The Ark tl-1

by Boyd Morrison

  A man in a white lab coat was crouched under a control panel in terror. Through a large window, Locke could see three others in biohazard suits inside a steel-lined chamber. On the chamber floor were three cases identical to the one Locke had taken from Garrett’s stateroom to the CDC. The men inside the chamber stopped what they were doing and watched the gun battle inside the observation room.

  Locke noted all of this in a second, including that Garrett wasn’t there. Locke plunged through the opposite door and rolled onto his knees, ready to dodge gunfire. He saw Petrova throw open the stairwell door and Garrett turned and looked straight at him. Even from this far away, Locke could see the hate on Garrett’s face. Locke saw that Garrett wasn’t carrying a case.

  Locke raised his gun to fire, but Petrova pulled Garrett into the stairwell with her, and he missed the shot. Locke went back into the observation room.

  Grant was pressing his hand to Turner’s left shoulder.

  “How is he?” Locke asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” Turner said with a grimace. “We’re running out of time. Let’s finish this.”

  Locke turned to the man at the control panel.

  “Tell those people to get out now. Don’t bring anything out and lock it up.”

  The men in the biohazard suits complied quickly, locking the chamber.

  “Is that all of it?” Locke said, pointing his weapon at the cowering operator, who nodded furiously.

  “That’s all the Arkon we have left.”

  “Arkon? That’s the prion agent?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you can burn it all in there?”

  Another nod.

  “Then fire it up.”

  “Wait a minute, Locke,” Turner said. “We’re supposed to secure it, not destroy it.”

  “Sorry, Captain. Nobody’s getting their hands on this stuff. Especially my father.” To the operator, Locke said, “Do it.”

  Turner made a move to stop him, but Grant put his hand on the Captain’s gun.

  “Uh uh,” Grant said. “I didn’t go through all this just to let the Army get hold of a new weapon.”

  “Captain Turner,” Locke said, “you didn’t see what Arkon can do. It reduced an entire planeload of people to bones in a matter of hours. I heard the tape of the pilot. That kind of death must have been excruciating. Do you have family?”

  “A wife and two sons,” Turner said.

  “Garrett was planning to use the Arkon to kill them and everyone else you’ve ever known. I’ll sleep a lot better knowing we’ve destroyed it. Won’t you?”

  Turner paused, then said, “My official order to you is to secure that bio-agent. In my current condition, it might be difficult for me to stop you if you disobey my order.” He gave Locke a weak smile.

  “Well,” Grant said, “that takes care of the technicalities.”

  “Now,” Locke said to the operator, who pressed a red button marked, “Sterilize.”

  Flames shot up inside the chamber. Locke watched the temperature gauge. Within seconds, the chamber was over 1000 degrees. The cylinders of Arkon in the open cases began to burst open, spewing their contents into the fire. Anything not metal melted and burned.

  When the gauge hit 1500 degrees, Locke breathed a sigh of relief. The threat was gone, and the military was not going to have a new bioweapon to play with. Now they could focus on opening the barriers and saving their own butts. Locke looked at his watch.

  “Five minutes left,” he said. “Time for us to implement phase two. Dilara, can you handle this guy?” Locke pointed at the chamber operator.

  Even though a round was already chambered, she racked the bolt on the submachine gun and ejected a bullet for effect, which obviously frightened the operator even further. “I’m ready.” Her voice sounded much clearer.

  Locke gave her Grant’s radio. They’d have only one chance, and the timing would have to be perfect.

  “And you, Captain? No hard feelings about burning up the Arkon?”

  “You still talking about that? Let’s finish this thing and get those barriers open. I don’t want to die any more than you do.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “I’ve still got one good arm. I can do my part.”

  “Good. We’re only going to get one shot at this. We need them to be convinced they’re going to be infected by the Arkon. Captain Turner, when you’re in place, blow the seventh level door. Dilara, that will be your signal to press this button.”

  Locke pointed to a button next to the one marked “Sterilize.” Inside a flip up lid that was in place to prevent accidental activation was a black- and yellow-striped button labeled with the bold letters, “Containment breach.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  The B-52 from Fairchild AFB turned to begin its final pass over the Olympic peninsula. Even with the 30,000-pound MOP in its bomb bay, the immense bomber made the turn easily. It would take exactly 4 minutes and 39 seconds to reach the drop point.

  Major Tom Williams listened to the command come in from General Locke.

  “Drillbit Flight, you are go for release.”

  “Acknowledged, Drillbit Command. Go for release at 2100 hours.”

  “Drillbit Flight, be prepared to receive the abort code at any point before that.”

  “Roger that.” On the internal comm, he said, “OK, boys, keep sharp. Let’s get this thing right on target.” Williams was the only officer on board who knew the true nature of the mission. He understood the importance of containing a deadly bioweapon, but he sure didn’t want to drop a bunker buster on American soil. He had his orders, but he kept hoping for that abort transmission to come in.

  The bomb bay doors opened.

  * * *

  Locke and Grant were in position at the seventh level landing in the west stairwell. Turner was stationed in the east stairwell at the sixth level landing. Dilara was still in the bio lab observation room.

  Locke hadn’t run into more guards, so Cutter had to be holed up with his men in the control room.

  “Everybody ready?” Locke said. Even though their scrambled radio transmissions couldn’t reach outside, the radios worked within the confines of the Oasis facility.

  “In position,” Turner said.

  “I’m ready,” Dilara said.

  Locke looked at his watch. Four minutes left. The only objective was to communicate the abort code to the bomber.

  “Okay, Turner. Execute.”

  Turner’s reply came over the radio. “Fire in the hole!”

  The explosion was more than 150 feet away, on the other side of the facility, but it rattled the complex like it happened in the next room. Turner had set up the rest of the explosives from Locke’s bag of tricks just outside the east stairwell door leading into the seventh level. The dust and smoke should provide an effective barrier to anyone thinking of going out that way.

  “Dilara,” Locke said. “Now.”

  In the bio lab, Dilara hit the button marked, “Containment breach.” A siren blared throughout the complex, different from the intruder klaxon heard earlier.

  “Warning!” the amplified voice now echoed. “Containment breach on level five!”

  As the warning repeated, Locke threw the west stairwell door open. If Connelly’s information was correct, the control room would be at the midpoint of the seventh level hallway. Between the explosion and the containment breach alarm, Locke was hoping to cause a panic with the remaining guards. Surely they knew what Arkon could do.

  As he predicted, two men burst through the door of the control room. Locke and Grant had to get there before the door closed on them.

  Locke shot the guard on the left, and Grant took the man on the right, neither of whom had time to raise their weapons. Turner, his left arm slack at his side, came from the opposite direction, but he wouldn’t make it to the control room door in time to keep it from closing.

  Locke raced down and grabbed the door handle just before it clicked shut. He pulled it ba
ck as bullets pounded into it. Grant tossed the last flash bang grenade into the room. They couldn’t risk disabling the barrier controls with a fragmentation grenade.

  The flash bang blew, and Grant charged in, followed by Turner and Locke. The control room sprawled across 50 feet and looked like it managed every mechanical and electrical system in the facility. Two guards sat at a control station on the left, blinking their eyes. Grant took them down with two blows from his rifle stock.

  Shots came from the right, and Locke saw Cutter and two more guards herding Garrett and his girlfriend into a hallway that had no outlet. It looked like Garrett had his very own panic room. Cutter fired as they retreated.

  The panic room’s door began to slide closed. Just before the door shut, Locke saw Garrett smile and mouth the words, “You lose.” Then Garrett, Cutter, and Petrova were gone.

  Locke didn’t have time to worry about them. They’d be as dead as him if he didn’t get the barriers open.

  The only people still upright in the control room were Locke, Grant, and Turner, and they were faced with a control panel that stretched almost the length of the room.

  The clock on the wall said 9:58. Half the monitors were black screens for the blown video cameras. The other half of the screens showed the status of different systems for operating of the facility.

  “Quick!” Locke said. “Everyone look for the barrier control!”

  “Hard switch?” Grant said.

  “They wouldn’t use a software control. They’d have something dedicated.”

  They started running their eyes over every switch and LCD panel.

  “I think I found it!” Turner cried out. “It’s called Lockdown!”

  “Try it!”

  Turner flicked the switch. The monitor above it changed from red to green. The barriers were opening.

  Sixty seconds.

  Turner spoke the abort code into his radio. “Ares Leader to Drillbit Command. Come in Drillbit Command. The well is dry. I repeat, the well is dry.”

  Nothing but static came back.

  “We’re too deep,” Turner said. “Too much interference. We need to get to the surface.” Turner was beginning to go white from blood loss. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. And Grant was strong, but Locke was faster.

  “I’ll go,” Locke said. He dropped his weapon and his pack and ran for the stairs.

  As he leaped up the stairs two at a time, he kept repeating, “Drillbit Command. The well is dry. Drillbit Command come in.”

  By the time he got to the second level, he was out of breath. The last hour of nonstop action had sapped him, and his adrenaline was gone. But as he reached the landing, Locke heard a voice drop in and out. He willed himself up higher.

  “Ares…come…can’t…you…”

  “I repeat, the well is dry. The well is dry!”

  “This is Drillbit Command.” It was his father’s voice. “Say again.”

  “Dad, it’s me! The well is dry! Don’t drop the damned bomb!”

  His father yelled in the background. “Abort! Abort! Abort!” Locke’s new favorite word. He fell to his hands and knees, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

  * * *

  “Abort! Abort! Abort!” came the radio call. The pilot, Major Williams, relayed the command to the bombardier, who had been about to release the weapon.

  Williams realized only then how tightly he had been clenching the yoke. Now that he no longer had the specter of bombing his own country hanging over him, he eased up on the grip and relaxed.

  “Drillbit Flight returning to base,” Williams said into the radio and turned the B-52 on an eastern course, back toward Spokane.

  The bomb bay doors closed.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Locke emerged from Oasis to find that the special forces team outside had already taken care of the rest of the guards, capturing a few, killing most, with three casualties of their own, including Private Knoll. As soon as the abort code had been given, Blackhawk helicopters that had been on standby flew in with two platoons of military police from Ft. Lewis. Scores of soldiers patrolled the grounds, looking for any stragglers who might be trying to make an escape through hidden exits. It took the MPs nearly an hour to roust the inhabitants of Oasis and gather them outside. Hundreds of dazed people sat under the arc lamps wondering what had happened.

  When the containment breach button had been pressed, the entire fifth level locked down, so it took a while to extract Dilara. When she was free, Locke took her topside, where they both took a moment to enjoy the cool night air before heading for the staging area where the wounded were being treated.

  Locke had already told Dilara about how Garrett had holed himself up in the panic room.

  “We still don’t know how all this was tied to Noah’s Ark,” she said. “Garrett said that a relic in the Ark was the source of the prion. I don’t know whether to believe him.”

  “The CDC scientist told me the prion must have been engineered from some raw material,” Locke said. “The relic would fit that description.”

  “So you think Garrett was telling the truth?”

  “We’ll know soon enough. When they finally pry Garrett out of that room, he’s going to use every bargaining chip he has to save his skin, including the location of Noah’s Ark. Garrett has a talent for self-preservation.”

  “The only thing I want to know is what happened to my father,” she said.

  “I’ve told them to call me as soon as they capture Garrett. I promise you’ll get an answer.”

  They reached a clearing where six men lay on stretchers. Medics hovered around them, inserting IVs and bandaging wounds. Grant was standing next to Turner, whose shoulder wound was being dressed before he was transferred to Madigan Army Medical Center at Ft. Lewis. The red-headed captain looked even paler than normal, which Locke hadn’t thought possible.

  “How are you feeling?” Locke asked him.

  “It isn’t the hardest Purple Heart I’ve earned,” Turner said weakly.

  “Your men did a great job without you.”

  “I trained them well. You didn’t do so bad yourself. I’m glad we brought you along.”

  “Now the hard work begins. Sorting this mess out.”

  “These people look like they don’t know what hit them,” Grant said as another helicopter landed.

  “”I don’t think most of them do,” Locke said. “From what I gather, the majority seemed to think this was some kind of test of their faith.”

  “You mean, they had no idea what Garrett was planning?”

  “I’m sure some of them did. It’ll take Homeland Security some time to find out which ones.”

  “But you burned all of the evidence,” Turner said. “Garrett’s going to get away with it, and we’ll have a hell of a political mess on our hands. These religious nuts are going to make the government miserable.”

  “I don’t think so,” Locke said. “I only burned the dangerous stuff. The man who operated the sterilization chamber was so frightened about being blamed for everything that he led us to a trove of documents detailing the plan inside the lab level. Nothing about the prion weapon itself, but plenty about the rest of it.”

  “And a good thing,” said Miles Benson, who rode towards Locke from the helicopter on his IBOT wheelchair. “Garrett’s company can take the heat for that road race you had with the dump truck in Phoenix. I’ve already contacted our lawyers and the insurance company. Now I won’t have take it out of your next partnership share.” He smiled. “Strong work.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You look exhausted.”

  “I could use a nap.”

  A sergeant yelled “Ten hut!” and the soldiers that were standing came to attention before an immediate, “At ease!” followed. Locke’s father, now in a forest camouflage BDU instead of his Class A service uniform, marched up and came to a halt next to Miles. Other than Miles’ disability, the two men had the same appearance. Military stature, crew cuts, hard faces. They could h
ave been brothers.

  The General held Locke’s eyes as he addressed the soldiers. “Excellent job, men. I couldn’t be prouder.”

  “General Locke tells me you insisted on coming on the mission,” Miles said.

  “He’s always volunteering for some damn fool thing,” the General said. “Someday it’s going to get him killed. Where’s the prion weapon?”

  “Your prion weapon is clogging the filters somewhere in this facility,” Locke said with satisfaction.

  “My orders were to secure the weapon. What happened?”

  “Sir,” Turner said, still prone, “the weapon posed a serious threat to our mission. The only way to accomplish our objective was to burn it.”

  The General’s eyes narrowed at Locke. “Is that right?”

  “It was my call whether you like it or not.”

  General Locke took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’d like a word with my son. Alone.”

  As the General strode away, Locke leaned down to Turner.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  “We take care of our own. And now you’re one of us. Unofficially.”

  “Let’s get you on the next chopper out of here,” Grant said, helping Turner up. Locke left them hobbling towards the Blackhawk.

  Locke approached where the General stood ramrod straight and stopped with his nose just a foot from his father’s. His face was a rigid mask, ready to take whatever punishment his father wanted to dish out.

  “You disobeyed orders,” the General said.

  “I wasn’t going to let you get your hands on that prion weapon.”

  “I don’t give a damn about that weapon. In fact, I’m glad you destroyed it.”

  Locke’s face relaxed. Now he was confused. “What?”

  “I told you that there’s no place in the world for these kinds of things.”

  “But you ordered Turner…”

  “Tyler, I’m a soldier, and my first duty is to follow orders. I was ordered to secure that bioweapon, so I passed that order on to Turner. Officially, that part of the mission failed, and I will have to take Turner’s report for what it is. Unofficially, I think you did the right thing. That took guts.”