Deadly Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “The match could be to a strain developed by the Army as far back as the 70s during the height of the Cold War. We won’t know until we get a full report from the lab.”

  Secretary Hale leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “And you trust the data?”

  “Yes, I do. The EMBL is well respected. Why would they play along with a con from the Russians? Besides, scientists from the WHO also witnessed the testing and verified the data. Regardless, the CDC is conducting their own analysis, but I am confident they will verify the European conclusion.”

  President Taylor rubbed his temples. “It doesn’t matter if the data is authentic or not. What does matter is that the entire world will see this as an unbiased investigation and conclude that America used biological weapons in an effort to implicate the Kremlin.” He sighed and turned in his chair, looking out the window to the gardens, rich with vibrant colors, the beauty in stark contrast to the ugly topic of his meeting.

  When he turned his attention back to his advisors, his mood was somber. “This plays right into Pushkin’s hand. He’s been saying all along that we’re stirring up conflict and staging attacks by groups that we label as pro-Russian rebels in order to discredit Moscow and gain influence over the former Soviet satellite nations. When this news spreads, we’ll be lucky to have any allies in Europe, or anywhere else.”

  “I’ll start damage control right away,” offered the Secretary of State.

  Taylor nodded. “Reach out to Germany first, since they conducted the analysis.”

  The President narrowed his eyes and locked onto Howard Hale and General Hendrickson. “Tell me this is not a missing bioweapon from one of our stockpiles.”

  “No sir,” replied the General.

  Howard Hale jumped in. “All stockpiles of biological weapons were destroyed during the previous administration.”

  “You’re certain of that? Because if there is any doubt, any doubt at all, I better hear about it now.”

  General Hendrickson met the President’s glare. “That is 100 percent affirmative sir.”

  President Taylor held the General’s gaze for a moment. “Very good. Now that we’ve established the smallpox virus is not of U.S. military origin, can someone please tell me where in hell it came from?”

  “We’re working that problem”, Colleen Walker said. “The prevailing theory is that someone, Russian or Russian-sympathizer, or maybe someone just looking for a big payday, got a hold of weaponized smallpox… either from a weapon prior to destruction of our arsenal, or from samples at Fort Detrick when they still had samples, or from the CDC. The DIA and CIA are assisting.”

  “General, direct your staff to oversee an immediate review of all U.S. biological weapons containing smallpox. And verify the inventory. If even one weapon is unaccounted for I want to know without delay. Howard, you make certain General Hendrickson has every resource he needs.”

  “Yes, sir. But I doubt any weapons are unaccounted for. That inventory was checked and doubled checked when they were destroyed.”

  “Then check it again! There is no room for error. And get the DIA over to Fort Detrick. I want a complete accounting of all samples of smallpox virus they ever touched, or even thought of handling.”

  “Sir,” Secretary Bryan began, “assuming Howard and General Hendrickson are correct, and I have no reason to doubt their veracity, then a sample of smallpox must have been acquired from other sources. About a year ago, I recall the Washington Post reported six vials of smallpox were discovered in an unsecured lab at the CDC. Apparently, the samples were misplaced and undiscovered for decades. What if other samples were misplaced?”

  “You mean as in handed over to the Russians?” said President Taylor.

  “More likely,” Collen said, “an individual willing to make a small fortune by selling the samples. We’ll need to conduct a complete audit of smallpox samples at the CDC, beginning with the lot that was lost and rediscovered last year.”

  “Get on it. You have my authorization to use any government resources needed. Howard, make sure the Director of the CDC understands the importance and urgency of this investigation. Tell him I expect nothing less than complete transparency. This is not about blame; we need to know where the misplaced virus came from and whether or not it’s all accounted for. Later we can sort out how it happened.”

  “Thank you sir,” Colleen said. “I think it worthwhile to have FBI agents question Aldrich Ames and Robert Hanssen. Maybe they have some relevant knowledge, something that was said by their Russian handlers.”

  Taylor nodded. “Do it.” He stood, his signal that the meeting was over. As the Secretary of State and NSA Director exited, President Taylor addressed his military advisors. “Does this information have any impact on Bright Star?”

  General Hendrickson answered without hesitation. “No sir. The operation is underway. A combined Marine Corps and Air Force assault on the international airport in Minsk will commence at 5:30 am local time. At the same time, Alpha strike force from the Strategic Global Intervention Team will insert at the chemistry building on the BSU campus and secure the safety of the civilian hostages.”

  “President Taylor lowered his gaze. “It’s a terrible loss, what happened to the Delta teams.”

  General Hendrickson nodded. “The SGIT operatives will be inserting by parachute from very high altitude, a stealth insertion. We have every confidence in their success.”

  “I know they’ll do their best,” said President Taylor. But the conviction was lacking in his voice.

  Chapter 17

  Minsk

  June 16

  PETER LED HIS FATHER AND friends back through the mailroom and into the break room where he’d stashed the makeshift flamethrower. Hefting the close-range weapon onto his shoulder, he addressed Gary. “I think the safest place for the moment is in the storeroom where we were locked up.”

  “Good idea. We can top-up the sprayer with more flammable liquid, too.”

  Peter grabbed the last bottle of ammonia from under the sink. It was only three quarters full, but it could be handy. Then the group entered the hallway and raced the short distance to the storage room. It was easy to spot from the blood stained floor, although the two NPA bodies were no longer there.

  The door was ajar, and Peter pushed it open cautiously. Unoccupied, the small room was just as they had left it.

  “Quickly,” he encouraged them in and closed the door. “Do you still have the key?” he asked Gary.

  With the door locked, Peter felt a small amount of comfort. He decided the first order of business was to take stock of their weapons. Peter clung onto the light machine gun, and he estimated about 30 rounds of ammunition left in the belt. Gary had the AK-74 with a full magazine. And then there was the sprayer converted into a flamethrower, plus the bottle of concentrated ammonia.

  “Not much to take on a modern army,” Ian Savage said.

  “Dad, take a look around and see if you find anything useful, anything we might have missed.” Peter slipped the flamethrower off his back and set it against the wall.

  Ian nodded and started a systematic search. If nothing else, the distraction would help to take his mind off thoughts of impending doom, if only for a few minutes.

  “If we just had access to the chemistry stock room,” Dmitri said. He and Ian both looked tired. They had been awake for close to 24 hours, but there was more to it, Peter knew. Fear was taking a toll.

  “Dmitri,” Peter said. “Tell me about this machine you overheard General Gorev talking about.”

  He gathered his thoughts before answering. “Well, he sent some of his guards to the roof to make sure it was ready, that it would still function.”

  “On the roof. Of this building?”

  “Yes, that is my understanding.”

  “And what does this machine do?”

  Dmitri shrugged. “I don’t know. They didn’t say—only that it is ready. It must be important.”

  Peter consid
ered what Dmitri shared, trying to piece the puzzle together. “Dmitri, you said before that the air intakes are also on the roof, yes?”

  Dmitri nodded. “Does that mean something to you?”

  “It means something. Just not sure I know what.” Suddenly Peter remembered the cell phone he took from the guard killed by the harpoon gun. He dug it out of his pocket and examined the display. Relieved that he had a cell signal and plenty of battery power, he dialed a number he knew would bring help.

  The phone rang five times, and Peter was beginning to think it would go to voice mail. Instead he heard a feminine voice. “Who are you calling, please?”

  “Uh, Commander James Nicolaou. Did I dial the wrong number?”

  The voice paused for a moment. “Commander Nicolaou cannot take your call now. May I relay a message?”

  “This is Peter Savage and it’s urgent that I speak with him. Do you have an alternate number where I can reach him?”

  Lieutenant Lacey drew in a deep breath. While on a mission, Jim’s personal and office phones were programmed to ring through to a number she monitored.

  “Dr. Savage. It’s Lieutenant Ellen Lacey. We met following the incident in the Aleutian Islands. Do you recall?”

  “Yes Lieutenant. Look, I need to speak to Jim, it’s urgent.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  Peter paused, trying to understand. “Why not?”

  “Dr. Savage, this is an unsecured line.”

  Suddenly it made sense. So, Jim is on a mission.

  “I need to ask you a few questions. But please phrase your answers carefully. We have to assume this conversation is being monitored.”

  “Okay, but I don’t have much time.”

  “Understood. Are the civilian hostages safe?”

  The question angered Peter at first, until he realized that Lacey could not possibly know all the details of what had transpired with the failed rescue attempt. “Uncertain. I lost contact following the destruction of the helicopters.”

  Lacey had hoped for a more positive answer. “Are they still held at the same location?”

  “As far as I know. Look, I’m being hunted so I can’t give you those details—”

  She interrupted, “Do not state your location.”

  Peter slowed down and collected his thoughts, organizing what he felt he could and couldn’t say. “There’s no way out. This building is locked down and unless you have a spare battalion of Marines in the neighborhood, I don’t see us fighting out.”

  “Something better, have some faith,” she said. “Have heavy weapons—armor, mobile missile launchers—been moved in?”

  “I don’t know.” Peter’s tone hinted at his growing frustration. “I can’t see the roads.”

  “Can you move to a location where you have visibility?”

  “Yeah. Headed that direction anyway. Something I want to check out.”

  Lieutenant Lacey let the comment pass, focusing on the immediate priority. “Good. How soon can you call back?”

  “I don’t know, maybe 30 minutes.”

  “As soon as you can, it’s important. I’ll be monitoring this number. Out.”

  “Wait a minute.” Peter caught her before she disconnected. “I need to know. Did Ethan and Joanna make it safely to the embassy?”

  Lacey felt like an idiot for not telling Peter sooner. “Yes, they are safe and under protection of the Marine guard.”

  Peter closed his eyes and felt a burden lifting. He slid his back down the wall, oblivious to the deep ache, until he was sitting on the floor. Then Lacey was speaking again. “You need to focus Dr. Savage. This is important; we need your help. Don’t worry about your children; they are safe and out of harm’s way. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” Peter’s voice was heavy with fatigue and emotion. “I’ll call when I have something to tell you.”

  “Make it soon, please.”

  Chapter 18

  Minsk

  PETER POCKETED THE PHONE and relayed the essence of the phone conversation with Lacey.

  “You think Jim is sending help?” Professor Savage asked.

  Peter nodded. “That’s why she asked me to see what’s out there in the commons or the street, anywhere I can get a look. Dmitri, can you lead me to the roof?”

  “Yes. We must take the stairs. But the door to the roof is normally locked and I don’t have a key.”

  “I suspect this is a master key,” Peter said, removing the key from the door handle. “Gary, I need you to stay here with Dad. No telling if we may run into more guards; you’ll be safer here.” Then Peter handed the machine gun and ammunition belt to Gary. “If you get discovered, use this, but conserve your ammo. Let me have the AK, it’ll be easier to carry.”

  “Good luck son. Be careful,” Ian said. Then he faced his good friend. “Take care of him Dmitri––he has a knack for finding trouble.”

  “You have my word, Ian.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be back. It may take a while, so just stay here and wait. Since we only have the one key, maybe it’s best to leave the door unlocked so you aren’t trapped in here. But don’t get any crazy ideas about coming to look for us.”

  In the hallway Dmitri spoke in a whisper. “Follow me.” It didn’t take long to reach the stairwell, the same one Ethan and Joanna had descended earlier. Fortunately, they didn’t run into any NPA soldiers along the way.

  Dmitri reached for the door, intending to open it when Peter grasped his shoulder. “Let me go first,” Peter said.

  He opened the door slowly, leading with the rifle. The coast was clear, and Dmitri quickly followed Peter. They climbed the stairs, Peter cautiously in the lead, sighting ahead with the rifle at every bend just in case the enemy was also there.

  After a nerve-wracking ten-minutes, they had climbed five flights and reached the roof door. Grasping the rifle in his right hand, finger on the trigger, Peter tested the doorknob with his left hand. Locked, as Dmitri had warned.

  “Dmitri, try this key, but squat low and to the side in case there are guards on the other side ready to shoot.”

  Peter stood to the side, the concrete block walls providing some measure of protection to both men, while Dmitri followed the instructions. With a soft click, the door latched turned. Dmitri shoved it open, expecting bullets to whiz through the doorway. Instead, there was only silence.

  As before, Peter led the way with the rifle. He emerged onto the roof, Dmitri right behind him. “Stay here. I’m going to look around,” Peter said.

  The flat roof was bordered with a waist-high wall that served to enhance the esthetics of the structure from the ground level, the wall mostly obscuring the dozen or more ventilation stacks and air-intakes that penetrated the roof. The ventilation stacks were a foot in diameter and were located in a line running down the center of the roof, each stack extending to a height of 10 feet and capped to keep rain and snow out. The air intakes were built from two-foot-square ducting, also capped. They were much shorter than the ventilation shafts so as not to draw in any noxious fumes emanating from the stacks.

  Squatting low, Peter scrambled to the edge and looked out over the commons. Although many of the lamps were dark, no doubt damaged from the battle that transpired in front of the chemistry building, the still-burning Blackhawk wreckage plus the remaining functional lights provided adequate illumination. Peering over the edge, he systematically scanned the expansive space.

  A mechanical sound, still distant, caught his attention. It seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the building. He dashed across the roof and gazed down at the four-lane thoroughfare. The streetlights cast a yellowish glow and beyond the street was Independence Square. The mechanical rumbling was getting louder, coming from the northeast.

  Peter recognized the sound. He’d heard it before, at construction sites—the sound of steel tracks clanking against drive sprockets, overlaid on the roar of heavy diesel engines.

  He squinted, trying to make out details in the
distance, wishing he had a spotting scope or good pair of binoculars. Still straining to make out detail, he glimpsed the first tank passed under a streetlight. He continued to watch until the last vehicle rolled into Independence Square.

  A soldier—Peter thought him to be an officer because he seemed to take charge of the gathering of tanks, armored personnel carriers, and missile carriers—descended from his steel shelter and conversed with another soldier. The vehicles then revved up their engines and deployed around the BSU campus.

  Peter retrieved the cell phone and dialed the number he knew Lacey would answer.

  “Lacey,” she said.

  “I’m on the roof. The commons is clear, except for about 20 soldiers. Small arms. They could still have RPGs or shoulder-fired missiles, I can’t be certain.”

  “Good, that’s what we expected.”

  “No, it’s not good. I just watched six tanks, six armored personnel carriers, and one missile launcher drive into Independence Square. Two men got out, had a short conversation, and then the vehicles moved to locations around the campus. I can see two tanks and the missile carrier still parked in the Square.”

  “Can you describe the vehicles, especially the missile carrier. That’s the biggest threat.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can, but I don’t know how to identify these vehicles.” Peter edged up and peeked over the short wall. “The tank has a really long barrel, and it looks squashed and modern, not like the World War II Russian tanks; I don’t know how else to describe it. The personnel carrier looks like a compressed box on tracks. No guns are visible. And the missile launcher has four big missiles aimed upward. I think I can also see a dish antenna, and the missile launcher rotates.”