raptor, streaking across the sky as its propellant lit, thrusting it at incredible speed toward the now retreating Cessna. The small plane banked hard, trying to evade the missile, but there was no hope.
The radar guided missile connected with the tail of the plane, sending it spiraling several times before it smacked into the ground, smoke pouring out the rear. Kane sprinted toward the aircraft, only a few hundred feet from where they were standing, as it ground to a halt, cutting a path in the pavement about fifty feet long.
He heard footfalls behind him as the Raptor’s slowly circled overhead. As he approached the plane he heard children screaming for help and he froze, his mind flashing back to the most horrifying moment of his life, the one moment he had never been able to reconcile, to never compartmentalize and forget as part of the job.
The living nightmare that haunted him constantly.
He willed himself toward the plane, the smoke getting thicker, and yanked the door open. The pilot was dead, his head smashed against the control panel, his neck twisted unnaturally. Whom he assumed was the wife was moaning, blood flowing from her forehead. He pointed to the other side as the others arrived.
“Other side, get the woman!”
He pulled at the rear door, but it wouldn’t budge. Two young boys sat in the back, no more than ten years old, screaming and crying. He tried to ignore their cries, to focus on the door, when flames burst from the fuselage in the rear.
“Dylan, get out of there! It’s gonna blow!”
“We’ve got the woman!” yelled someone from the other side of the plane as he continued to pull on the door to no avail. The heat from the flames was becoming intense, the flames beginning to lick at him as he worked. He knew the plane could explode at any second, but he didn’t care. He’d rather die today than let something like this happen again.
Last time he had no choice.
This time he did.
He pulled his gun out and fired at the window, splintering the safety glass. With his elbow he rammed it repeatedly until it fell out of the frame, then reached in for the first and older boy.
“Undo your belt!” ordered Kane.
The boy quickly flipped the clip holding the belt in place and sprung toward Kane.
“Help your brother first!”
The boy, oblivious it seemed to the flames now reaching the window, spun around and released his crying brother, then in a show of bravery Kane had seen in few men, shoved his brother toward the open window and into the arms of the stranger risking his own life to save them.
Kane pulled the little boy through the window, placing him on the ground as Isabelle urged him to run toward her. Kane turned back and pulled the older brother through the window, then carrying him under one arm, raced toward the other boy who was stumbling toward Isabelle.
“Run!” yelled Kane as he scooped the little boy under his other arm, rushing toward a group of dumpsters clustered nearby. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the other FBI personnel running, several carrying the incapacitated mother, when hell tore loose on Earth, a screeching roar from behind him filling his ears, heat racing past him, sucking the air from his lungs as he dropped to the ground from the concussive force unleashed.
He hit hard, trying to protect the boys as much as he could, landing just past the dumpsters, but still in the path of the inferno rushing toward them. One of the boys was pulled from his arms, and he saw Isabelle huddl
ing behind the bins. He grabbed the other boy tight and rolled them both as the flames roared past, his body getting toasted by the raging aviation fuel that quickly retreated back to its source as the initial blast consumed the fuel it needed to feed.
“On your feet!” ordered Kane, jumping to his, still holding the youngest boy. Isabelle grabbed the other kid and they rushed toward the Mobile HQ and safety as the other personnel picked themselves off the ground. As Kane came to rest at the side of the HQ with the others, he looked back. The plane was completely engulfed in flames, the body of the father they had been forced to leave behind now a barbecued mass he hoped the boys couldn’t make out.
As he caught his breath, a loud noise above him, of something hitting the Mobile HQ, had him jumping to his feet. His head scanned the entire area, quickly settling on a group of people slowly approaching their position. The arm of one of those approaching whipped, sending something slamming into the side of the massive vehicle, then bouncing to the ground.
A rock.
“This is your fault!” yelled one of them as Kane pushed the small boy away from him and toward the rear where Isabelle took his hand and ferried him out of sight.
“Yeah, you people killed him!”
“Let us out of here! We’re not sick!”
“You’re killing us all!”
The shouts were becoming more angry, and more and more objects began to be thrown, most pried from the ground wherever the parking lot pavement showed fatigue.
“Let’s get ready to move, people!” yelled Kane. The engine, idling to generate power, revved as someone put the vehicle into gear.
“Get them!” screamed someone, their voice filled with insane rage, sending the crowd into a mad rush of human flesh at the nearest target it could find. Kane ran around the rear of the vehicle to see Isabelle pushing the older kid inside, then jumping in herself as the other personnel scrambled in behind her. A glance over his shoulder and he knew they didn’t have time.
Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2) Page 20