Hot Zone (Major Crimes Unit Book 2)

by Iain Rob Wright

  They headed through into the calm reception area and caught the attention of a receptionist, who seemed surprised then flustered by their urgency.

  “C-Can I help you?”

  Howard flashed his MCU badge. “Dr Krenshaw, where is he?”

  The receptionist didn’t need to check her computer. She knew off the top of her head. “He’s on the 1st floor. Seminar Room 2.”

  Howard took Dr Hart by the arm and got her moving again. “I may need you to point him out to me. I don’t want to announce my presence, in case he runs.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “I do crazy for a living,” he said.

  They took the stairs up, dodging past sick children still well enough to play ball in the corridors. Upstairs was quieter; deserted, in fact. From the signs on the walls and doors, it seemed that the 1st floor was dedicated to training and research. It had only one ward and that was a cancer ward. No doubt the sickest children were placed upstairs because it was more peaceful. Howard hoped that apprehending Krenshaw would be a calm affair. He was carrying a gun inside his jacket but had no intention of using it unless he had to, yet he followed protocol and unpopped the holster.

  Dr Hart moved a little ahead of him and stopped just short of the door into Seminar Room 2. She turned to him and said, “You’re not going to hurt anyone, are you?”

  “I will do whatever the situation requires, Dr Hart. I understand you have divided loyalties here, but someone is responsible for infecting hundreds of people with Ebola. What do you expect to happen? If Krenshaw is our man, do you expect him to shrug and say, ‘Oh dear, you caught me?’ That’s not how these things go.”

  Dr Hart looked like a sad kitten and Howard felt bad about being stern with her, yet he had a job to do and couldn’t let her distract him. “You should stay here,” he said. “I know I wanted you to point him out, but I would rather you out of the way unless necessary. There’s no other way out of this room, is there?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll stay right here.”

  Howard approached the door and carefully opened it. Inside he found a small classroom of a dozen desks and twice as many seats filled with scribbling students. They all looked up at Howard as he entered, but Howard’s focus went to the front of the room where a large whiteboard lay unattended. The classic teaching position at the front of the classroom was unmanned.

  “Where is Dr Krenshaw?” Howard asked the students.

  A young brunette in spectacles answered his question. “He was unable to take the class today. He’s helping the Paediatric Haematology department. It’s on the ground floor.”

  Howard flew out of the classroom and grabbed a startled Dr Hart. “He’s in the Haematology department. That’s blood, right?”

  Dr Hart nodded as they hurried. “Yes. This hospital specialises in malignant blood borne infections. They perform tests on children from all over the area to help study and diagnose Leukaemia and various lymphomas.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” said Howard.

  “You don’t think he’s going to harm a bunch of children, do you?”

  Howard took the stairs three at a time, shouting out to Dr Hart running behind him. “Whoever is behind the outbreak at Whiteknight is capable of doing anything.”

  “But Dr Krenshaw spent a decade helping children in Africa.”

  Howard saw the sign for MALIGNANT HAEMATOLOGY and headed in its direction. “I don’t have the answers,” he said. “Dr Krenshaw does and I intend to get them.”

  “You don’t know he did anything. You don’t know anything for sure.”

  Howard burst through the double doors at the end of the corridor and was met with the sight of a dozen sick children and their worried parents. Their heavy-lidded, dark-eyed stares made him shudder. Once again he felt like the very air itself was toxic and he forced himself to slow down.

  “Are you okay?” Dr Hart asked him as he wobbled on his feet.

  “I-I’m fine. I just…don’t like hospitals. My father had three strokes before he died and my family seemed to be in and out of hospitals for years. I think it’s the smell that brings back the memories.”

  Dr Hart nodded. “They’re not meant to be fun places, but I’m sorry you had such a bad experience.”

  “Thank you. Let’s get this over with.”

  Dr Hart pointed suddenly. “That’s Dr Krenshaw, over there.”

  Howard followed her pointing finger to a tall, bony-faced man in a white doctor’s coat. Krenshaw didn’t see Howard marching towards him at first, but then he looked up from his clipboard and gave an expression of curiosity, followed by something else — was it concern?

  “Dr Krenshaw?” asked Howard.

  “Yes?” The man noticed Dr Hart standing beside Howard and nodded. “Stevie, always a pleasure to see you.”

  Dr Hart shuffled her feet and averted her eyes. “Thank you, Alistair. You too.”

  Howard took charge of the conversation, not wanting to give the doctor time to put his thoughts in order. “Dr Krenshaw, I am Agent Hopkins with MCU. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  Dr Krenshaw flashed a smile and said, “Of course, please, right this way.”

  He led Howard and Dr Hart though the ward towards a staff area at the back. All of the nurses seemed baffled by what was going on, but all of them smiled and nodded at Dr Krenshaw, obviously a man they liked and respected. Howard wavered momentarily from his certainty that Krenshaw was the man responsible for the outbreak. Perhaps he wasn’t. All the same, questions needed answering.

  “Just through here.” Dr Krenshaw directed them.

  Howard and Dr Hart moved past Krenshaw into a private office, but, as they did so, Krenshaw snatched out at Dr Hart and wrapped his arm around her throat, placing himself behind her. Howard spun around, ready to act, but stopped when he saw that Krenshaw had produced a syringe and placed it against Dr Hart’s neck.

  “HIV,” Krenshaw stated calmly. “That is what is inside this syringe. Not quite as elegant as Ebola, granted, but just as incurable.”

  Dr Hart was frozen in unblinking terror. Her eyes were stretched wide and focused on Howard.

  Howard backed off, kept his hands where everybody could see them. “Let’s not do anything unnecessary, Doctor.”

  “Everything I have done is necessary.”

  “I don’t understand. Explain it to me. Why Ebola? Why this?”

  “Because people need to care.” Krenshaw’s lips moved into a snarl. “We cosy up in front of our televisions or sit on our air-conditioned trains listening to our iPods while half the world suffers in poverty. People in China toil in factories so that we can have cheap goods. Families in the Middle East live in dirt because any wealth their countries have either goes to us or the puppet governments we have left to rule over them. Africa is full of starving and sick children because we would rather spend our money growing fat and gluttonous than sharing with the 3rd World what we have. Maybe if the children of Britain start dying from Ebola, HIV, and malaria, we might just get down off our pedestals long enough to notice those begging at our feet. This country makes me sick. Now it is my turn to make it sick.”

  Howard nodded as if he understood, although he didn’t. It was a worldview far too simplistic for him to accept “You’re doing this to teach a lesson?”

  “Yes. The only lesson this country will ever listen to. We are content to watch little black children and little Asian children dying on our television screens — it’s no different to any other form of entertainment — but I wonder how indifferent this nation will be when it joins the 3rd World in its suffering and little white children begin to die. I’m sure it will be only too happy to fund all the cures the world needs then.”

  “I understand,” said Howard. “It makes sense. I have seen the sick and the dying, too, thanks to what you have done, and I definitely see things differently now. Your plan has worked. I’m sure extra money is being spent on Ebola as we speak. You can stop all this. It do
esn’t need to go further.”

  Krenshaw shook his head with a grimace. “Eradicating Ebola won’t even make a dent in the world’s ills. There are a hundred more diseases that need attention, like the one inside this syringe.”

  Dr Hart spoke up, her voice aquiver. “Don’t do this, Alistair. HIV is being cured. We’re almost there.”

  “Then let me help speed things along.”

  Howard watched in horror as Krenshaw pumped the contents of the syringe into Dr Hart’s neck, before shoving the wailing women away. The smart move would have been for Howard to leave Dr Hart and pursue Krenshaw, but rationality took no part in his decision as he wrapped his arms around the sobbing woman and helped her to the ground as she clawed desperately at her neck.

  Krenshaw was out the door before Howard even had time to glance up. He didn’t want to imagine what the murderous doctor would do next.

  8

  Sarah was sat eating a sandwich when her father came barging back into the office where he had left her to think. And think she had.

  In a way her father seemed proud of her. She’d followed in his footsteps, after a fashion, and managed to take down a man he himself had been after. She’d also prematurely finished her military career at a rank only one below his own, although her regiment in no way compared to the inimitable SAS. The Special Air Service were so tough that they often went overseas to train other nation’s Special Forces. The only ones anywhere near as brutally efficient were the Russian Alpha Group and the US Navy Seals. Sarah herself had passed the entry tests for the SAS but was denied on the basis of her gender. Women did not belong in the Special Forces.

  But then she had joined MCU, a joint enterprise between the USA and UK that had promised to be the epitome of counter-terrorism and intelligence. It had initially fallen short, but Sarah’s actions helped elevate it to its intended position. Over the last few months, she had watched the various news reports discussing the increased funding and prestige of the organisation and she could not help but feel satisfied. She knew the men and women who worked at MCU were hardworking and dedicated, and it pleased her to hear of their increased prosperity.

  “We have a new mission,” her father said. “Are you in or out?”

  Sarah put down her sandwich and cleared her throat. “I finally stop being a hostage and now you want me to take a job with you?”

  “I want nothing, Sarah. You are my daughter and duty demands I offer you a chance to do something with your life. With that face you have no chance of finding a man, so at least I can no longer blame you for failing to settle down. If military is your chosen path, I promise you will find no greater vocation than the one I am offering you.”

  “What’s the job?” she asked.

  “A manhunt. We are to apprehend a doctor and return him to the South African government who want him for biological attacks on the border towns of their country.”

  “This doctor has killed people?”

  “Many.”

  Sarah stood up, brushed bread crumbs off her lap. “Okay, I’m in.”

  The famously morose Major Stone actually managed a slight smile. “Then let’s get you into something suitable. We leave on the hour.”

  Sarah was hustled into an old locker room that had probably once belonged to the staff of whatever business once operated inside the warehouse. She was given a set of combat fatigues to change into and then, once she was dressed, was led back out into the middle of the warehouse’s main floor. A trail of blood snaked a path to wherever Rat had scurried off to.

  The grey haired, ponytailed man, whose forehead she had sliced, motioned for her to join him at a bench in the centre of the room. He beamed at her, despite the thick bandage taped to his forehead.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, pointing to his bandage.

  “Hey, I was about to do far worse to you, so forget about it.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Fair enough. I’m Sarah.”

  “Of course you are. I’m Ollie.”

  Sarah frowned.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, you just don’t seem like an Ollie.”

  “Call me what you like. I don’t mind.”

  “No, Ollie is fine.”

  Ollie yanked a tarpaulin off the bench and Sarah whistled at what she saw.

  “Top of the line stuff,” he explained, running an appreciative hand over the assortment of firearms and ammunition.

  Sarah spotted a familiar 9mm SIG and picked it up. “Mind if I take this one?”

  “Sure. The boys are too manly to go for the P226, they prefer something bigger like a .45, but I always stock it because it’s a nice shooter and easy to conceal. I’ve used it a time or two myself, so it’s well looked after.”

  Sarah could see the truth of it. The small, black pistol gleamed with a thin layer of oil and the cocking action was the smoothest she’d ever felt. There was even a delicate laser sight attached to the bottom of the muzzle.

  Ollie picked up a sheath with the handle of a Ka-Bar knife sticking out the top. “Back-up,” he said, handing it to her. “US Marines swear by ‘em.”

  Sarah took the sheath and fastened it to her utility belt. All of a sudden she felt like she was acting in some play. Only hours before she had been a prisoner and now she was suited and booted like a GI Joe. It was all a bit surreal.

  Her father came up from the far end of the warehouse, followed by the rest of his men, all suited up in the same combat uniforms as Sarah; even Rat, who now walked as if uninjured. Whatever painkiller they had given him was stronger than anything over the counter. The weasely man glared when he saw her.

  Sarah’s father took the floor, his men standing to attention. “Alright, men,” he barked. “We have a new team member and, while she may be a woman, she is my daughter also, with a set of balls almost as big as my own.”

  There was sprinkling of laughter from everybody except Rat.

  “Now,” Major Stone continued. “Sarah took a few lumps out of a couple of you, but remember that you all went through similar trials of initiation once upon a time. All is fair. There will be no grudges.” He shot a quick glance to Rat, who recoiled. “Our next target is a doctor by the name of Alistair Krenshaw. He is wanted for using human test subjects on the borders of South Africa. He is a suspected terrorist with designs on biological warfare. It is believed the atrocities he committed in South Africa were trial experiments for something much bigger. He has been back, working in the UK for two years now, an expert in his field. The South African government has not forgotten or forgiven his crimes, though. We have a sighting on him nearby and we are going to pick him up in a nice quick ‘stop and grab.’ No casualties. No unnecessary attention.”

  Sarah swallowed. Never having served under her father before, this was the first time she’d witnessed him in action. The complete respect and attention of his men was something she could never hope to emulate. He was one of them, yet above them in every way.

  Major Stone marched over to the weapons bench and picked up a Colt Commander with a walnut grip, then cocked it with ease. “We have fought and beaten men of all kinds,” he said. “We have fought entire armies and won. We have killed kings and sultans, men who thought themselves Gods, yet were forced to weep as we brought them crashing down to earth. We are peerless. Superior to marines, paratroopers, and even the SAS itself. We are better than them all. We are without equal and charged with the simple tasks of running down a little doctor in a white coat. The poor bastard is going to piss himself.”

  Everybody laughed, except Sarah who was trying to comprehend how this small band of mercenaries could compare themselves to the likes of the SAS.

  Major Stone also remained deadly serious and barked an order. “Let’s move out, men.”

  Sarah tried to speak with her father, but he turned and marched away before she had chance. Ollie stood beside her instead, smiling kindly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I got your back.”

  Sarah didn’t reply. She followed af
ter the other men, still utterly confused by how she’d suddenly been inducted into her absent father’s private army. Somehow it felt like things were only going to get more confusing.

  9

  Dr Hart was still sobbing in Howard’s arms when help finally arrived. It was only a couple of nurses, but Howard was still glad to see them, for they would be far more useful in dealing with the situation than he. Did Dr Hart have AIDS now, or was HIV different? He cursed himself for being so ignorant as not to know. Dr Krenshaw had a point about the West caring little about maladies which did not affect them. The public knew more about the top ten pop chart than it did the top ten deadliest diseases.

  “The syringe could have been full of water,” he said soothingly to Dr Hart, who continued to cling to him desperately. “It was probably a bluff. A good one because it worked. There didn’t even need to be anything dangerous inside the syringe for him to make me back off. I’m sure you’re fine. It’s okay. It’s…” His mouth kept moving but he had idea what words to say.

  Dr Hart tried to get a hold of herself, turning her sobs into choking shudders. “G-G-G0…go after him.”

  Howard took a moment but then understood. He couldn’t help Dr Hart, but he could sure as hell go after Dr Krenshaw and bring him to justice. If the syringe had been a bluff, the quickest way to find out would be to put Krenshaw’s balls in a vice and ask him. He placed the doctor into the concerned care of the two nurses and clenched his fists. “Dr Krenshaw. Where did he go?”

  “Towards the car park out back,” one of the nurses replied. “He stopped by the staffroom to grab his briefcase but then went out the fire exit. You may still catch him.”

  Howard took off like a horse out the gates. He spotted a sign for the staff car park and careened around the corridors towards it. Even before he made it outside he spotted Krenshaw through the wide glass doors. The doctor was running for his life but was skinny and unfit, carrying what looked like a heavy briefcase. He was beating it across the car park, but Howard was right out the door after him. This time, he had no qualms about pulling out his gun and firing it. He aimed a round into the air.