Eden Plague - Latest Edition

by David VanDyke

  That was a scary thought. If he was captured, he was as vulnerable as anyone, especially if his captors knew about the XH. Someone could torture him, and the XH would try to heal him even if it killed him to do it.

  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, but it was still fuzzy. That couldn’t be the whole downside. That was like saying a revolutionary super-tank got bad gas mileage. The tradeoff was obviously worth it, if it ruled the battlefield.

  Suddenly, he felt exhausted. He had to get some sleep. He never used to sleep this much. Maybe that was part of the XH too. Might as well store it up while he could. He said good night and turned in.

  -10-

  The next day dawned cold, with a few flakes of snow and a sharp wind. Daniel popped out of bed while the other three were still stacking zees, ate some toast and jam to still the growling and went for a run. His nose and ears were burning red with the cold by the time he came back but he felt like a million bucks, better than he’d ever felt in his life. He made breakfast for everyone, ate and drank his fill, which meant he consumed as much as all of the rest put together. He wondered if this state of affairs was going to continue. It seemed like if the XH put his body into peak condition, he should actually be eating less, using everything more efficiently.

  They really, really needed to get Elise, to find some answers.

  Washing the breakfast dishes, he heard a vehicle approaching. The white stuff was coming down lightly and Spooky slipped out the back, dressed in winter camo.

  Zeke and Daniel grabbed assault rifles while Vinny looked worried and went to the window. Zeke came up beside him and looked out too. He put a hand on Vinny’s shoulder and said, “Relax. It’s my guys.”

  It was a big black Suburban – no, Daniel saw it was actually an Escalade, with gold trim and those spinning hubcap things, blacked-out windows, running boards, fender flares, and other geegaws and add-ons that he couldn’t name. It blasted a multi-tone horn as it pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, and a big black man in a fancy track suit got out of the driver’s seat. He looked to be about three hundred pounds, fat but fit, like a football lineman. He was in his thirties, with gold chains on and a short but expensive haircut, some kind of logo shaved into his hair.

  “Larry!” cried Zeke, wrapping him up in a bear hug.

  “Come on, man it’s ‘Lawrence,’ how many times I gotta tell you?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot.” Zeke grinned.

  Daniel didn’t think he’d forgotten. It must be some kind of inside joke. He nodded to Lawrence, then held out his hand as the man approached.

  “Hi Lawrence. Daniel Markis. Call me DJ. I was a PJ.” It was an old joke, DJ the PJ.

  “Air Force? Aim High, baby. Call me Larry, Larry Nightingale,” he said, with a smile full of gold and white teeth. He squeezed Daniel's hand, just to see what he was made of, he guessed.

  Daniel returned the grip effortlessly. “Okay, Larry.”

  Larry’s eyes went wide, and he grinned even wider. The XH had restored Daniel’s strength, and more.

  “Larry was my engineering and demo guy before he decided to chase the green,” Zeke said, mock-disapproving.

  “Hey, E-6 pay wasn’t squat compared to what I make now. Dolla dolla bill, y’all. And I expect to get paid now too. Honeys give it up for the bling.” He made some kind of urban hand sign, laughing with those golden teeth showing again.

  Daniel thought the man was caricaturing himself, but one never knew. The urban gangsta shtick was so ubiquitous now that it was hard to tell what was real and what was just image. Culture is a funny thing.

  The passenger door opened and another man stepped out, tall and thin, with a shaved head and deep-set black eyes in a narrow face. Late thirties, very fit. Skin and bones and wiry muscles, and a trace of Native American in his background for sure. He looked like an undertaker stuffed into tactical pants and polypropylene, and he peered distastefully at the thinning flakes falling from the sky, waving a hand as if to shoo them away. He had a Patek timepiece on his wrist that probably cost more than the Escalade, pure functionality and understated elegance.

  “Skull!” Zeke cried, seizing the man’s hand enthusiastically. Skull looked pleased, but his smile was tight and reserved.

  “I’m here, Zeke. Hey, DJ.” He nodded at Daniel, Daniel nodded back.

  Daniel and Alan “Skull” Denham were acquainted. He had been a Marine sniper, a very closemouthed guy. They’d only met a couple of times, through Zeke, and didn’t really hit it off. Daniel never got the full story of how Skull ended up working with Zeke, and had the feeling he always looked down on anyone that wasn’t a jarhead, hiding it well but not well enough. Still, they were all Zeke’s guys, and if Zeke vouched for someone, that was good enough.

  “Where’s Denny?” Zeke asked.

  Larry’s smile faded and he dropped his eyes. “Couldn’t make it. Got a woman and he’s whipped.”

  Zeke shrugged, playing it off. He was hurt, but didn’t want to show it. “He never could say no to a skirt,” he said, sighing.

  “Said he’d try to get away, but you know him…”

  “Forget it. This one needs to be rock-solid, no weak spots. Let’s go inside.”

  They got the Escalade into the barn. Daniel noticed it rode heavy. Probably armored. It was getting crowded in there. They had a whole motor pool.

  Inside, they made some coffee and heated up a pie from a box. Daniel slipped another one in the oven when Zeke wasn’t looking. At this rate they were going to have to make a grocery run soon.

  Seated around the dining room table, they briefed the two recent arrivals. It took the rest of the morning, what with the questions and disbelieving looks. Daniel had to do his healing thing again. He let Skull stab him with a fork this time, just to make sure they knew it wasn’t a trick. He wasn’t ready to get shot just yet. Once they’d settled that, they started brainstorming the operation.

  “We have to assume Elise is locked up on the island. They know she wants to run, and she’s a test subject too, so it makes sense. That means one, probably two shooters to keep an eye on her and the others at all times. Two or three shifts, but they can’t keep more than two guys in prison-guard mode all the time. “

  “They could have a jail cell,” Spooky said.

  “Yeah, that would make it easier for them, but that’s good for us too. Fewer shooters means fewer problems,” Zeke said.

  “Do you think the researchers stay there or go home at night?” Daniel asked.

  Zeke replied, “If it was me, I’d keep to a normal schedule. Ten miles by boat or helo – probably boat, much lower profile – makes for an easy commute. Thirty minutes each way or so. Probably have facilities to stay overnight, though, if they need to or want to. So we figure Miss Wallis, one or two guards, maybe a scientist.”

  “Recon?” This from Skull.

  Vinny replied, “Yeah. I’ll find some more recent overhead imagery That right there is three months old. I need to buy a drone if you want really good stuff from up close.”

  “No drones for now.”

  Vinny looked disappointed. He wanted the toys.

  “No need to get that fancy, and it might draw attention. We just need a fishing boat.”

  “Pleasure fishing in February? In the Chesapeake?” Daniel asked.

  “Crap,” replied Zeke, rubbing his bearded chin. “How do we get close?”

  “A boat is fine,” Daniel said, “but we’ll have to just do a few slow passes on the way to and from Tangier Island." He pointed to the map.

  Tangier Island was a fishing and tourist destination, with quaint bed and breakfast places, crab shacks and fancier seafood restaurants, and its own marinas and an airport. Anyone leaving from the mainland near Onancock would naturally pass by Watts Island on the way.

  Spooky spoke then, softly. “And surveillance on their houses. See what their routine is. See where their boat is. Find the helo. Also exfiltration plan. Snatch will be the easy part. Getting away clean is h
arder.” He pursed his lips, brooding. Took a sip of his special tea.

  “Element of surprise, boys, element of surprise,” Larry rumbled. “They won’t know what hit them. But Spooky’s right. We’re going to blow the lid off this thing. We can’t expect to get everyone, so someone will go to their boss or bosses, and then there will be some heavy-duty blowback. If word of this gets out – and it will – we’re going to need a bolt-hole deeper than this cabin. No offense Zeke, but this place is a matter of public record, right?”

  “Sort of. It’s in my wife’s maiden name.”

  “Well, that will take them an extra hour to find out,” Vinny said sourly.

  “What’s wrong, you getting cold feet?” Skull asked accusingly. Vinny glared at him and folded his arms.

  “My nephew’s manners may be in question, but not his courage,” said Spooky quietly, and Skull sniffed, mollified. He looked away, as if he didn’t care. He probably just didn’t want to cross the little man.

  “We have a bolt-hole. Never you worry.” Zeke showed off that I’ve-got-a-secret grin. “All right, team, because that’s what we are now, a team, let’s start acting like one,” he stated with emphasis, “Let’s get planning. DJ, put some more coffee on and start making more stew out of that venison, will you? I know you can cook.”

  Daniel nodded, going into the kitchen and rattling around, getting things together. Zeke obviously wanted to talk to the others without him around, reassure them a bit, he guessed. Right now they needed some space. So he puttered around, unloading and repacking his van, poking around the barn, checking out Vinny’s gear. He didn’t touch anything – it was mostly out of his league, though he recognized a frequency-hopping tactical radio base station of the latest type, and what looked like an encryption module, designation KY- or KV - something.

  And a flashing red light.

  He looked at the light, which was attached to another box of unknown purpose, and the computers. There was a little noise, bip, bip, bip, each time it flashed. He thought it had to do with the satellite uplink, though, so he figured Vinny might want to know.

  He went toward the cabin to tell him.

  It looked like he already knew, since he bolted past Daniel as he was coming to the cabin door. Vinny had a smart phone in his hand and he made a beeline for the barn, slipping once on the thin snow cover, cursing under his breath.

  All the rest of them came after, not moving quite so fast, except Spooky, who somehow managed to get around everyone and follow Vinny into the barn first. By the time we all trooped into the structure, Vinh was furiously banging away at keys and cursing like a sailor on speed.

  “What is it, dammit?” asked Zeke.

  “Alarm and repeater transmitter for my smart phone, local mode. It means one of several things happened…” He started hammering furiously on the keys, switching views, windows, displays.

  “Transponder…it’s my ATC back door – air traffic control. Something flying at low level…” He brought up a map of the local area with an overlay of moving dots with tails and numbers beside them. He pointed at one flashing. “Rotor-wing…someone turn off the overhead light in here. Uncle, unplug the transmitter please? It isn’t sending but might as well be sure.”

  Larry flipped the wall switch and they were plunged into cold darkness, lit only by the glow of the computers.

  Vinny held up a pointing finger, straight up. “Hear that?” Everyone fell silent. There was a faint eggbeater buzzing somewhere, which grew louder.

  “Helo. Sikorski. Probably a Black Hawk,” said Skull.

  Daniel agreed.

  The sound swelled, then burst overhead. Spooky moved off to a side door, weapon ready, but the helicopter continued on, flying fast, fading.

  “They’re looking for us,” said Skull. “For him,” he said, looking at me.

  “Maybe,” said Vinny. “Probably. Military transponder. Huh.” He grunted in irritation. He pulled up another display, flashing.

  Zeke leaned over Vinny’s shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a threshold alarm on all the things related to this INS Inc. situation. It means my bots have detected a certain level of cyber activity looking at what I have been doing. Nothing from NSA yet, thank God, but there is one hot node that I know is Langley’s.”

  “Somebody finally reported the feces impacting the rotating oscillating device, and the Agency is waking up. The helo probably has ELINT gear on board. Our timeline just got shorter.” Electronic Intelligence equipment would try to find their transmitters, cell phones, anything that radiated.

  “How much shorter?” Daniel asked.

  “At a guess? I’d say we should have twelve hours, less if I transmit on anything but the Harris net.” He meant our frequency-hopping secure tactical radios, almost impossible to detect or intercept.

  “Well, shut it all down!” cried Larry, looking around as if for an off switch for the gear. He started to move toward the main power cable running to the lone outlet in the barn.

  “Leave that alone!” Vinny yelled. “We already shut off the transmitter. Don’t panic.”

  Larry stopped, looked sheepish.

  Vinny went on, “I’d say fifty-fifty they find us at all. They probably have us to within two to four hundred square miles right now, but unless we transmit, they have to do it the hard way – with people. That means identifying your acquaintances, friends and family, you know, six degrees of separation stuff. Nodal analysis. Then they have to dig through everyone’s records, and even digitized stuff isn’t necessarily textual data.”

  Blank looks.

  “Like if it’s a document that’s been scanned in, but wasn’t generated on a computer – it’s just a picture. Needs a lot of processing power and human-in-the-loop to dig stuff out. If it’s a handwritten document they might miss it entirely except by a human. How much manpower do you think they have devoted to this?”

  “You tell me,” Zeke said.

  “Well…if it’s just one bigwig in the Agency, he could probably form a small team of three or four analysts and set them to work without drawing any attention. So…it’s a crap shoot. At least twelve hours, more likely several days, and like I said, they may never make the connection to Zeke’s wife’s maiden name.”

  “What about HUMINT?” asked Spooky. He meant human intelligence. Boots and eyeballs. “If they come here and ask the sheriffs, ask people.”

  “No way,” said Vinny. “That would take forever. There are at least five thousand residences within ten miles of here. Besides, people around here aren’t going to tell tales to a stranger, or the Feds.”

  “Okay,” started Zeke, “we tear it all down. We can’t risk being caught. Take it all apart, pack it up. And everyone pull your batteries from your cell phones if you haven’t already. Dan, your van is going into the lake. Sorry, but it’s the only vehicle they have positive ID on. Spooky, you have to park the Porsche somewhere, it’s too noticeable. We’ll use the other four SUVs. Pack everything in there. And rip out your lo-jacks, your GPS units, everything that can be traced. Come on people, chop-chop.” Zeke clapped his hands.

  There was a flurry of activity, as everyone tore down and packed all the gear. Boxes went from vehicle to vehicle, all sorts of cases and high-tech-looking containers. Daniel wondered what all they had besides weapons and Vinny’s commo gear.

  He cleaned out the van really well, took the plates off and tried to sanitize it. Spooky helped. They couldn’t get rid of every identifying mark and number, but the more they could slow those guys down, the better. He put all his stuff in the Land Rover, his long gun case, his ruck and his aid bag. One or two men in each vehicle meant they had plenty of cargo room.

  Zeke took the van, Spooky fired up his Porsche, and Skull drove the Jeep as the recovery vehicle. An hour later they came back in it, having sent the van into the lake in a hidden cove. If they were lucky it would be months before anyone found the site.

  In the meantime DJ had cooked some food, trying to use
up everything that they couldn’t bring along. He laid a huge spread, knowing he’d eat a lot of it, and the others wouldn’t be too far behind. Stuffing their faces, between bites the talk naturally turned to the coming operation.

  “How soon do we go?” Daniel threw out. “And how?”

  “Qui Audet Adipiscitur,” quoted Skull.

  Daniel furrowed his brow at Skull. “Latin?”

  “Who Dares, Wins. The motto of the SAS.” He meant the Special Air Service, British special forces.

  “You mean you think we should go in fast and hot.”

  “Yes.”

  Daniel nodded, thoughtful.

  Zeke looked at him, then at Skull. “I agree, to a point. And I think I want the treatment.”

  “What?” That caught Daniel off guard.

  “Hey, I’m the oldest one here, I’m getting fat, my feet are flat, my cholesterol is high, I got a hernia, and it ain’t gonna get any better. And we have to do this right and do it fast, for Ricky’s sake if nothing else. I’m willing to take the risk.”

  Daniel shouldn’t have been surprised. The payoff looked too big, too rich, to ignore. “Anyone else?” He asked around, challenging.

  Skull shook his head. So did the rest, though more slowly.

  “Not yet,” said Nightingale. “What if it makes my…makes me not be able to…you know.” He looked down at his crotch.

  Everyone burst out laughing, but it was a legitimate question. They just didn’t know anything about the side effects.

  “Well, I haven’t noticed any problems.”

  “I don’t see any women around here to test yourself on.”

  The next few suggestions were vulgar; warriors can be rough-spoken. After the laughter died out and everyone had pretty much finished their dinners, Zeke drained his beer and said, “Well?”

  Everyone stared expectantly at Daniel. “Well what?”

  Zeke held out his hand, palm up. “Bite me.”

  “Oh, man…this is creepy,” Daniel answered. “Maybe we should just cut our thumbs and mix our blood.”

  Zeke shook his head. “We don’t know that would work. We do know this does. Bite me.”