Fox took out a handkerchief, dabbed his eyes, and then wiped his mouth. “I’ll be okay. It’s probably just traveler’s sickness.”
“Traveler’s sickness my ass. We’re getting you to a medic.” Hiller helped Fox get up. Fox walked back to join the other SEALs and looked at each of them. He didn’t know their personal stories, only their individual skills. Looking at them, he saw himself as he was five years ago. Those were the days when testosterone drove him, rushing into battle-whether he was rescuing hostages from Somalian pirates, or from other terrorist cells. Those were the days, when he killed an enemy, it was out of self-defense. Since Jessica’s death, self-defense for him was nothing more than a euphemism. It was only now that he began to realize this. It must be why he threw up.
A helicopter would be arriving soon to pick them up. He’d know by the time it landed whether or not he could continue with this life.
Chapter 4
Novinsky Boulevard, 121099, Moscow, Russia, 12:03PM local time
The white-haired man twirled his pen as he gradually squeezed the phone harder by the second.
“Yes, I heard you the first time. Just remind them that we’re not responsible for the safety of their men or any breach in their security.”
“They’re arguing that the security breach came from our end,” said the man on the phone.
“Pandora was in their possession when it went missing. You tell the Sudanese officials that we have an endless supply, which we’ll sell to other clients that we regularly do business with. Let them know that if they want to continue doing business with us, they’ll have to guarantee that there won’t be any more security breaches, especially since it puts us at risk also. And tell them that whether we choose to accept them as clients again will be at our discretion.” He slammed the phone into its cradle. Bloody salespeople, don’t know when and how to control the clients.
He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. He was on the ninth floor of the modern office building at the corner of Novy Arbat and Novinsky Boulevard. Thirty years ago he never would have imagined working in a clandestine organization, much less being the leader of one of its cells-the October Cell-named after the month it was established.
There were other cells throughout Europe, mostly consisting of ex-intelligence and military officers. He told himself that nations rise and fall, but wars are common, and have been since the beginning of time. He mused that war would always yield great business. He might consider the fall of the Soviet Union, and his inactivity in the former KGB, as a mixed blessing. The knowledge and experience he had acquired had allowed him to help jumpstart the Arms of Ares, which had seen worldwide revenues of over four billion in the last eight years in arms sales. He expected those revenues would triple with Pandora in their possession.
There was a knock at the door. He stopped twirling the pen and inserted it into the breast pocket of his charcoal-gray suit.
“Enter,” he said, without taking his eyes off of the traffic below. Through the window, he saw the reflection of one of his staff members, closing the door behind him.
“Excuse me, sir. There’s been some troubling news.”
“If it’s about our loss in Darfur, I’m fully aware of it.”
“It’s not about Darfur, sir. It’s about our satellite laboratory.”
The white-haired man turned away from the window to face him. “What do you mean?”
“There’s been an attack. We’re not sure when, but it must have been recently.”
The white-haired man approached him slowly. “Pandora, is it safe?”
The man didn’t answer immediately. Either he didn’t know or he was afraid to tell him.
“Is it safe?” he yelled.
“We don’t know, sir,” the staff member said. “We got a distress signal that was cut off within seconds of it going off. When we tried to contact them, there was no reply.”
“Valerik, where is he?”
“He cannot be reached, sir.”
“Find out what happened there. I want some answers within the next half hour. I want you to also contact the unit and have them assembled and waiting for me at our usual rendezvous point. Have my car waiting for me downstairs.”
“Yes, sir.” The man then walked out the door, closing it behind him.
The white-haired man took out his pen and twirled it, trying to calm his agitation. This couldn’t have been Fox-again. If it was, he would’ve known in advance from his mole in the CIA, unless Fox caught onto him. But then, a more dreadful scenario occurred to him, and the more he thought of it, the faster he twirled his pen. Valerik stole Pandora to sell it himself, and it was the last remaining stock. If he was out there hiding, his cell would track him down and he would personally end the traitor’s life.
Chapter 5
US Air Force Base at Entebbe Airport, Uganda, 5:40 PM local time
The two F-16 Fighter Jet escorts broke away as the C-130 Hercules turboprop aircraft made its final approach to the runway, touching down nearly ten minutes later.
“Welcome to Entebbe Airport, the latest in new American bases,” said Hiller.
“Any place where I could avoid being shot at for the next forty-eight hours will do,” said Fox, eager to get off the plane.
“Is this your first time here?”
Fox nodded. “I haven’t been to many bases here on this continent. Most of my time has been hopping around Europe and the Middle East.”
“Well, we ain’t going to be needing those bases much longer-the European ones, that is. The Soviet threat’s not the big issue-the terrorist threat is. Over the next few years the Pentagon’s going to be relocating those bases right here in Africa and the Middle East.”
Fox nodded. Makes sense. It’s a better way to keep a close eye on terrorists and oil resources.
Once the Hercules aircraft had taxied to a stop, Fox and the SEALs didn’t waste time unbuckling their seatbelts, getting up, and lining up at the back cargo door.
Hiller motioned Fox forward with his right arm. “Ladies first.”
“Dumb blondes in back,” Fox quipped, which was followed by laughter from the other SEALs.
Hiller patted Fox on the back. “It’s good to have you back. You had me worried back there in Darfur.”
“I’m fine. I told you not to worry.”
The back cargo door lowered and touched the runway. The heat hit him as though an oven door had just been opened. It wouldn’t be long before he’d need another cold shower once he got indoors. It’d been a while since Fox wore army fatigues. He remembered that he wore a similar pair while with Hiller after they had rescued Canadian and American hostages from pirates in the Indian Ocean in a joint SEAL-JTF2 mission a few years back. But it was the only clothing they provided him with back at the Chad-Sudan border base.
He looked at the red-colored sky that surrounded the setting sun over the forest. A commercial plane roared overhead as it took off. Soon afterwards he heard a Jeep approach. “Here’s our ride, right on time.”
“Correction, Warrant Officer. That’s our ride. We’ve got to get this here weaponized virus, or whatever you want to call, it out to the CDC compound northwest of here.” Hiller pointed to another Jeep that raced along the tarmac and screeched to a stop beside the other. “I believe that’s your ride coming right now.”
When Fox saw the Jeep’s driver, he looked the other way. “Oh Christ, it’s Walsh.”
“So you know him, one of your pals I take it.”
“Not exactly. I think I’d rather be back in Darfur, than ride with him.”
“Hey there, Foxy!” yelled Tom Walsh.
“Damn, I feel sorry for you, buddy,” said Hiller as they reached the tarmac. “When we get back home, I’ll set you up with my sister-in-law. She’s as stubborn as they come, but I’m sure you’ll take anything at this point, right?”
“As long as she doesn’t wear your shoe size, I might take her.”
Hiller laughed. “I’ll remember tha
t. My wife and I are having a barbeque next weekend. You plan on joining us?”
“You know I’m always there.”
“Cool, we’ll see each other then.” They shook hands.
Fox walked to Walsh’s Jeep as Hiller and the other SEALs got into theirs and drove away to a UH-60 Black Hawk Helicopter.
“What’s going on there, Foxy?”
Fox climbed inside as Walsh jetted off. “First of all, stop calling me Foxy.”
“Oh come on, what’s going on with you? You should be proud of yourself. You managed to stop a case of genocide and piss off our enemies again. This time, all at once.”
“All in a day’s work.”
“All in a day’s work? Are you kidding me? Wait a minute, let me guess. You dated and dumped another woman again, didn’t you? Come on, you can tell me.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “It’s over and that’s all I have to say about it.”
“Damn it. You know what your problem is? You let yourself get too close to women and when you have to let them go, it’s too painful for you. I mean, you change women more often than most men change their underwear.”
“Except for you, of course.”
Walsh shot a glance at him. “What’s that?”
“Just drop it. I don’t need this right now.”
“Jesus, I was just trying to make conversation.” Walsh parked the Jeep crookedly and took up two parking spaces. Fox stepped out of the Jeep, and he looked at the newly-built military intelligence facility, which was still undergoing construction in certain parts.
Walsh joined Fox and led him to the entrance. “Here we are, probably the most technically advanced and secure facility in the entire country.”
Fox didn’t comment. He got out and followed Walsh inside. They both came to the security checkpoint where Fox emptied his pockets and placed his wallet and an envelope in a basket that was put on the conveyer belt. He walked through the x-ray booth behind Walsh. When the two marines at the checkpoint were satisfied, Fox took back his wallet and walked off.
“Sir, you forgot this.” When Fox turned, one of the marines held onto the envelope. Fox thanked the marine and took it.
Walsh nodded as Fox pocketed the envelope. “What you got there, a love letter?”
“Yeah. That’s what it is,” lied Fox. It was a letter of resignation he planned to give Downing. He wrote it while he was in Chad. I delivered Pandora and Ares would lose billions from that loss. Let the CIA take care of the rest, I’m through.
Walsh buckled his belt as he led Fox down the hall. “Tell you what. I’ll make it up to you. It won’t be long before we head back home. Why don’t we check out a Redskins game?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Jesus, aren’t you hard to please. Don’t tell me you’re still upset that I brought up your last fling.”
“No, I’m just not into football,” Fox lied again. He was the team’s MVP the last two years in high school. He even dabbled with rugby while on a training mission in Scotland, back in the days while he was in the Canadian Army.
“Fine, then we’ll check out the opera. How about that?”
Fox rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. He’s relentless.
Walsh pushed open one of the conference room’s double doors, and Fox followed him into the room. He saw his superior, General Paul Downing at the head of the conference table. To his right, he saw the more stoutly built, Post Commander Bell. To Downing’s left sat a blonde woman who looked up at Fox and Walsh as they entered. Fox didn’t know her personally, but could only guess her to be Dr. Tabitha Marx, from the CDC. Her name was mentioned a few times in his initial briefing before he left for Chechnya. Her violet pantsuit accentuated a certain sense of authority as it mixed with the dirty-blonde hair that hung past her shoulders. He guessed her to be in her mid-forties, at most.
Fox always pictured women with high levels of education to be a bit on the plump side when they hit their forties, due to the stresses of balancing both work and family. But not Dr. Marx, who was widowed a year after she married a wealthy industrialist. She still kept her shape and youthful appearance. Maybe it was camouflaged by her height-being over six feet tall-or maybe it was the grace in her movements when she swiveled around in her chair, exposing the length of her crossed legs. But when she looked back at him and smiled, Fox noticed her icy-blue eyes.
“You can both have a seat,” said General Downing. “You both know Colonel Fred Bell.” The Post Commander poured himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the table as he nodded. “Sitting in on this meeting is Dr. Tabitha Marx from the CDC.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Marx said. Fox and Walsh nodded.
Downing turned to Fox. “As you probably know, Dr. Marx is a specialist on the bio-weapon you’ve successfully retrieved. She has come here to see to its proper disposal.”
“I have a question, Doc. What Fox brought back was small enough to fit in a briefcase. How bad a weapon is it?” asked Walsh.
“It’s one of the deadliest weapons ever known to man,” she replied. “The small amount of the Pandora microbe Fox retrieved is enough to wipe out an entire city the size of New York. Imagine if you were attacked by a single microbe that’s virtually invisible to the naked eye. It finds its way inside you, either through your mouth, ears, or the nose, and eats its way inside, ingesting tissue and organs in order to self-replicate. All you feel is the inside of your body collapsing while the microbes increase exponentially in numbers. Huge boils appear all over your body, seconds before they erupt and spray the billions of offspring your body helped to produce. The casual observer would see fluorescent-green smoke blowing out of an infected victim. Then again, if you were close enough to see this, then you’re good as dead within minutes.”
Walsh recoiled in his chair. “Jesus, Doc. Is this your idea of a bedtime story?”
Marx looked at Walsh with a half smile. “Does the scenario frighten you?” She dropped the grin. “It should. Because this is exactly what Mr. Fox retrieved.”
Fox noticed her as she ended the sentence looking at him. What was it about those eyes of hers? It was as though she were trying to read my thoughts.
Bell took a gulp from his glass. “Jesus Christ! You mean to say, what fit into that briefcase is enough to start World War Three?”
Marx leaned forward and placed an elbow on the table. “It’s anyone’s guess as to how far terrorists would go to attack America. Imagine Al-Qaeda agents going on suicide missions not just in New York, but also in Los Angeles, Washington, and Chicago. Add to the fact that it would be followed by a massive panic across the country. Nine-eleven would be reduced to just another paragraph in a high school history book.”
General Downing cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, thank you for the explanation, Dr. Marx.”
Fox had a sense of relief. It wasn’t just him who felt uncomfortable around Marx after all. His own boss was even freaked out over her explicitness in detail. God forbid she became one of the President’s advisors. America would be on a year-long state of emergency.
Fox noticed her stare again. She was really starting to freak him out.
General Downing turned to Fox. “Despite the loss of our informant, and some very crucial intelligence about Ares, we’ve been able to proceed with what you were able to get about other possible Pandora laboratories. I’ve put Tom in charge of handling the task force units to conduct simultaneous raids on them.”
Fox turned to him, a bit tense out of excitement. “So that’s it. We’re done.”
“Not quite,” began Walsh. “Less than three hours ago, teams were dispatched to two other laboratories, one in the northern part of the Republic of Komi, in Russia, and also in Belarus, north of the city of Polatsk. Both teams reported that nothing was left of them when they arrived. However, the lab north of Polatsk was on lockdown. The blast door wouldn’t open once we entered the codes.”
“Something happened inside,” said Dr. Marx.
Downing looked at her. “What makes you think so?”
“It’s obvious why Ares would use bunker-like blast doors at the entrance of their underground labs,” Marx replied. “It’s not to keep certain people from getting in, but in order to keep Pandora from getting out in the event of an accident.”
“An accident? I doubt that. That’s rather unlikely,” said Fox.
Marx turned to him. “And why’s that?”
“Their lab in Groznyy is destroyed. They’ve lost Pandora over there. I’d think they’d be more cautious, especially since it might be their last sample of Pandora. It just seems too good to be true that they’d be that careless as to lose such a valuable commodity by accident.”
Walsh turned to Marx. “Fox may have a point. With the timing of those raids, whether Ares was setting up shop in either of those labs, we should’ve nailed them.”
Marx leaned back, away from the table. “Another explanation is that Ares could’ve set off the accident deliberately in order to send us off course. Meaning that there’s possibly more sleeper labs.”
Fox put an elbow on the table, and he let his head drop into his hand, massaging his forehead. “I doubt it. My contact was very accurate in the intel she shared with me. She never mentioned the possibility of her intel being faulty.”
“Then how else do you explain the lab being on internal lockdown?” asked Marx.
Fox paused for a moment. He looked up at her. “I can’t be sure. Maybe…I don’t know…another disgruntled agent in Ares, like Stechina. The person or persons could’ve deliberately caused the accident.”
“That may be true, Ridley,” said General Downing. “But the intel your contact would’ve given us, had she survived the escape, would’ve helped us identify the person, or persons, who could be potential defectors.” He pushed his chair back from the table and grabbed his cane. “Are there any more questions?” No one answered. “Then this meeting’s adjourned. I believe you must go report to the CDC’s compound, Dr. Marx?”
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