Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Faking the vitals. Killing him and hijacking the signal to prevent the triggering of the nerve agent release.”

  “How did they do that?” Rachel asked with a frown. “BP and heart rate are nothing unique to any individual.”

  “I suppose so, ma’am,” Jessica said. “I’m relying on the engineers and medical staff for this. But what I’m talking about is a data stream within the transmission that took us a while to figure out. In fact, we only did because Admiral Packard lost his daughter to brain cancer.”

  “Excuse me?” I said, growing more confused as she talked.

  “Sir, I was looking at the signal when the Admiral stopped by to check on my progress. He took one look at the data and recognized it as an EEG. He’d seen many of them performed on his daughter before she passed.”

  “Electroencephalogram,” Rachel explained when I looked at her. “Brain waves.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “What’s the purpose? Are brain waves unique to a person?”

  “No,” Rachel said before Jessica could answer. “They aren’t, unless the individual has a specific type of ailment or injury. But even then, there shouldn’t be anything there that can be used to positively identify someone.”

  “That’s what the medical staff here at Pearl has said, too,” Jessica said. “They could be spoofed.”

  “So, what’s the problem,” I asked excitedly. “Gin up some fake vital signs and brain waves and let’s kill the bastard! Or better yet, let the guys who are coming after him do the job for us and I’ll sit back and watch the show.”

  “Not that simple, sir,” Jessica said.

  “Why not? You just said it can all be spoofed!”

  “Yes, sir. I did. But there’s disagreement amongst the neurologists who have been consulted. It seems the Russians have been pursuing the goal of weaponizing neuroscience since the Cold War. There was literally an effort to develop a method to read the minds of highly placed American politicians and military leaders.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “The concern is they may have discovered or developed something we’re unaware of. Specifically, a method to positively identify individuals using only their brain waves. And, if you consider this, sir, why else would they go to the trouble of integrating an EEG into the deadman switch?

  “They know BP and heart rate can be easily faked. So, they added a third layer. Why do that if it doesn’t provide a foolproof method of determining whether Barinov is actually alive?”

  “Then why do the vital signs at all?” I asked, not sure I was buying into the theory. “If the EEG is the key, why bother with the rest?”

  “No one has an answer for that, sir. But it doesn’t change what we’re dealing with.”

  “In that case, Chief, why are you telling me all of this? What good does it do?”

  “Because the Admiral wanted you to fully understand what you’re dealing with. Not only is it necessary to keep Barinov alive, he must be protected from any sort of head trauma that could alter his EEG. The fear is that even a blow that rendered him unconscious could activate the failsafe.”

  The cigarette in my hand had burned out, unsmoked. Crushing it out, I lit another and let my mind work on what I’d just learned.

  “Chief, you said you’ve located all of the nerve agent canisters. Is there a reason we can’t just go disable them, or even tell the Aussies and let them do it?”

  “The consensus among the engineers is that the devices are meshed to each other. Each one acts as a repeater for all the others so there aren’t any radio dead spots. But that also means they’re likely monitoring for any that go offline. Tampering with or disabling one could trigger a release from the rest.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered.

  Neither Jessica nor Rachel had a response. Smoking some more, I mulled it all over again and reached the same conclusion the Admiral already had. The only way to stop this, in the time available, was to intercept the team that was targeting Barinov.

  “Any more good news, Chief?” I asked after a long pause.

  “Sorry, sir. That’s what I’ve got at the moment.”

  “Okay, then how about you tell me where Lucas Martin wound up after the firefight. I think I’m going to need help.”

  35

  I pulled the Rover to a stop at a red light, wincing at the shrill squeal from the brakes. It was well past midnight and the streets of Sydney were empty. Well, mostly empty. We’d passed a few cabs ferrying late night workers or partiers to their homes, or possibly the next soiree. Delivery trucks were out and about, only a few so far, but that number would grow as sunrise drew closer.

  But cops were everywhere. In only a few miles, I’d seen five different marked police vehicles and two others that I was pretty sure were official. Things aren’t any different in Australia than any place I’d ever been in the world. The men and women of law enforcement are one big family and they don’t stop when one of their own goes down. It had only been a few hours since the shooting and their loss would still be a raw, open wound driving them to find everyone involved.

  Were they looking for me? Had one of the dead officers managed to broadcast a description of the people they had stopped before the Russians attacked? Or had they found the police car we’d used to flee the scene and checked its cameras? The latter was the most likely scenario in which they’d know who to look for.

  A big guy with a shaved head, a pretty woman with long hair and a German Shepherd. It wasn’t hard to imagine that there wasn’t a trio other than us, matching the description, that was wandering around Sydney. So, we’d had to do something, no matter how simplistic it might be.

  Behind me, Dog was stretched out on the floor and Rachel lay across the back seat. They were both concealed beneath a rough woolen blanket. No, they wouldn’t remain hidden more than a second if the vehicle was searched, but at least they weren’t obvious to a casual glance from the outside. Hopefully, we didn’t encounter any roadblocks. Even the laziest cop would shine a bright light into the backseat and probably spot something that would pique his interest.

  Then they’d pull us out of the vehicle and really go through it. If our physical descriptions weren’t enough to get us arrested, the pile of weapons I’d loaded into the cargo area would be. But they’d find the ones on my body and within easy reach long before the cache I’d brought along from the Athena safe house.

  Headlights in the side mirror caught my attention and I watched a vehicle approach. It came fast, braking to a smooth stop in the adjacent lane. I glanced over and nearly froze when I saw a pair of uniformed cops in a marked police sedan. I’d met the eyes of the one in the passenger seat and now had to force myself to remain calm and not immediately look away like a man with something to hide.

  I was wearing a greasy ball cap that had come from the Rover’s back and hoped that was enough to disguise my shaved head. Probably not, but maybe the eye patch I’d put on would help. I hadn’t been wearing it during the interaction with the two dead cops, nor while escaping in their car, so just maybe it would be enough of a change in appearance to distract an observer.

  Both of the cops were studying me intently. I gave it a couple of seconds, then nodded a greeting and casually turned to face front again. The light was still red and I squeezed the wheel tightly in frustration. From the side, I could feel the weight of the stares from the pair of officers, but wasn’t going to look in their direction again.

  After an eternity, the light cycled to green and I gently accelerated. Flicking my eye to the side I could see the cruiser wait for me to move forward, then change lanes to slip in behind. Fuck me! Had I done something to alert them? But if that was the case, why hadn’t they jumped out at the light, pointed their guns at me and ordered me to get out of the Rover?

  Was it that they weren’t sure? But what the hell did that matter? Two of theirs were dead. They weren’t going to be terribly concerned about having a reas
on to pull anyone over and question them. So, what were they waiting for? Backup?

  By now, my eye was spending as much time focused on the mirror as on the road ahead. I expected the blue and red roof lights to come on any second and sweat had popped out on my forehead, quickly soaking the hat’s band. My heart was racing and adrenaline was pumping as my body prepared to fight. I couldn’t stop the biological reaction, but had already made the decision that I wasn’t going to fight the cops. My war was with the Russians.

  The police kept following, maintaining a steady distance from the Rover’s back bumper. Not too close, but close enough that their headlights brightened the interior of my vehicle.

  “What’s with the light?” Rachel called from the back seat, startling me slightly.

  “Cops,” I said.

  “Are we in trouble?”

  “Don’t think so,” I lied. “They got a look at me at the last stoplight. Maybe they’re just going in the same direction.”

  She didn’t respond and I focused my attention on driving and keeping a close watch on what the police were doing behind me. The iPhone from the safe house spoke, telling me to make a right turn in half a kilometer. I could see the intersection ahead. It was controlled by another traffic signal that was green at the moment. Glancing in the direction I was supposed to turn, I could see a hulking building a couple of blocks away that was well lit with a helicopter sitting on a landing pad on the roof. It was the hospital where Lucas had been taken.

  Now came decision time. Did I make the turn and drag the cops along to my destination? Did it matter? Yes, it did. If they hadn’t pulled me over by now, I didn’t think they were going to. But what if they saw where I was heading and decided to circle back around, catching either me or Rachel on foot?

  Letting out a deep breath, I made myself stop over-analyzing the situation. Turning on the blinker, I moved into the right lane and let off the gas. To my dismay, the cop moved with me, slowing to maintain some distance. The light ahead was still green and as I drew closer, I spotted another marked car sitting at the red on the street I was about to turn onto.

  My stomach clenched. This was it. The guy behind had been waiting for backup, now here it was. They were waiting for me to draw closer, then the vehicle ahead would surge into my path. While he did this, the one behind would block me so I couldn’t back up and escape, then I’d be surrounded by screaming cops with their weapons drawn.

  “We’re about to have a problem,” I said to Rachel. “Keep control of Dog. They’ll kill him if he’s aggressive.”

  “What’s happening?” Rachel asked, fear in her voice.

  I glanced in the mirror and saw the blanket that covered her start to shift.

  “Stay down!” I barked.

  A second later, the light at the intersection changed. Briefly, I considered running. All I had to do was floor the gas and blast through, even if I did bounce a bumper off the car on the cross street. But the Rover was severely underpowered and top heavy. It might be great for crawling across rough terrain in the outback, but on a paved street it was all but useless against the nimble sedans the police were driving.

  Taking a breath, I let it out slowly and stepped on the brakes, coming to a squealing but gentle stop at the light. The cop was still directly behind me, idling a few feet behind the rear bumper. My body wanted to fight, was ready, but I pushed down the impulse and stared at the vehicle ahead. Any instant, the roof lights were going to begin flashing and the car would scream across the intersection to cut me off.

  Two seconds later, the signal had completed its cycle to display a green for the cross street and I tensed as the cop began to move. At first, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. Accelerating slowly, the vehicle entered the intersection, then continued in a straight line. I couldn’t help but stare in surprise at its taillights. Glancing in the mirror I could see the first cop car still behind me, then I turned to make sure the second one was still departing the immediate area.

  Watching it dwindle into the distance, I was startled when a horn beeped. Looking up, I saw I had a green light again. Sticking my arm out the open window, I waved an apology and made the turn, the cop staying right behind. Immediately, I began seeing signs that directed visitors to different parking lots for various areas of the hospital.

  Directly ahead, at the end of the second block, was a brightly lit entrance for the Emergency Department. Not Room, like in America, and I wondered why I even have these kinds of absolutely irrelevant thoughts at the worst possible times. A large sign pointed the way to the ED, another to outpatient surgery and a third to Visitor Parking. Slowing, I turned on the blinker and wheeled into the large, mostly empty lot.

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the cop car didn’t follow. The driver went straight for another block, then turned into the sweeping ramp that ran to an ambulance bay. Driving to a point where the Rover wasn’t visible from where they stopped, I pulled into a lined off space and shut down the engine.

  “We’re okay,” I said a moment later, turning to look into the back seat.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Rachel asked after she pulled the blanket off her face.

  Dog took the cue and scrambled around, finally slithering out from under cover and sticking his head over the seat for petting. I spent a couple of minutes telling Rachel about the last few minutes of the drive, then opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  36

  Igor and Strickland ran hard. Reaching the road with the faint snowmobile tracks, they paused long enough to satisfy themselves the vehicle had been going south. Staying off the track and in the shelter of the trees in case the Hind returned, they settled into long, loping strides. Igor may have been a decade older than the SEAL, but he set a grueling pace that required the American to stay focused or fall behind.

  Nearly an hour later, they came to a stop on a low ridge that overlooked a tiny village. It had been at least half an hour since they’d heard any sounds of pursuit, but neither man was willing to bet that the guards had given up. They’d shown too much determination. This couldn’t be personal for them, which meant they were being pushed by higher ups to capture or kill Shevchenko. No one wanted to tell Barinov that he’d allowed the escape of the man who had plotted to kill him.

  The village ahead was dark. No more than twenty-five low shacks huddled on the banks of the Angara River. Smoke from wood stoves hung low to the ground, creating an almost mystical atmosphere. Beyond, deep snow covered the frozen waterway, creating a stark white ribbon that wound through the slightly darker terrain.

  Sheltered at the edge of the forest, Igor waited patiently as Strickland lowered his night vision goggles and surveyed the town. He took his time before letting out a long sigh.

  “Tracks pass through and keep going,” he finally said. “Can’t tell if it stopped, or if anyone got off. Too far away.”

  Igor nodded and without a word, stepped into the open and led the way down the gentle slope. He wasn’t happy about having to leave the cover of the forest. The tracks they were making would draw the guards directly into the small, peasant village, bringing them trouble they didn’t need.

  He felt for the residents, knowing their plight was one of nothing but a constant struggle to survive. They would have none of the conveniences of the modern world, not even electricity, running water or indoor plumbing. Their subsistence was derived from the meager crops they could grow in the short summers and whatever meat the hunters could bring home from the forest. They really lived no differently than their grandparents and great grandparents had.

  Hurrying along the tracks, they slowed as they entered the confines of the village. Here, the snow had been trampled, exposing the frozen ground beneath. The entire area was a confusion of footprints, the snowmobile tracks frequently vanishing when the machine traversed an area that was nothing more than bare tundra. They walked the width of the town, then paused, looking at the continuation of the marks in virgin snow before turni
ng back and staring at the path they’d just taken.

  “Can’t tell if they got off,” Strickland mumbled.

  Igor shook his head, agreeing.

  “Do we go house to house?” the SEAL asked.

  “Nyet,” Igor said after a moment. “Cause much trouble.”

  “Then what, Ivan? Your girl and the target could be in any one of those goddamn shacks! You got a better idea how to find them?”

  Igor looked at his companion, then slowly walked back toward the center of the village. As he moved, he dragged his feet, deliberately making noise. From within one of the larger huts, a dog began barking as they passed. A moment later, more barking sounded from all around them.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Strickland hissed.

  “Keep rifle down,” Igor said, coming to a stop and turning a slow circle.

  Within a few seconds, several doors opened and dark figures stepped into the night. Strickland turned so his back was to Igor, but did as instructed and kept his weapon pointed at the ground.

  Each of the men who emerged from the shacks held a rifle. But these weren't modern, by any stretch of the imagination. In the faint moonlight reflecting off the patches of snow, Igor recognized a Mosin Nagant that was based off a design from the late nineteenth century. It had most likely seen action in the Great Patriotic War, or World War II as the Americans called it. All the other weapons were at least a generation older, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t kill just as quickly as the ones the two men carried.

  “What do you want?” the old man who carried the battle rifle asked suspiciously in Russian.

  “Only information, grandfather,” Igor said, respectfully. “We are searching for lost comrades. A woman and her uncle. Perhaps you have seen them?”

  The old man moved closer, peering at Igor’s face. The others had formed a large perimeter and were content to stay back, their rifles held close to their bodies in both hands.