The Ark tl-1

by Boyd Morrison

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to kill every animal on earth. I am a biochemist by training. My company has resources that most others can only dream of. The plague from Noah’s Ark was actually a prion. It was viciously lethal, attacking all animal matter and reducing any soft tissue to its base components. With years of research, we were able to reduce its effectiveness to one species. Humans.”

  “So you can be not only Noah, but God as well? You make the decision to wipe out humanity, and then you become the patriarch that repopulates it?”

  “I didn’t make the decision. God did. If He didn’t, why did He allow me to find the Arkon-A? I’m simply his instrument.”

  “Arkon-A is the prion from the relic?”

  “That’s what I called it,” Garrett said. “Arkon-A was the original disease. Arkon-B was our unfortunate first sample that worked on humans. Too virulent. It would never have worked for my vision. It simply killed too fast to spread among the general population. That’s why I took my time and developed Arkon-C. That strain will be the one dispersed in two days.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Let’s face it, Dilara. You are not going anywhere, and being an archaeologist, you are one of the few people who can truly appreciate what I’ve done. Someday I even hope to go back and excavate Noah’s Ark myself. I could use someone of your talents in my New World. Perhaps you will accompany me.”

  She choked back bile. “I’d rather die.”

  “You might change your mind after our new flood has wiped the earth clean. Being one of the last women on earth may be a headier experience than you can imagine.”

  She could see that he was actually attracted to her. Like most men who craved power, one woman wasn’t enough for him, no matter how beautiful Svetlana Petrova was. And with a task like repopulating the earth, why wouldn’t he want to build a harem? The thought disgusted her, but she might be able to use it to her advantage in order to escape and warn someone.

  “You’re right. I guess I’ll have to see.”

  “Oh, I’m not delusional, Dilara. It will take time. You’re not there yet and will probably betray me at your first chance. But with six months’ time…well, a lot will have changed by then.”

  Garrett got up to leave. Dilara tried to stall him.

  “Wait! This is fascinating. I want to hear more about the Ark.”

  “There will be plenty of time later. We’re about to land.”

  “But I’d like to know everything. If I’m going to be a partner with you, I think I deserve it.”

  “I’m the only one who knows everything,” Garrett said. Then he walked into the forward cabin and shut the door, leaving Dilara to ponder her next move.

  FORTY-TWO

  Locke was on the Gordian jet flying back to the TEC in Phoenix, but he wasn’t piloting this time. He had too much work to do.

  His first order of business was to arrange with the FBI a ruse to put Garrett off guard. He had the FBI release that, along with one of its agents, Dr. Tyler Locke had been killed during a melee on board the Genesis Dawn. Garrett wouldn’t be concerned when Perez didn’t check in with him. He’d think that both of them were killed.

  The next job was to find out where Garrett was taking Dilara. Locke suspected they kidnapped her as some kind of potential bargaining chip or maybe to question her. If they wanted her dead too, they would have killed them both instead of having Perez separate them. She was still alive, but Locke didn’t know for how long.

  “Where’s Garrett’s plane?” Locke asked Aiden MacKenna using the jet’s satellite phone. Aiden had been working with the FBI trying to track down Garrett.

  “According to the Bureau,” Aiden said, “they landed in Seattle an hour ago. Just missed them. We know they didn’t get on another plane, but we’ve lost their trail. They must be somewhere in the Puget Sound vicinity.”

  “Do you have a list of Garrett’s facilities in the area?”

  “I do. We found ties between Garrett’s company and PicoMed Pharmaceuticals, where Sam Watson worked. It’s in Seattle along with most of Garrett’s other real estate, including his company headquarters.”

  “What I’m looking for is the place where the bunker was built. Garrett’s getting ready to release this prion. That means he should be holing up in Oasis. He wouldn’t have built it in the middle of Seattle. It would be on some piece of land that’s out of the way. Does he have a ranch somewhere?”

  “Not that I’ve found, either under his own name or his company names.”

  Locke thought about the possibilities. If Garrett were really trying to recreate the effects of the Flood, and he thought he was Noah…

  “Aiden, what about the Holy Hydronastic Church?”

  “Let me tap into the FBI database and crosscheck with a little illicitly-obtained financial data.” He paused. Locke heard typing. “I think we may have a winner. The church headquarters is in downtown Seattle, which wouldn’t fit your parameters, but they have a large property on Orcas Island.”

  “What kind of buildings?”

  “According to the latest DoD satellite imagery, it looks like five. Another mansion. What looks like an enormous hotel. And then three warehouses the size of airplane hangars. They’ve also got helipads and a huge dock.”

  That was it. The perfect place to build a bunker that wouldn’t draw much attention.

  “Do you see any earthworks?” Coleman would have had to move thousands of tons of earth to dig out the tunnels and rooms of the underground bunker.

  “None visible on the satellite image.”

  That was odd. Locke was sure the Hydronastic Church facility was the only option, especially since Garrett had landed at Seattle, only 60 miles from Orcas Island. Still, there should be ample evidence of earthmoving.

  “Check to see if the coastline has changed.”

  More typing. “As far as I can tell, except for addition of the buildings, it looks exactly the same over the last three years.”

  “You said they were the size of airplane hangars?”

  “Big enough to hold a couple of 747s each. I can’t imagine what they’re for.”

  “I can.” That was it. The hangars. Locke knew why they were there.

  A beep came on the cell phone, indicating an incoming call. Locke looked at caller ID and grimaced. It was the call he had been dreading.

  “Aiden,” Locke said, “I have to take this. See if you can get anything that proves Garrett is on Orcas Island. Check all the boats and helicopters.”

  “Okay, Tyler. I’ll call you back.”

  Locke took a breath and switched over to the other line.

  “General. Thanks for returning my call.”

  “I heard about that mess on the Genesis Dawn,” came the blunt response. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

  Locke could already feel his hackles rising. Even after two years of virtually no contact, the man knew how to push his buttons. “It wasn’t really my choice, Dad. They’ve tried to kill me three times.”

  “Three times! And you’re just coming to me now?”

  This conversation was going just as badly as Locke thought it would. Not if my life depended on it was what he had thought when Miles first suggested calling Sherman Locke. But it wasn’t his life that was now in danger. It was Dilara’s.

  Given the results from the CDC testing, Locke figured it was only a matter of time before the military got involved. The discovery of a new bioweapon was a matter of national security, and the FBI would have to coordinate with them. With Dilara taken hostage, Locke didn’t want to be left out of the loop, so he’d reluctantly placed the call to his father’s office and provided some details about Oasis.

  “I didn’t have any evidence until now that you would be able to do anything about,” Locke said. “But the situation has become critical, and I think the military has the capability to handle it.”

  The General made a clicking sound with his tongue. Disapproval. “S
ounds like you’re in over your head.”

  “What do you want me to say, Dad? That I need your help?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, son.”

  His father’s voice was harsh, but Locke also detected a concern behind it he hadn’t often heard. The hackles lowered slightly.

  “Fine,” he said. “I need your help.”

  “That’s what we’re here for. The CDC tells me we’ve got a Level Four bio-terrorism agent on our hands.”

  “It’s bad stuff.”

  “It looks like none of it survived, so we don’t have any way to develop a response.”

  His father used the typical military code for a cure, but Locke suspected the General really wanted the weapon for the military’s use.

  “I spoke to the president,” the General said. “When he heard how nasty these prions were, he decided, on my recommendation, that this was a clear and present danger to the country’s security. He directed the military to do anything in its power to secure them.”

  “And the FBI?”

  “When I briefed him about Oasis, the president decided that the FBI counterterrorism unit doesn’t have the specialization to take on a hardened facility like that. He’s authorized an Army assault team to attack it. He just needs to know where.”

  “I know where. The Hydronast compound on Orcas Island.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Ninety percent sure,” Locke said, then winced when he realized how wishy-washy that sounded.

  To Locke’s surprise, his father said, “That’s good enough for me.”

  “I’ve got an idea about how to verify it. Where are you now?”

  “I’m on my way to White Sands,” the General said. “I want you there by noon. You’re attending a demonstration.” It was a command, not an invitation. Locke knew better than to argue.

  “Of what?”

  “I can’t say. But it’s relevant to our current problem.”

  “Okay. I should be there by 11:30am.” White Sands was on the way to Phoenix from Atlanta. “I’m going to have Grant Westfield meet me there.”

  “This is on a need-to-know basis.”

  “You’ve met Grant. Former Ranger and combat engineer. He’s got the same clearance I do, and he’s a top-notch electrical engineer. He also knows more about the Hayden crash than anyone else.”

  “Fine. Don’t be late.” He hung up.

  Locke looked at the phone, puzzled. The conversation hadn’t gone as he’d expected. For a moment, it actually seemed like his father wanted his advice. Whatever the General wanted to show him at White Sands must be pretty important if he himself was making an appearance.

  Locke went to the cockpit and poked his head in.

  “Change of plans, guys. We’re going to New Mexico.”

  FORTY-THREE

  At 3200 square miles, White Sands Missile Range is the largest US military installation, three times the size of Rhode Island. It has been used as a test facility for some of the military’s most powerful weapons ever since the first atomic bomb was detonated at the Trinity site on the base’s eastern portion in 1945. Locke’s pilot landed on the runway used as an emergency landing site for the space shuttle.

  The jet was guided to a ramp not far from a helicopter. Grant was standing next to it. Before the plane’s engines were silent, Locke opened the door to a blast of heat. He put on a cap and sunglasses and walked over to Grant, whose bald head was already beaded with sweat.

  Grant gave Locke a serious look. “Man, I’m sorry about Dilara,” he said. “I’m sure she’s okay.”

  “We’ll get her back,” Locke said confidently, even though he was burning up with concern.

  “Damn right we will.”

  “We going for a ride?”

  “The test site is 50 miles from here. The General wants us there in a hurry.”

  “Any idea why?”

  Grant shook his head. “Apparently, he likes his secrets. Said he’d tell us when we got there.” They climbed in and were airborne one minute later.

  In another twenty minutes, the chopper landed next to a collection of trailers hooked to a massive generator and satellite dishes.

  Grant led Locke to the biggest trailer, a double wide. Inside, they found rows of computer monitors manned by technicians, some in civilian clothing, others in Air Force and Army uniforms. The AC cooled the room to a chilly 65 degrees. Locke could hear a countdown and saw a red timer centered above a huge window that had a great view of a mountain ten miles away. A plasma screen next to the window showed a closer view of the mountain. Fifteen minutes were left on the clock.

  Major General Sherman Locke was conferring with two other generals at the other end of the trailer. When he saw his son and Grant enter, he cut off his discussion and approached them. He wore a grim expression.

  Even in his late fifties, the General was a physically imposing man, fitter and taller than most of the younger soldiers in the room. Anyone who knew Tyler Locke could immediately see the resemblance between father and son. It was in their demeanor that they differed. The son had a relaxed way of dealing with others, preferring to lead by example and a soft touch. The father, on the other hand, commanded with an iron fist, demanding to be in charge in every situation he encountered, and this was no exception.

  “Captain,” the General said, holding out his hand to Locke, “glad you could make it. Your sister told me to say hello.”

  The General was the only person who insisted on using Locke’s military rank after he resigned his commission. It probably was also a message to the others in the room that his son was an officer.

  “General,” Locke said, taking the General’s granite grip and returning it hard, “please return the favor for me.”

  The General nodded at Grant and shook his hand perfunctorily. Locke and his father silently appraised each other, neither revealing anything beyond a blank stare.

  “I bet it took a lot for you to call me,” the General said his son.

  Locke ignored the dig. “You saw the report from the CDC?”

  “I’ve warned Ft. Detrick and the FBI for years that computers and private labs would eventually put dangerous bioweapons in the hands of non-governmental actors. They were concerned about anthrax and smallpox, but I knew it was a matter of time before we saw something worse, and now it looks like we have.”

  General Locke was in charge of the military’s Defense Threat Reduction Agency, which was responsible for countering weapons of mass destruction. His 35 years in the Air Force had made him one of the best-connected and most respected officers. His position allowed him to be involved in practically any operation he wanted, especially when units were testing out new weaponry in the battlefield.

  A full bird colonel approached and quietly asked the General a question. The General answered and the colonel responded with a smart, “Yes, sir!”

  Locke had been around his father during parties with other officers, but he’d never seen the General in a command situation before. Despite everything, he felt a certain amount of pride seeing his father in charge.

  “General,” Locke said, “the people who deployed the bioagent on Hayden’s airplane tried the same thing on the Genesis Dawn. I’m sure they’ll make another attempt soon.”

  “And you claim that Sebastian Garrett is behind this?”

  “Yes, sir,” Locke said, marveling at how quickly he felt himself becoming an Army officer again in his father’s presence. “We have evidence that Sebastian Garrett is responsible. He owns one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the country, and he’s an expert in biochemistry. He also has the financial resources to build Oasis.”

  “This bunker you think he has.”

  Locke told the General about Project Oasis’s connection to John Coleman and how Locke had briefly worked on the project when it was called Whirlwind.

  “If they didn’t substantially change the design specs from the ones I saw,” Locke said, “we’re talking about a bunker that wo
uld rival Mt. Weather. It could easily keep 300 people alive and comfortable during the time it took for this prion agent to kill the rest of the world’s population and then disperse.”

  The General paused as if he were deciding what to say to them next. He took Grant and Locke aside out of earshot of the nearest technician and lowered his voice.

  “What I’m about to tell you is highly classified,” he said. “I believe you. I believe you because we’ve had Garrett under investigation for two years.”

  Locke and Grant looked at each other in surprise.

  “What?” Grant said a little too loudly. He quieted his voice and went on. “Why? Garrett not pay his taxes?”

  “Someone’s been hiring away some of the best bioweapon designers in the country from various subcontractors that were working with USAMRIID at Ft. Detrick. At first, we thought they were being lured by more money at private pharma firms. But when the numbers got larger, we started to investigate. We speculate they were promised work on other defense projects in biowarfare by entities claiming to represent secret government projects. Of course, these companies weren’t under contract to the Defense Department, but the people they recruited didn’t know that.”

  “Sounds like the trick used on me with Project Whirlwind,” Locke said.

  “When we dug deeper, we found some tenuous links to Sebastian Garrett, but we could never prove it.”

  “Was one of these scientists named Sam Watson?”

  “Yes. He died of a heart attack last week.”

  “No,” Locke said. “He was poisoned.” Finally something his father didn’t already know.

  The General narrowed his eyes. “How can you be sure?”

  “Because the person who was with him at the time, an archaeologist named Dilara Kenner, came to see me two days later and told me he was poisoned.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Sebastian Garrett has her,” Locke said, disgusted at the thought of her at Garrett’s mercy. “She was abducted while I was chasing that rogue FBI agent. We need to get her back.”