“May I first ask how long I’ve been out?” He looked back at Rudenko.
“Two days, kapitan. It has been two days.”
Mikhailov felt sick. “Bozhe moi. They could be anywhere by now!” He turned to Zaitsev. “Were any more troops sent in to secure the site?”
“Yes, the 7th Airborne Division sent in a full company from Novorossiysk after you failed to respond to their radio calls, but there was nothing to secure.” He nodded toward Rudenko. “The fire you set in one of the green house buildings burned down everything that wasn’t blown up by the RPOs. And then there’s the destroyed helicopter and its dead crew. The Air Force wants you to answer for that, but they can have whatever is left of your carcass after I finish with you.” He looked at Mikhailov with a speculative expression. “You do realize that you may be brought up on charges for this if you can’t prove the existence of these creatures of yours?”
“They exist, polkovnik.” He shared a quick glance with Rudenko. “Believe me, they exist. The only question now is whether we have a chance of stopping them.”
* * *
The tension in the FBI Director’s conference room had been growing by the minute, and showed no signs of stopping. The Director, Kyle Harmon, sat at the head of the table. To either side of him sat the Executive Assistant Directors responsible for the National Security Branch and the Criminal, Cyber, Response and Services Branch and all of their division heads.
At the far end of the table sat Carl Richards, who headed up the Criminal Investigative Division, although he wasn’t sure if he would be in that position more than five minutes after this meeting ended. Everyone at the table, with the exception of his direct boss (the Executive Assistant Director for Criminal, Cyber, Response and Services Branch), who had discovered something intensely fascinating on a ceiling tile above the director’s head, was staring at him.
The meeting hadn’t gone well from the beginning. Richards had figuratively thrown down the Weapons of Mass Destruction flag, sending an email to everyone he could think of in hopes of getting the director to call a meeting. It had been totally inappropriate, but his entreaties to his own boss had fallen on deaf ears. No one wanted to hear any more stories of the harvesters or The Bag. It was like hearing about Iraq hiding weapons of mass destruction even after it had been conclusively proven that there hadn’t been any. Except in this case, the weapons were very real, and in their own way were far deadlier than nuclear bombs or chemical agents.
Facing the men and women around the table, all of them colleagues and some of them friends, or as close to friends as Richards ever allowed himself to get, he met their eyes and refused to be cowed. He knew that this meeting would probably spell the end of his career and make him a pariah among his peers. Next to watching Director Ridley die in her hospital bed after the harvesters had taken away their “gift” of healing her Lou Gehrig’s disease, this was the most difficult thing he had ever done. He had faced situations that required great physical courage, and would much rather have been in a cage with a dozen hungry lions than here. The Bureau had been his life, his reason for existence, and he was offering it up as a sacrifice in what he knew would be a vain attempt to get the men and women in this room, individuals who could help stop the coming storm, believe that a storm was indeed coming. He knew from the moment he walked in and saw the director’s look of disgust that he didn’t have a hope of convincing them, but Richards had to try. It was his duty. And after this was done, when all the dust had settled, he would probably be on the first plane to Nome, Alaska. He hoped Renee liked snow.
“Sir, if we don’t get a lid on this thing now, we probably never will.” Richards was looking Harmon straight in the eye as he brought his briefing to a close. None of those gathered here had said a single word, either commenting or asking questions. That in itself was a very ominous sign, but he didn’t let it deter him. He couldn’t afford to give up. “Dawson reported that an entire village in south-central India was infected. We have what looks like a similar incident in southern Russia, and…”
“Goddammit!” Director Harmon, while not normally given to profane outbursts, exploded, slamming a palm down on the table. “Richards, this has gone far enough. I don’t even know where to start. Not leaving this whole harvester issue behind, abusing your authority by calling in the legats in New Delhi, cavorting with Jack Dawson, who’s not exactly on my favorites list, or calling all of us in here with some ridiculous claim that we’ve got aliens running wild in India and Russia.” He leaned forward. “In case you’d forgotten, this is the FBI, and while we certainly have concerns overseas, our primary job is here at home. Are there any aliens running rampant around here?”
“Not that we’re aware of, sir. But they’re perfect mimics, and…”
There were snickers and moans from around the table. And now, rather than staring at him, people were looking away. Glancing at their watches. Flipping open their schedulers and notepads. Doodling. Giving every non-verbal signal they could that he was wasting their time.
Richards felt a surge of anger rising to the surface, but clamped down on it, hard, before it made him say anything that would be even more damaging. At this point he looked like a fool and a freak. He didn’t need to break out any flamethrowers to incinerate the bridges that had already collapsed into the river under their own ponderous weight. That wouldn’t help. His anger giving way to bleak dismay, he realized that nothing would. Not until it was too late.
Director Harmon blew out his breath. “I don’t ever want to hear another word about this foolishness. Is that unmistakably clear, Richards?”
“Yes, sir.” He said the words, but wasn’t about to give Harmon the satisfaction of beating him down. He held the director’s gaze until Harmon turned away.
To the chief of the International Operations Division, Harmon said, “Since Richards already rousted our people in Delhi, let’s make the most of a bad situation and follow through with the offer to provide any support the Indians might need. A little goodwill, even if it’s unnecessary, can’t hurt.” Looking around the room, but pointedly avoiding Richards, he added, “I’d like the executive assistant directors to stay for a moment.”
The meeting was over. Carl looked at his watch, noting with professional detachment that he had taken exactly nine minutes and forty-seven seconds to destroy his career. Richards gathered up his notes, shoved them in his folder, and made for the door. He forced himself to take a measured pace and not rush. He wouldn’t be seen as running away.
As he strode down the hall toward the elevator, he heard his colleagues emerge from the conference room behind him.
Deciding that he and everyone else would probably be more comfortable if he took the stairs, he passed the elevators and palmed the bar on the door to the stairwell. He took the steps quickly, shedding his dignified facade now that he was out of sight.
He was surprised when he heard the door open, and even more surprised when he heard someone call his name.
“Carl!”
He stopped on the landing and looked up to see Mozhdeh Kashani, the chief of the Directorate of Intelligence.
“Wait up.”
Wondering what this was all about, Richards did as she asked. Mozhdeh was an attractive woman of Iranian ancestry, about five years younger than he was and — he had no trouble admitting to himself — at least five times as smart. She was petite, the top of her head only reaching Richards’ shoulder, but anyone who thought she was just another pretty face had another thing coming. Richards had been in a meeting once where someone from another agency, here to coordinate on the community effort against a terrorist operation, made that mistake. The man must have felt as if he’d been trampled by a heavy cavalry charge after she had finished with him.
“What can I do for you, Mozhdeh?” As she caught up to him, they both continued down the stairs at a much more sedate pace.
“I think it might be more what I can do for you.”
He snorted. “What? Salvage my
career? Good luck with that. I’m just thinking of how to tell my girlfriend that we’ll probably have lots of snow in our future up in Alaska.”
“You’re a survivor, Carl. You’ll manage. No, I meant the harvesters.”
Even at the mention of the word, Carl’s jaw clenched. But he realized that she wasn’t playing games. Mozhdeh had been instrumental in helping to set up SEAL, and she was one of the few people in the Bureau who’d ever really taken the harvester story seriously. None of them had ever actually seen a harvester, only photos and videos, so it was hard for anyone to buy off on something that could just as easily been cut from an alien autopsy movie.
“I had one of my analysts cross-check what you’d sent me about the suspected incidents. He couldn’t verify if it had anything to do with the harvesters, of course, but there’s definitely something going on. The Defense Intelligence Agency confirmed that there were some unusual movements of Russian airborne forces in the last few days. There’s been a news blackout in two areas in China, one of which was in a region you’d flagged, and we’ve got imagery of three small towns in Brazil — again, in areas that you picked up on — that have been burned to the ground, but no official explanation of what’s happening. As for India…” She shrugged. “Nothing we’ve got so far stands out, but if what Dawson says is credible, I believe it.”
Richards stopped and turned to face her. “You believe Dawson?”
She looked at him with her dark eyes and nodded. “He worked for me on several cases after he left the academy. He was a little self-absorbed and carried a lot of emotional baggage, but he had a gift for seeing things others couldn’t and a sense of honor almost as deeply embedded as yours.”
“Flattery. From you, I’ll take it.”
“Don’t let it go to your bald head.” She started down the steps again. “I never believed any of the charges brought against him after the lab was destroyed. To do something like that simply wasn’t in his nature. I wish he was still working for us. I’d love to have him in intel.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath on that.”
“I know. Anyway, if Dawson says there’s something going on, I believe it. If you both say that there’s something going on, then it’s time to start getting scared.”
“Then why didn’t you speak up in the meeting?”
She glanced at him, then shook her head. “That’s your problem, Carl. When it comes to politics, you’re an idiot.”
“No argument there. I never claimed otherwise.”
“Nor should you, but up here in the nosebleed section, it’s a critical skill. Harmon’s a political animal, much more than Ridley was, and he’s not going to make any waves for President Miller. And everyone else in that room back there has a long knife out, waiting for the first instant that your back is turned. Remember, when President Curtis put you in as acting director, he bounced you ahead of all of them. They worked for you because they had to and because you rose to the challenge. While you were competent in the job, more than anyone had been willing to give you credit for, you didn’t make any friends among the people in that room.”
Carl suddenly saw flashbacks of some of the meetings he’d held and the orders he’d given while serving as acting director. Some hadn’t been pretty, but to him at the time, that didn’t matter. The only thing that he cared about was getting the job done. Even now, had he been given the opportunity to turn back the clock, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. He might have reamed one or two people out even harder.
He gave her an unapologetic shrug as they reached her floor. He held the door open for her, but didn’t step out of the stairwell. His own office was on the next floor down. “I suppose so. But that brings up an interesting question. Why do you care what happens to me?”
“I didn’t say that I did. But if these incidents pan out and a real threat emerges, we’re going to need you and people like you.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “You’re an asshole, Carl. It’s in your nature.” The smile disappeared as if a light switch had been thrown. “But I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have watching my back if things go to hell. In the meantime, I’m going to request that Renee be reassigned to my office to work with my analyst on this. He’s a young guy who needs someone to show him the ropes, and if Harmon gets word of it I can say she’s using it as a training scenario. That’ll keep both of you out of trouble, and I can take any heat from Harmon. Stay in touch with Dawson and let me know what you find out, but otherwise keep your head down and your mouth shut. If you don’t, getting shipped off to Nome will be the least of your worries.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Oh, my God, Jack.” Naomi shuddered after Jack finished telling her what had happened after the villagers had eaten the corn planted by AnGrow. She couldn’t imagine the nightmare it must have been for those poor unsuspecting people. And Jack, without any weapons, charging straight into the middle of it, could have ended up just like poor Vijay’s cousin Surya. “Promise me that you’ll never do anything that stupid again.”
On the far end of the line, thousands of miles away, Jack laughed. It was a strained, awkward sound. “Let’s just say I won’t be putting that sort of thing at the top of my to-do list for a while.”
“Promise me, Jack.”
After a pause, he said in a small, tortured voice, “You know I can’t.”
Naomi closed her eyes. Part of her had so wanted Jack to say yes, even though she knew it would have been a lie. He’d told her once that he’d never made a promise that he knew he might not be able to keep, and she knew that his sense of honor simply wouldn’t let him walk away from a situation where he thought he might be able to help, or where he felt he had to do something, even at the cost of his own life. She’d lost too much already, and didn’t want to lose him, too.
“Well,” she told him, wiping her eyes clear, “if you do something idiotic like that again I’m going to kick your ass.”
Jack managed a chuckle. “Oh, no, not that!” Then, more seriously, he said, “Listen, I’ll try to stay out of the crossfire. I pretty much have to now, anyway, as the Indians don’t want me messing around in what’s become official business. Kiran’s got the ball now. I filled him in on the background. I don’t think he really believes half of it, but there’s no doubt he thinks the harvesters are real. The question is whether he can convince his commander and the other authorities here that there’s a real threat, and that it’s not just terrorists. But from what I heard, it’s starting to get bogged down in bureaucracy and turf. Is it a military problem or a health and safety concern? Which ministry is going to take the lead?” He blew out his breath. “If these things get loose there at home, we’ll have a tough time dealing with it. Here, Kiran seems to think that the bureaucracies are so stove-piped that the only chance for any decisive action is to bring in the military, but the civilians are reluctant to do that if it’s not really a terrorist threat.”
“Have they deployed anyone to the village?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything about that. He said he’d try to keep me in the loop, but I’m hoping that no news is good news, that Kiran’s too busy to call. With any luck, he and a couple companies of troops are heading there in helicopters as we speak. I guess we won’t know until later.”
“Did you tell Vijay about what happened to Surya?”
“God, no. He’s still in such bad shape, the last thing he needs is a shock like that, and the guilt trip to go along with it. He’s going to blame himself for sending Surya along.” Jack paused a moment. “Kiran said he wanted to tell him. I guess he and Surya were pretty tight with Vijay, and it’s going to hit him hard. I also convinced Kiran to post a guard on Vijay, and had him bully the hospital staff into letting me bring over Vijay’s cat to keep him company.”
“Why do you think he needs to be guarded?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew why. Surya. While Naomi understood much of the biology of how the harvesters mimicked their victims, what she was far less sure of wa
s how they took on behavioral traits. Some former EDS researchers were convinced that the harvesters somehow could absorb the memories or thought patterns of their victims, but Naomi had never subscribed to that opinion because there wasn’t any real evidence to support it. All they knew for certain was that adult harvesters could rapidly and flawlessly step into the lives of their victims. How they did it remained a mystery that they’d never solve without more live harvesters to study. Unfortunately, it looked like there were now plenty of those available, assuming they could be captured.
Surya, however, represented a unique case, in that he was killed by a larval form. Naomi had no idea if his body was anything more than a source of nutrients for the creature, or if it retained other information that might allow it to mimic him as an adult. She just didn’t know. On the chance that the larval form could put to use the knowledge of its victims, it would “know” that Vijay was a threat and try to eliminate him.
“Forget I asked that,” she said. “What did you tell Vijay, or was he even conscious?”
“He woke up when the cat pounced on him. The hospital staff was really unhappy, especially since I guess they don’t really like cats much over here. But Vijay seemed happy enough to see the furry beast. And that way he’ll have some warning of any unpleasant visitors.”
“Has there been any word on AnGrow and the other corn they took?”
“Not a peep.” Jack’s voice was laced with disgust. “I got a lot of platitudes and ‘We’ll get back to you on that’ from the Ministry of Agriculture. AnGrow throws a lot of money around to the politicians here, according to what Vijay could tell me, so I don’t think we’re going to have any luck getting through to them.”
Bitter Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 2) Page 13