by Spell, David
"How you feeling, Dr. Edwards?" Hollywood asked.
"Please, call me 'Nicole.' That shower was one of the best experiences of my life. Other than you amazing men saving my life today, of course. And thanks for finding me these clothes, Emily," she said laughing. "They're just a little too big."
"Chuck says that we're still safe out here," Emily said. "Maybe tomorrow we can go to the mall and feel like normal women again and get you some new clothes?"
Nicole's eyes lit up. "Really? You think we could do that?"
"Sure," Clark answered. "We'll check with the boss and see what he has on tap but it shouldn't be a problem at all."
Terrence cleared his throat. "Ma'am, this was in the computer on your desk at the CDC," he said, extending the memory stick to Nicole.
Her eyes registered surprise. "That's right. With Salman getting infected and then turning, I forgot all about backing up my work. What's your name? I haven't met you."
"I'm Terrence Matthews, ma'am. I just started with the CDC."
"Well, Terrence, thank you for having the initiative to grab that memory stick. That'll help me get back on track since I doubt we'll be using that building anytime soon."
Matthews smiled a shy smile, clearly pleased that he had done the right thing his first day on the job.
"Would you like a beer, Nicole?" Emily asked.
"No, thanks. You wouldn't happen to have any wine around, would you?"
"As a matter of fact," the paramedic smiled, "I think we do."
Chuck sat on his back deck by himself, enjoying a few minutes of solitude. It was a warm fall evening and the woods behind his house were alive with the sounds of crickets, owls, and the small creek that ran through his back yard. He held a lit cigar in one hand, a tumbler of scotch in the other. The last week had been a blur of activity and missions. He marveled at how well his men had performed in a variety of different high-stress situations.
And according to Admiral Williams, they were just getting started. There would be other rescue missions and there could be more terrorists to track down. McCain couldn't help but wonder, though, if their efforts were going to make a difference.
Of course, they would mean everything to the people whom they rescued. Dr. Edwards was living proof of that. But in the big scheme of things, were any of the federal and local police departments going to be able to stop the surging mass of zombies that were roaming through and pouring out of Atlanta, DC, and New York?
The back door opened and Nicole asked, "May I join you, Agent McCain?"
He really wasn't in the mood for company, but he and Edwards had not had a chance to talk, either. McCain motioned to the deck chair next to him and said, "Please, call me 'Chuck.'"
After she sat down, he added, "I hope my cigar doesn't bother you."
"No, it's a nice smell," she answered, sipping her wine. "It's so peaceful out here. My apartment is in Buckhead, not too far from where the bombs went off. It's never this quiet there."
"I don't mind working in the city," Chuck said, "but I do enjoy coming home to this."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the serenity. Edwards had left her hair towel inside and McCain took a moment to look at her. She's really beautiful, he thought. Long brown hair, tall with a full figure, pretty eyes, inviting lips. Not that Chuck was looking for any romantic entanglements. His heart was still an open wound from Rebecca's death.
Nicole glanced over and saw him staring at her. "Thank you, Chuck. That seems like such a small thing to say, but thank you and your men for coming and rescuing Darrell and I. As silly as it sounds, I was holding out hope that you'd come."
"We're on the same team," McCain said, smiling at her. "When Dr. Martin called and said you, Darrell, and your assistant were missing, we put the mission together as fast as we could. Thank God it went as smoothly as it did. How are you feeling now? I know it's been a traumatic few days."
The researcher nodded. "It really has. I think we are or were getting close to a breakthrough on a vaccine. We'd seen some promising results over the last week. When the word came to leave, Salman and I were packing everything up and he volunteered to euthanize all the lab mice. One of them managed to bite him and he died and turned into a zombie. It was horrible. I was performing CPR on him and his eyes opened and he started growling. We had worked together for over two years and now Salman was trying to bite me. He almost killed me but Darrell was able to shoot him."
Nicole wiped the tears from her eyes. "Your officer, Terrence, had the forethought to pull the memory stick out of my computer. That means I don't have to start from square one."
"But you said you lost your laptop and a bag of samples of the virus?"
She nodded. "Darrell was helping me carry things to my car. He had my computer bag and a padded medical bag with ten vials in it. When we got outside, there were zombies and he had to drop everything and start shooting. It's my fault. I should've been carrying them. Now, I'm going to need some samples of the virus before I can continue working."
Chuck nodded, sipping his scotch. "We might be able to help with that. I'm sure we'll be back in action in the next day or two and I can get Scotty to draw some zombie blood for you. Do you want DNA swabs, too?"
"Chuck," she responded, the relief evident in her voice, "that would be so helpful if you guys could do that. Please don't take any chances to get the samples, but I'll take whatever you can get me, blood and DNA."
McCain puffed his cigar and finished his drink. Nicole chuckled next to him. "I forgot to thank you for the clothes. I'm sure I look pretty comical."
Chuck laughed. "Yeah, sorry about that. I haven't been married for a long time and my daughter has a few clothes here, but she's closer to Emily's size."
"I'm just thankful to have something clean to put on. Emily told me that she'd take me to the mall tomorrow, if that's OK with you. She's such a nice person."
"She really is. Her and Scotty have a strange and wonderful relationship. He's strange and she's wonderful."
Nicole laughed at Chuck's attempt at humor and then said, "I'll try to make some other living arrangements as soon as I can and get out of your hair. Are there any decent hotels around here?"
"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to. If you don't mind sharing a room with Emily and helping her with the cooking and shopping until the CDC sorts itself out, feel free to stay. I've got a good computer you can use until you replace yours. Plus, having you around, Emily has a little feminine support."
"Are you sure, Chuck? I don't want to impose on you and I don't mind staying in a hotel."
McCain looked at her. "Nicole, you're not imposing at all. I don't know how long it will be before the Zs make it out this far. When they do, we'll all have to find some other place to live. Do what you want, but I'd suggest staying here for a few days until the CDC brass decides what they're going to do about giving you and everyone else a place to work."
She nodded, seeing the wisdom in his words. Plus, Nicole realized, she was in no rush to get away from Chuck McCain. Edwards caught herself yawning.
"I think I'm going to bed." Nicole stood but hesitated. "Chuck, I...I wanted to say I'm so sorry about Rebecca. We were friends and I had so much respect for her."
McCain looked at her and she saw the pain in his eyes. "Thanks, Nicole. That's a nice thing to say. She was a beautiful person and I miss her every day."
He turned away, staring into the darkness. Nicole touched his shoulder and then went into the house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Payback
Near Hanover, Pennsylvania, the next Wednesday, 0330 hours
The two figures moved across the field under the moonless sky. Their night vision goggles gave everything a greenish tint but allowed them to move without fear of being seen. Unless their prey was scanning the area with night vision of their own, they would never detect the two intruders.
The small farmhouse sat over a hundred yards off the road, almost completely hidde
n by trees. The men had parked nearly a mile down the road, leaving their rented Toyota Highlander on a dirt driveway leading into a cornfield that spread along the highway. Now, only two hundred yards west of the house, they slowed their pace.
The intelligence that they had been given was that he had two bodyguards with him. Were the guards both in the house or were they patrolling the perimeter? When they were seventy-five yards from the target location, Jay Walker suddenly stopped and raised his fist over his head, slowly sinking to the ground. Tu Trang, following ten yards behind his partner, followed his lead.
There, in the carport on their side of the house. Tu saw it now, as well. The glowing tip of a cigarette. So at least one guard was outside, but he had just given his position away. After a couple of minutes, the cigarette was flicked out into the yard in an explosion of sparks.
The guard, a big black man, wearing a black stocking cap, was holding an AK-47 rifle. He walked behind the house. When he was out of sight, Trang slithered up next to Walker. Jay put his mouth next to his boss' ear.
"Slide up about twenty-five yards closer. I'll take care of him when he comes back around. Then we can make entry."
Tu nodded in acknowledgement. Both men had extensive special operations backgrounds. Jay had been with Seal Team Six, however, and sentry removal was one of the skills that they honed to perfection. Walker slipped his rifle off and left it with Trang. They were both wearing dark clothing and had black balaclavas covering their faces.
Jay drew his knife and crouch-walked to the edge of the field, near the house, kneeling behind a bush. In a few minutes, the AK-carrying sentry circled back around to the front of the residence, scanning the dark fields but oblivious to what awaited him. As the big man walked by Walker's hiding position, Tu saw Jay rise up, clamping his gloved hand over the guard's mouth, pulling him to the ground, while slicing his carotid artery. Trang heard the sentry grunt and saw the blood spurting into the air.
Tu moved up to where Jay had dragged the man behind the bush. Walker cleaned his blade on the man's clothes and searched him carefully. Trang quietly unloaded the AK-47 and took it apart, leaving the field-stripped rifle laying next to the dead man. Jay pocketed the sentry's cell phone, his wallet, and a set of keys.
"Good job," said Tu. "Let's go finish this."
The previous Sunday morning, Shaun Taylor had called Tu Trang and said he needed to meet with him and Walker. Neither of the two Washington, D.C., CDC agents had ever met Taylor but Chuck McCain had alerted Tu and told him to expect the call. Something about a special assignment. Like they needed another assignment.
They had lost two of their officers in the fighting after the bombs had gone off. Washington was a disaster. No one seemed to have any idea how they were going to clean the city out.
After the evacuation order was given to residents of the nation's capital, Tu had made some phone calls and gotten rooms for their officers in the Fort Belvoir bachelor quarters. The Zs had not made it that far south yet and Trang felt better about having his wife and son, his teammates and their families on the military base until the crisis was contained.
Shaun directed the two men to meet him at the Grist Mill Park, a few miles from the military base. Because of their spec ops backgrounds, both Tu and Jay recognized that Taylor was without a doubt, a CIA spook. They both had their guards up and were prepared to tell him to go pound sand. At this point, Tu figured that, within reason, he could pick and choose what he and his men did. He didn't intend to get screwed over by the CIA or any other alphabet soup organization in Washington.
When Taylor outlined what he needed done, however, Trang and Walker looked at each other and knew they would not be saying 'no' to this mission. Imam Ruhollah Ali Bukhari was hiding at a farmhouse in Pennsylvania, biding his time until he could rebuild his terror cell network and get back to killing Americans. He had covertly run most of the cells along the east coast and had been responsible for thousands of lost lives, including Tu's and Jay's two agents.
"So, you guys know where he is. Why are you sending us to Pennsylvania to arrest him? That seems like a good use for the Bureau boys and girls," said Trang.
Shaun looked out over the empty little league baseball diamond. He had never issued an order like this before, he thought. These two men were both federal police officers. Would they arrest him for what he was about to say?
He sighed. "Look, the rules have changed. We don't want him arrested. Chuck McCain briefed you about the Agency's involvement in the CDC. We're not even supposed to be active on US soil. As bad as all these bio-terror attacks have been, though, they would've been much, much worse without the work that you and your officers have done.
"Here's what we want. Eliminate his guards and then interview Bukhari thoroughly, using whatever tactics you feel are necessary. We need three major pieces of info from the Imam: the name of his mole in the FBI, who his other cell leaders are, and their locations. We're pretty sure we know who his main man is at the Bureau but we'd like confirmation before we move. As for other cell leaders, there may not be any. He may have already activated everybody but it won't hurt to ask."
"And after we interview him, then what?" Jay asked, thinking he knew where this was going.
"We don't know how many more cells are out there or how many other homegrown Muslim terrorists are preparing to launch more attacks," Taylor said, "but we want to send them all a message. We're not playing fair anymore. We'll hunt you down and kill you. You guys have performed missions like this before in the Middle East, and you know better than me what needs to be done."
Tu and Jay looked at each other. Trang nodded slightly to Shaun. "What kind of support do we get?"
Taylor opened the passenger door of his car and pulled out a large beige envelope, handing it to Tu. "IDs and a credit card to rent a car and buy anything you feel is necessary. There's also a phone number in there to call for any equipment you might need, including weapons. The address for Bukhari's location and all the other information we have is in there.
"Obviously, if you get caught, you're on your own. So, don't get caught. This guy doesn't deserve a trial, he deserves exactly what you're going to give him."
#
Near Hanover, Pennsylvania, Wednesday, 0345 hours
The second bodyguard was snoozing on a leather recliner in the living room, facing the door leading to the carport. He woke up as Jay used the key from his dead partner to open the door. This guard was another black man, sporting a shaved head and full beard.
As his sleepy eyes tried to focus, he realized too late that two figures came through the carport door instead of just one. He fumbled with the Mossberg pump action shotgun laying across his lap. Tu's suppressed Sig Sauer P226 pistol coughed three times. The first two rounds struck the guard in the chest and a third 9mm hollow point hit him between the eyes. The dead man slumped back into the chair.
"Don't bother getting up," Jay whispered. "We'll let ourselves in."
They listened for any sign of other bodyguards. The sound of snoring came from down the hallway. Trang led the way, both men holding their suppressed pistols in a low ready stance.
The snoring got louder as they moved down the corridor, clearly coming from the last room on the right. Jay reached over and tried the doorknob. Locked. He motioned to himself and pointed to the door. Tu nodded and stepped back to cover his partner. Jay withdrew a lock pick set from a pouch on his belt. He slipped a long, thin pick into the cheap privacy lock and quietly turned the knob.
Through their night vision goggles, the two warriors saw the elderly man alone in the bed. He sensed someone was in his room and woke up, peering into the darkness.
"Who is there?" he said in Persian, reaching for the Makarov pistol on the nightstand.
Jay crossed the room to the bed in two strides, bringing his Sig down on Imam Ruhollah Ali Bukhari's head before his hand could grab the gun. The blow stunned him and he fell onto his back, blood from his gashed head staining the white sheets.
Walker flipped him onto his stomach and secured his hands and feet with flex cuffs. He pulled a precut piece of silver duct tape off of his belt and placed it over the imam's mouth.
Trang kept his pistol pointed at the other two closed bedroom doors. Jay joined him and they finished clearing the house. After confirming that it was empty, they went to work. The first order of business was zip-tying Bukhari to a kitchen chair that they brought into his bedroom. They then dragged the dead terrorist from outside the house into the living room, dumping him on the floor next to his dead partner's recliner. The pieces of his AK were left beside him.
Tu pulled a leather pouch out of one of his cargo pockets. He unzipped it and removed a loaded syringe. He and Walker went back to where the terrorist sat, bound, and wide eyed. Blood trickled down the left side of his head from where Jay had struck him. Tu flicked open his knife and used it to cut away the long sleeve of Bukhari's nightshirt. He stuck the needle of the syringe into the man's arm and pressed the plunger.
After ten minutes, Walker ripped the duct tape off of the terrorist's mouth and they began to interview him. Tu turned two small digital recorders on to capture the interrogation. At first, the old man struggled to resist the effects of the sodium pentothal, also known as 'the truth serum,' with which he had been injected. Within thirty minutes, however, Trang and Walker were getting answers to their questions.
They asked him several things for which they already knew the answers and were pleasantly surprised that he answered truthfully. The two men began asking other, probing questions and recording the terrorist's answers. The interrogation took a little over an hour. That would have to do. Tu and Jay needed to be gone before daylight. The Asian officer turned the recorders off and slipped one of them into a cargo pocket. The other was left on the nightstand, next to the terrorist's Makarov pistol.