“Then it will be my pleasure to kill you, Smith.”
* * *
Inside the clean room Smith was behind the cover of the largest of the three robotic arms. He looked around at his men as they covered the only opening. He closed his eyes in thought as he seemed to recognize the voice coming from the hallway. He figured there was no reason to taunt the man about the murder of his companion in Las Vegas, so he tried to formulate a way out of there without getting himself killed. He realized that surrendering was just a slower way to make that happen.
As he opened his eyes and scanned the clean room, he looked up and saw the jar filled with the amber liquid.
One of his Black Team looked up just in time to see Smith reach up, take hold of the jar, and then bring it down to floor level. Smith knew this could be his only negotiating tool.
“Exactly to whom am I speaking?” he shouted out into the hallway.
“Captain Everett, United States Navy,” Carl answered.
“Well Captain Everett, you seem to have an eclectic outfit here as far as I can see. There is an old rumor in the outfit I work for that said there was something like this little day care center situated in the desert somewhere. I guess some rumors are true.”
“Surrender now Smith and I’ll give you the grand tour.”
“I think I may have another solution to our predicament, Captain. How about you give me and my men safe passage out of here, and in exchange I won’t contaminate this entire facility with Perdition’s Fire. Sound reasonable?”
Carl leaned back against the wall and mentally cursed himself for thinking this would be an easy situation. He waited for a few seconds and then leaned to his right without exposing himself to the open doorway.
“You of all people know what that would do to everyone, including yourself. So just lay down your arms and give it up.”
Just as Smith was about to react to Everett’s command, one of Smith’s own men gaped wide-eyed at the jar Smith was holding and tried to slide a few feet farther away. Before he could move Smith shoved the jar into the hands of the startled soldier.
Smith made sure the man was stable enough to hold the jar, and just as he was about to demand once more the surrender of his antagonists, Smith’s own eyes widened at a sight that froze the unvoiced demand deep in his throat. As he looked from the startled soldier’s eyes to the jar the man held, he saw that the rubber stopper, cracked with age and with a new three-cc-sized hole in its top, was leaking. Drop by drop it hit the floor.
In a panic the young soldier reacted without thinking, dropping the jar not a foot in front of him just as Smith started to back away. It shattered. Almost instantaneously the fogging agent mixed with the formula and both agents started to do their work. As soon as a massive amount of air struck the compound it started to fog. Smith and the soldier were the first to feel the sting of the mixture as it hit their nostrils. Smith placed a hand over his mouth and tried to stand and run, deciding that surrender would be far better than the fate of Juan Guzman, but his boots hit the hydraulic fluid that had been released from the hoses and he fell back, knocking the air from his lungs. As he tried to reach for the table over his head, his fingers found instead the blue set of hoses that ran from the floor to the robotic arms. He pulled, trying to gain purchase when the hoses separated from the valve in the tile. A sudden burst of air, one that supplied pneumatic power to the arms, sprayed onto the pooling formula, sending a large cloud of vapor toward his stunned and shocked men, engulfing them and burying their black-clad bodies in a veil of whitish-brown mist.
The screams of pain and anguish from what was left of Smith and his remaining Black Team started almost immediately.
A flaw in the design of the Biology Department’s fail-safe system became immediately apparent. The system was a separate entity from Europa, and as soon as the “sniffer” inside the clean room detected the release of the formula, the safety system went into effect.
Perdition’s Fire had been released just as every door inside the complex except for the emergency exit in the gymnasium and sports arena shut down and locked automatically.
Sarah and Virginia were near the elevator doors when Europa became aware of the second protocol warning of the biohazard system inside the clean room. On her own Europa and entirely under her emergency directive that was designed separately into her system by Pete Golding and the onetime supervisor of the Computer Sciences Department ten years before, Dr. Niles Compton, that order could not be overridden without a code sent out by the president of the United States—she had immediately sealed the Event Group Complex to the outside world, literally cutting them off from any form of rescue.
Hell had come to Department 5656, and Jack the Ripper, a biologically created beast, was reborn. Only this time he was not only one but five supermen.
PART THREE
THE SEVENTH CIRCLE OF HELL
Satan, having betrayed God, is himself trapped at Hell’s core, at the sunken tip of the inverted cone he created when he fell to Earth, cast out of Heaven …
—Dante Alighieri
9
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The president stood silently at the window that looked out onto Pennsylvania Avenue. The street was clear of any protesters for the day and that was when he liked looking out at the quiet Washington night. He felt the Oval Office was most secure at that time. His visitors thought he was intentionally ignoring them, and the two men sitting on the two couches facing each other waited for the president to speak.
Harlan Easterbrook, the director of the CIA, sat with his glasses at the end of his nose and read the report from the man in front and opposite of him, Director of Operations Samuel Peachtree.
Finally the president turned and faced his guests. “And we have no idea the location of your agent?” the president asked as he sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“No, sir. According to our records Agent Simpson checked out and went to Georgetown. We checked out the address, and as it turns out it’s a model home that is up for sale,” Easterbrook said as he looked up from the flimsy report that had been offered up by Peachtree. He handed the paper over to him and then looked at the president. “I knew you had met the agent in question before, so when she came up missing we thought you would like to be briefed.”
“I do know Agent Simpson, and my concern for her safety is of paramount importance, but no more so than any other American intelligence employee. Why isn’t Ms. Simpson’s boss here with you gentlemen?”
“The Assistant Director of Intelligence is currently visiting his counterpart in London, Mr. President. He has been informed about the absence of the North American Desk supervisor.”
The president looked hard into the dull eyes of the recent appointee by the Senate Oversight Committee to the position of director of operations, Samuel Peachtree.
“She has a name, Mr. Peachtree, not just a desk or an assignment or a title.”
“Of course, Mr. President, Miss Simpson,” Peachtree said feeling the heat of the president’s glare.
“Okay gentlemen, keep me informed.”
With that the brief meeting was over. The two men waited for a word before they left, but the president kept his head down in thought. The two CIA men left the Oval Office.
The president took a deep breath, hit the intercom switch, and then mentally calmed himself. “Please send in General Caulfield.”
A moment later four-star marine general Maxwell Caulfield walked into the Oval Office and greeted his boss. The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff stood rigid at the center of the office.
“Jesus, Max, knock it off and have a seat will you?” the president said as he tossed the pen he was holding onto his desk and stood and walked over to the couch opposite of where Caulfield sat. He rubbed his face and looked up at his own appointee from almost two years before.
“Max, I need your help with something, and I need you to keep it close to th
e vest and not ask any questions. Do you understand?”
The general matched the president’s move and leaned forward. “Of course, anything; you know that.”
“That group you think is just a think tank buried under Nellis Air Force Base?”
“The one run by that little bald fella that shows up here from time to time?”
“You know damn well who I’m speaking of so don’t play games; it’s too late at night.”
“Yes, sir, I know of the rumors that have circulated inside the military for years. I first heard of it at the Academy. Everyone thinks we have secret bases and covert operations all over the country, why—”
“We have a problem in the desert Max. We need an assault team put together that can not only pull off a hard job, but is able to keep their mouths shut once the operation is complete. A small unit if possible.”
Caulfield looked offended. “My people always keep their mouths shut, Mr. President.”
“No offense, Max, but what I’m talking about is beyond anything you know. For the first time in American history I am bringing a military officer into the loop on this agency. It exists, and that is all you will ever know, Max. Is that understood? There will be no questions, no official answers. Now I have to say this; if I didn’t, the ghosts of every president since Woodrow Wilson, hell, possibly even Abe Lincoln, would turn over in their graves, and the ones still alive would crucify me and then throw my rotting corpse in jail. Which, Max, is the same thing I am now threatening you with on an official basis. I will have you skinned alive if this leaks from anyone under your command.” The president held up a hand. “Think, Max, before you speak. This group is special and they have just declared a state of emergency. The complex they utilize has been attacked. Most of the personnel have been successfully evacuated, but there are over seventy men and women still down in that hole in the ground.” The president looked hard into the general’s eyes. “And it’s one damn big hole.”
“What size assault element is it we’re speaking of?”
“Colonel Collins estimates no more than twenty, maybe less. But he also says these people are good.”
“Jack? Jack Collins?” the general asked with his eyes growing concerned.
“Let’s just say he’s involved with this group and needs assistance in regaining control of the facility. That’s another name you will forget about after tonight, General,” the president said with a sternness he had never used with Caulfield.
“I need details,” the general said raising his left brow after all of the threats were delivered.
The president went to his desk and returned with his laptop. Instead of sitting across from Caulfield, he sat next to him on the couch.
“Okay Max, officially you’re the only one outside of this office that will ever be told directly about this group. Some have guessed at its existence, especially after the Atlantis thing, and then the space shots, but no one could ever prove it. Throughout the modern history of this country they could never prove a thing.” The president opened the laptop and brought up a file after he entered his personal code. “This is a layout of the complex. Study it and commit it to memory because you can’t have any drawings for planning.”
As Caulfield looked at the detailed layout of the eighty-seven levels of the Event Group Complex, his eyes widened. “What in the hell is this?” he wondered. The massive complex was laid out before him and he couldn’t believe the scope of the construction.
“Max, I said don’t ask. I’m breaking about a thousand laws laid down by my predecessors about secrecy where this group is concerned. I need you to come up with an assault plan to help Colonel Collins and his men. I need you to get my friend Dr. Compton the hell out of there. The operation is to be kept tight and small. You run it for me. Just an officer and as tight a unit as you can find. Who do you have in mind?”
Caulfield had a hard time drawing his eyes away from the underground structure he was looking at. It was shaped like an upside down bowl with a large stem coming from its center, followed by another inverted bowl, then another, and still another.
“This son of a bitch is a nightmare, Mr. President.”
“I know, I’ve been inside and said the same thing,” he answered, again rubbing his face in frustration.
“And we have to keep it tight and quiet?” The general didn’t expect a response. He looked away and then glanced back at the tired and even grayer-haired man than the one who appointed him to his current position. “Thank you for trusting me with this. I knew that quirky little bald man was something, but running a joint like this? I guess we have to help save him, don’t we?”
The president placed his hand on the general’s shoulder. “Thanks Max, I would hate to have you … well, dealt with.”
Caulfield looked up after the president’s small joke, but when he saw that he wasn’t smiling the general turned away with his eyes a little wider and the threats to him that much more vivid.
“I think maybe you better save the thanks for the DELTA team I have to send in there, and please don’t make me threaten them like you did me. I don’t know if these boys would take it as well as I did.”
“Oh, they would take it if I sent a regiment of FBI agents to their front door. Now, where are these gentlemen?”
“Right now they’re at Fort Lewis, Washington, conducting their mountain training on Mount Rainier. I can have a team at Nellis in about three hours with luck. Mr. President, you said most of the personnel were evacuated successfully. Wasn’t Dr. Compton one of those people?”
“No, he’s missing, along with many others. They are cut off far underground.” The president turned and faced the general. “Max, besides Collins and his security force, the people that work inside that complex are only thinkers—doctors, professors, and God only knows what else. They are the best people this country has to offer as far as brains. They need your help and the silence of you and the men you choose.”
Maxwell Caulfield stood and removed his uniform jacket. He placed it on the back of the couch and sat back down to study the layout of the Event Group Complex underneath Nellis.
“I need a direct line to Fort Lewis in Washington State,” he said as his eyes started roaming over the large gates that were the entrances to the giant complex in the desert.
“Get them out of there Max,” the president said.
The general raised the phone to his ear. “This is General Caulfield. Connect me with the JSOC immediately.”
The president overheard the chairman of the joint chiefs of staff request the Joint Special Operations Command.
The JSOC and the DELTA team they planned operations for were about to assault the underground complex that housed the most secret organization in the history of the United States—the Event Group.
THE EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AFB, NEVADA
The three men had almost made it down to level twelve by the stairwell when Niles said he had to return to the office level up on seven. Charlie shook his head no and Pete just sat down and tried to catch his breath.
“If we go back the captain will shoot us instead of any intruders,” Charlie said as he helped Pete to his feet in the semidark stairwell. “We had one job to do and we can’t even do that.”
“Look, I’m not leaving while I have people still inside the complex. Now you two can either come with me or continue on to the evacuation point, but I would prefer you come along. Pete, Europa could be helpful in what’s happening. How many men are left here with the expertise to get her up to spec enough to help out Captain Everett?”
Pete shook his head negatively. He finally took a couple of deep breaths and looked back up the stairs. The distant sounds of gunfire had ceased for the moment.
“I haven’t heard any shots in a minute or so. Maybe it’s all over,” Pete managed to say.
“Maybe, but why isn’t Europa telling us anything? You of all people should know her programming. We’re literally in the dark here,” Niles said as h
e turned and started back up.
Charlie Ellenshaw looked at Pete and then nodded his head upward. “Well, the office on seven is ten levels above the danger on seventeen. Niles has a point; I really don’t relish the thought of running out on the rest of them.”
Pete took the first few steps back up the stairs. “Neither did I, but someone could have mentioned that just a bit earlier—like when we were on level seven.”
The three men went back up the stairs where they thought it would be safe.
They were wrong.
LEVEL SEVENTEEN
The silence coming from the clean room was overwhelming. Everett didn’t want to get men killed by rushing the outer office, knowing the killers of his men were one room beyond that. Where were Will and Sanchez? They needed the assault packages before they could chance a move into the room. Carl scowled and motioned for his men to stay down. He had to keep this Smith talking to know he wasn’t making a move out of the clean room.
“Smith?”
There was nothing other than the moans of someone wounded inside the room. Then they heard a grunt, followed by another. Everett closed his eyes because he knew he had to risk exposing himself to gunfire from inside. Making a quick decision, he rose to his knees and raised his head to the shattered window above. With a quick glance he saw that the observation area was clear. He lowered his head and grimaced. Then he chanced another look. As he rose he quickly saw that the clean room was filled with a fog that was just starting to roll free. He thought he saw several shadows moving about. There were more screams of pain and then, not believing his ears, he heard the laughter of not only one but several men from inside the clouded and fogged clean room. Everett quickly ducked back down, not believing what he had just seen. It was the same fog that had engulfed Guzman and his men at the hacienda.
“We can’t wait for the assault packages,” he called out to the twenty men lining the wall. “When I give the word, we give those bastards everything we have.”
Ripper (Event Group Thrillers) Page 33