V Plague (Book 17): Abaddon

by Patton, Dirk

  The Marines snapped to attention, acknowledged the order and stepped apart so Jessica could stand up between them.

  “Good luck, Chief,” West said.

  “Thank you, sir, but I hope I don’t need it,” she said, turning and striding away with her own personal security detail.

  Forty minutes later, after a stop to collect a laptop and other tools of her trade, then a fresh set of clothing from her quarters, they arrived at the flight line. Jessica sat in the back seat of a Marine Hummer, leaning forward when a tall man wearing a flight suit waved them over.

  Jessica jumped out as he approached the vehicle, coming to attention and bringing up a salute. He returned it and looked her up and down.

  “Relax,” Vance said. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together so let’s just dispense with the formalities and use each other’s first names. I’ll call you Chief and you can call me Commander.”

  He flashed a charming smile and Jessica instantly liked him.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Now?”

  “Well, in a couple of hours. Want it nice and dark over CONUS when we arrive.”

  Jessica frowned in confusion.

  “I don’t get it, sir. What does it matter with radar?”

  “Commander,” he corrected her. “Don’t sir me to death. And it matters because we’re stealthy. At least as stealthy as the good folks at Boeing could manage. But, I’ve got a feeling the Russians aren’t that good at knowing which of their aircraft are where at any given moment. Know what that means?”

  “No, sir... er, Commander.”

  “Means they aren’t as likely to start shooting without a visual ID. That gives us an edge. Not much of one, but I’ll take every little advantage I can get. Make sense?”

  Jessica swallowed a ball of fear as she nodded.

  “Good! Let’s get you in a flight suit.”

  “Flight suit?”

  Jessica was caught by surprise. Not that she’d given any thought to the type of aircraft they’d be flying, but she sure hadn’t expected to need a flight suit.

  “Right,” Vance said, leading the way toward a door labeled as Ready Room. “Fuckin’ Russkies should never know we’re sneaking in their back door, but in case we’re spotted and I have to maneuver, you’re going to need a flight suit. Keeps everything where it should be when we start pullin’ some Gs.”

  “Maneuver?”

  Vance gave her another smile.

  “Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll be gentle with you.” He extended his arm, inviting her to precede him through the door. “By the way, you get airsick? If you do, might want to go stick your finger down your throat now. Get all the chunky stuff up. Easier to clean out the cockpit if there’s no chunks.”

  “I’m riding in the cockpit?” she squeaked.

  “Not anywhere else to sit, Chief,” he said, pointing across the tarmac at an F-18 Advanced Super Hornet.

  “Oh shit, sir,” Jessica said, feeling her bowels turn to water.

  21

  The Captain of the Key West nuclear submarine, Commander David Moore, handed the freshly decoded message across his cramped cabin. Lieutenant Commander Ron Small read it quickly, his eyebrows arching in surprise. Starting over, he read it slower a second time before handing it back to the skipper with a low whistle.

  “This just came in?”

  “Ten minutes ago,” Moore said.

  “What the hell’s going on, Skipper?”

  Moore didn’t answer immediately. He was absorbed with a framed photo of his wife and three daughters. They were all presumed dead, killed by the biochemical attacks on the mainland.

  Their loss had hit the skipper hard. For a time, Small had been very concerned about his mental state and fitness to remain in command of the Key West. He was so worried that he’d taken the unprecedented step of speaking privately with two other officers and the senior enlisted man aboard, the COB or Chief of the Boat.

  They too had concerns about Commander Moore. Nearly every sailor aboard had lost all the people in the world they cared about. A couple of them were fortunate that their entire family lived in Hawaii but were no less devastated by the results of the Russian backed attack on America. But, like the rest of the crew, the skipper pulled himself together and they had taken their revenge whenever they came across an enemy vessel.

  “I’ve made it no secret that I’m unhappy with having those two Russians aboard my boat,” Moore finally said, still gazing at his smiling family. “But I thought this was of the utmost urgency and they had a mission to help put this to an end. Now, we’re supposed to hand them over to the enemy?”

  “No chance the Russians got into our secure comms and are trying to draw us out? Get us to be at a certain location at a specific time so they can put a torpedo up our ass?”

  “There’s always a chance, XO, but they’d not only have to be able to control the system, they’d also have to have access to our encryption algorithms and authorization codes. Everything checks out. Unless they’re sitting in an ultra-secure room at Pearl Harbor, this isn’t the Russians.”

  The two men fell quiet, each considering the possibilities.

  “Sir,” Small began, breaking the silence. “Do you think we should phone home? Get voice confirmation?”

  “I’m considering it. I’m also considering another possibility.”

  “Sir?”

  “There’s something rotten in Pearl.”

  “A traitor? High enough up to issue these orders?”

  Moore sighed and took his eyes off the photo of his family for the first time.

  “Admiral Packard is attacked. Nearly killed and put out of commission. They’re probably still cleaning up his blood as we receive these orders. And not only does senior command get shaken up as a result, the presidential election is thrown into limbo. Is there really anyone in charge at the moment? All seems a little too coincidental to me.”

  Small stared at his skipper then involuntarily looked around the small space as if worried someone was listening to their conversation.

  “Sir, you’re not saying…”

  “Not saying anything, XO. Just pointing some things out.”

  “So, what do we do about it?”

  Moore was contemplative for a long moment.

  “Two possibilities, XO,” Moore said, shaking his head. “Either the right hand in Pearl doesn’t know what the left is doing, or COMSUBPAC has been compromised by the enemy.”

  The Captain was referring to the Commander of the Submarine fleet in the Pacific.

  “We have to call in, sir. Find out if this is really valid!”

  “And who do we trust, XO?”

  Small stared at his skipper a long moment before shaking his head and looking back down at their new orders.

  “Go get Captain Vostov. I want to speak with her,” Moore suddenly said.

  Small couldn’t have been more surprised and it showed on his face. Not moving, he stared at the skipper in shock.

  “Now, please, XO,” Moore said gently after several seconds.

  Small hurried out of the Captain’s quarters. Irina and Igor were now sharing a cabin normally occupied by three junior officers, and it was only a few dozen steps for the XO. He returned with her in tow in less than a minute.

  “Captain,” Irina said with no small amount of trepidation once she was alone with the two men and the door was closed.

  “Please sit down, Captain Vostov,” Moore said.

  Irina was on full alert. Since she’d been picked up by the submarine, the commanding officer had not hidden his disdain for her and Igor. He’d bordered on open hostility a few times and she didn’t understand this apparent change. She slowly lowered herself onto a seat that the XO folded down from the bulkhead.

  “I received new orders,” Moore began.

  “And what would those be, Captain?”

  “I am to rendezvous with a Russian submarine in slightly over twenty-four hours.”

  “For w
hat purpose?” Irina asked guardedly when he didn’t continue.

  “To deliver you and your traveling companion.”

  Irina’s mouth fell open in surprise as cold fear coursed through her.

  “You cannot do that, Captain! We will be summarily executed and any opportunity to unseat President Barinov and end this madness before it’s too late will be lost!”

  Moore and Small both blinked in surprise and traded looks.

  “Unseat Barinov?” the Captain asked.

  Irina nodded, looking directly into his eyes.

  “Perhaps you’d better explain things to me,” Moore said.

  22

  Captain Black and the Russian woman had immediately left the club after the incident in the restroom. Standing in an alley, he’d looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to go to a vehicle. She’d just stood there and smiled at him.

  “You didn’t drive your Mercedes?” he asked, gratified when a flash of irritation flickered in her eyes. It was gone so fast, though, it was as if it had never been there.

  “My, someone has done their homework,” she said. “And no, I never drive it when I expect to be drinking. So, are we calling a cab or are you going to drive us to my place?”

  He’d stared at her a beat, then with a shake of his head turned and began walking to where he’d left the rental car. With a rapid clicking of heels, she hurried to catch up and snaked her hand around his arm. He started to pull away, but her grip was like iron.

  “Keep up the act,” she hissed.

  He relented, allowing her to hold tightly as they made their way to the convertible. With every step, her hip bumped his. After the first few times he realized she was exaggerating her walk to ensure it happened.

  Even though he was irritated, he still escorted her to the passenger door and held it as she lowered herself into the seat. The tight, short skirt rode up dramatically and she looked at him with a provocative smile as she tugged it back into place.

  “See anything you like?”

  Keeping his response limited to a soft snort, Black closed the door and climbed behind the wheel. She already had her shoes off, bare feet propped on the dash. The muscles in her bare legs rippled as she tapped her feet to music only she could hear.

  Once they were in motion and wind was rushing through the car, whipping her long hair around her face, she stretched her arms over her head and laughed merrily. She seemed to be having the time of her life and Black wondered what drug she was on.

  They pulled to a stop in front of her high-rise and Black got out, sighing when she didn’t move. Walking around to open her door, a valet rushed forward, beating him to the handle by a second and pulling it open.

  “Welcome home, Miss Taylor!”

  He was beaming, completely ignoring Black as she swung her bare feet off the dash. Pivoting in the seat, she made a production of picking up her shoes before scooting forward and slowly standing. Her dress rode up during the performance, leaving little to the two men’s imaginations.

  “Thank you, Robert. A doll as always,” she said sweetly, giving him a smile that nearly reduced him to a quivering puddle of jelly.

  Black shook his head and waited impatiently until she finally grasped his arm to lead him inside.

  “Should I keep the car close?” the valet called.

  She answered quickly before Black could respond.

  “He’s spending the night, so put it in the garage.”

  Black’s step faltered and he began to turn to face her, but once again she kept him moving with a grip like a vise. They breezed into the building and straight to a waiting elevator, the doorman greeting her effusively and being rewarded with one of her radiant smiles.

  “Okay. I don’t know…” Black started to say once they were alone and the elevator was on its way up. She backed him into a corner and put her face in his, long, windblown hair obscuring his view of the interior of the car.

  “There’s a camera in the top left corner,” she mumbled in a barely audible voice.

  After a long moment, she backed away, turning in profile to the camera and rubbed her lips as if they were tingling from a kiss. Black was at a loss. He knew he was in over his head with this woman, but short of leaving, didn’t know how to get out of the mess he found himself in. To say he was uncomfortable with the entire situation didn’t begin to cover his state of mind.

  The car arrived on her floor with a muted ding. Taking his hand in hers, she led Black down an elegantly appointed hall. Reaching her door, she pressed her hand against a palm reader which glowed green and there was a soft click as the lock released. Pulling him inside, she bumped the door closed with her hip.

  “Make yourself a drink,” she said, pointing at a small bar in the corner of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I don’t…”

  Once again, she quickly cut him off.

  “I know you’re impatient, but I’m worth the wait,” she said, a sultry tone in her voice that didn’t match her facial expression.

  Black didn’t move or say anything, just stared at her. Finally, with a sigh of frustration he dropped onto a sofa and crossed his arms across his chest. Nodding and motioning for him to stay put, she hurried out of the room.

  The apartment was not decorated as ostentatiously as he’d expected for the building in which it was located. As he looked around, he was surprised to see furnishings that could have come from a consignment shop.

  More likely a furniture rental company, he thought.

  The soft sound of bare feet on carpet caused him to turn. She was back and once again had surprised him into silence. Instead of a negligee, which he’d been expecting after her performance, she’d changed into a pair of loose fitting cotton pants and T-shirt. Her hair was up in a tight ponytail and the club-going makeup had been scrubbed off her face.

  She held a small device no larger than a cell phone in her hand. Making a production of it, she clicked a small switch on its side. There was a soft beep and she placed it on the table in front of him.

  “Incredibly stupid, Captain!” she snapped, fists on her hips as she leaned forward to berate him.

  He stared at her, caught unprepared for the complete change in demeanor.

  “You can speak,” she said, gesturing at the device on the table. “No one can listen in.”

  “You didn’t give me a fucking choice,” he snapped back after leaping to his feet. “You know goddamn well whose voice is on most of those files you gave me! And then you drop a nugget about Barinov’s plans and think we’re not going to come looking for you with more questions?”

  “I thought you would have enough brains to turn this over to your Naval Intelligence so it could be handled by professionals!” she said, eyes flashing angrily. “Professionals who would never approach me so clumsily. Do you have any idea how much jeopardy you have placed me in?”

  “How about I don’t give a fuck?” Black said, out of patience with the woman.

  They stood three feet apart, glaring at each other, breathing hard from emotion. Black fully expected her to attack and had no qualms about defending himself against a woman. He saw the desire in her eyes to launch herself at him like a missile, but she also saw the resolve in his. After nearly a minute during which it could have gone either way, she relaxed her shoulders and puffed out a huge sigh.

  “I need a drink.” Going to the bar, she took out two glasses and plunked them on the marble surface. “You can tell me what you want, or you will get Tequila.”

  “Don’t you mean Vodka?” Black asked sarcastically, watching closely to make sure she didn’t have a weapon stashed.

  “You are being an asshole, now.”

  Uncorking a bottle of Patron Silver, she poured two fingers of the clear liquor into each glass. Carrying them back, she handed him one and sank into a deep chair, curling her legs beneath her. After a few moments, Black eased himself back onto the couch.

  “So, what was the party slut act all about?” he asked.
/>
  She stared into her glass, gently swirling the slightly oily liquid before taking a small sip.

  “As a Marine, have you ever had to do things you found distasteful in service to your country?”

  Black considered her comment as he took a slow sip.

  “You mean like being here?”

  She flapped a hand as if batting away his jab.

  “My cover-persona was decided without my input or approval. The bureaucrats in that department most likely looked at a photo and that was it. I am only grateful I wasn’t selected to be trained as a honey pot.”

  Her blunt honesty and seemingly obvious dislike for the role she was required to play cooled Black’s frustration. Looking into her eyes, he believed she was telling the truth. But he was also experienced enough to understand she could probably convincingly claim to be from another planet.

  There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence, then she leaned forward and extended her hand.

  “Viktoriya Romanova. Major. GRU.”

  He stared at her for a beat, then his eyes dropped to her hand. After another hesitation, he reached out and shook it.

  23

  “Ready?” Smyth asked, tightly gripping the doorknob.

  We had moved everyone into the kitchen where the pipe bringing in fresh air was located, and then barricaded the opening. Now, I was once again wearing the flamethrower and about to go out the front door. If something went wrong and I wasn’t able to stop the bats from flooding into the house, at least they couldn’t get to the occupants. Except for Smyth.

  To his great credit, he’d insisted on helping me get out of the building. His argument was that I couldn’t effectively operate the flamethrower to keep the little fuckers at bay and open and close the door. I couldn’t find fault with that, but still didn’t like the risk he was taking. However, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  I nodded in response to his question. He returned the gesture and held up his free hand with three fingers extended.

  “On zero,” he said, folding a finger down so only two were raised.

  A beat, then there was only one. I pressed the battery button and the spark plug began snapping.