Cellular Activity- The Djinn
Page 9
Moore is partly relieved, for the unexpectedly modern look of the base and for the pleasant warm air that comes from some internal air-conditioning system.
Macready notices the surprised look of the woman. «I thought you were aware of the fact that this isn't an ordinary military base.» In response to her puzzled expression, Macready goes on, illustrating some of the features of the structure. «It's essentially a laboratory for research and experimentation. Here we operate mainly on new technologies. We regularly receive visitors, teams of special forces who carry out tests in the desert.»
«Are operations of this kind under way?», asks Ironside.
«No, this will allow us to better focus on the current problem. On the other hand, we only have the men who work here on a permanent basis, and we aren't many, excluding the soldiers arrived with you. The base is underground, surrounded by layers of solid rock several meters thick. This makes it able to withstand an atomic attack. It spreads over three levels. In the lower floor there are the generators, the armory, the system for air conditioning and circulation, the waste recycling system and a warehouse. In the middle floor there are staff quarters, a room for meetings, an entertainment room, a gym and other rooms. If you're interested», he turns to Moore, «we have also a small greenhouse.»
«A greenhouse...», echoes her.
Macready keeps talking with a touch of pride. «The base must be self-sufficient and capable of withstanding for an indefinite time. The structure is experimental, so it may appear... atypical. As I mentioned, we aren't many here. We deal mainly with surveillance and tracking technologies. External specialized teams come, do their tests, and go back quickly to where they came from. With the temperatures we have out there... well I can't blame them at all.»
Moore throws a quick glance at Ironside, who shrugs. In front of the guard cabin the Major nods to the two soldiers on duty, one of which gives a badge for visitors to both Moore and Ironside.
The elevator sliding doors glide inside the walls. The interior is even larger and more spacious than it appeared at first sight. The three begin a descent that lasts a few moments, the time it takes Major Macready to conclude his introduction to the base, explaining that the first of the three underground floors, the upper one, has a laboratory, the TLC room, and some generic rooms, the use of which varies according to the needs.
«About the containment of a pathogen such as Ebola, what means and equipment do we have?», asks Moore.
«We have a well-equipped laboratory, bio hazard suits, gas masks, basic medicines. An officer and a sergeant, both doctors, and a small infirmary. Everything is at your disposal. Please understand that having to contain a biological hazard in the desert along with a plane crash is quite a rare event.»
«That's true, Major», replies Ironside. «But unfortunately that event occurred. Having to operate on foreign soil limits us tremendously, but we must prepare ourselves to face the worst scenario with what we have available. Once the situation is clarified, Washington will find a way to send us all the support we need.»
The elevator door opens onto a white corridor, on whose walls are windows that overlook corresponding side rooms, plus other sliding doors.
«Let's meet Dr. Ivanov.»
Boeing crash site
Simon Brody is on top of a high dune, and observes the expanse of debris, large and small, scattered on the sandy plain, covering a large area. The soldiers have placed light spots that partially illuminate the site, while the perimeter is indicated by trail markers mounted on poles, placed every ten meters. «Holy Jesus, it's really a mess down there», he exclaims looking at the JLTV behind him. He makes his voice louder, to be heard. «Greg! Come out and see!»
The reply of the other soldier is damped, from inside the vehicle. «I can see it in the camera. I have also an infrared view here. It detects just hot aircraft parts that are still burning, in addition to our own men. I don't think there is any survivor.»
Brody turns back to observe the scene with binoculars, sliding his gaze from one scrap to another.
In the distance, as if they were Martians landed on the moon, he can see several soldiers in yellow suits, who wander with slow movements, inspecting the area.
«All those people... what a mess...», he murmurs softly.
The man crouches, rummaging with one hand in a back pack to pull out a pack of cigarettes half crushed. With usual gestures and without thinking, he triggers the opening of his Zippo lighter. He lits the wick while approaching his hands to his face. The tip of the cigarette is about to touch the flame when suddenly he feels like having heard a noise.
Brody stands still for a moment, eavesdropping.
The desert's silence is absolute.
No, just my imagination...
Maybe it was the noise of the lighter...
The marine lights his cigarette and takes a long puff, watching the sky and forgetting for a moment the devastation seen below. The magnificence of the starry night sky in the desert is something that one can never get used to.
The noise bites again, to his right, like a sneeze.
The man turns to look, but he can only see the undulations of small and large dunes, whose profiles fade in the dark after a few tens of meters. Brody lingers for a moment with his eyes.
Shit, I heard it well this time...
The marine looks around, but he can't find out what's the source of the sound, and he can't see anything, apart from the ubiquitous sand. He is going to say something to his colleague inside the armored vehicle, when the sound repeats once again. A brief hiss, like the one issued normally when someone has a cold and sniffles.
The noise seems to come from behind a small sandy relief, about thirty meters away.
What the hell...
«Hey Greg, did you hear?»
«If this is one of your usual jokes it won't work, Simon. We are in the middle of the desert, I can't hear anything except your voice.»
I can't have imagined it...
«I'm going to take a look, okay?»
«Yes, yes, all right. Don't get lost out there.»
Brody brings a hand to his holster, while starting cautiously in the direction where the sound came from.
USA base CNT222
Two tall soldiers, armed and grim-looking, guard a door on the second basement floor of the base. Inside the room the atmosphere is tense. A line of screens and equipment runs along the walls. High up in a corner, the rhythmic pulsing of a red LED reveals the presence of a surveillance camera.
A large metal square table is set in the middle of the room, with a water bottle and four glasses in the center. The same number of people sit at the table. The eyes of Ironside, Moore and Macready focus on the fourth face.
Alexander Ivanov is nervous, sitting slightly away from the table, his arms folded. His gaze jumps quickly from one person to another, such as to control the slightest movement, revealing some inner turmoil. Ironside watches him, seeing in his eyes that he is scared to death, but his instinct suggests that the real cause of that state of mind is beyond the common mistrust between strangers from different countries whose relations were not always idyllic.
Concluded the ritual presentations, it's Ironside to speak. «Dr. Ivanov, let's go straight to the point. I suppose we all have to consider you some way involved in the events that brought us here in this room...»
«Somewhat... yes», confirms the other. His voice is flat and toneless, as if he is describing the autopsy of a lab rat. Ivanov expresses in an impeccable English, although his way of talking has the typical inflection of the Russian language.
Macready looks at him without blinking, he doesn't like Ivanov, and he doesn't bother to hide it that much. Something about the man gives him a certain distrust.
«In that case, what could you advise us to better manage the situation at the crash site?»
At these words the scientist's eyes widen dramatically, but it's only a moment before he regains control. «Are you saying that the plane cr
ashed?»
«Exactly. It crashed to the ground for no apparent reason, about fifteen kilometers south-east of our current position. It should have made an emergency landing at this base, but apparently something happened on board...»
Ironside blurs deliberately the phrase, as if to imply something and push the Russian to speak.
«Are there any survivors?»
The skin of Ivanov's face, naturally very clear, is now visibly pale.
«We have a team that intervened on the spot, at the moment they are setting up a level three containment perimeter», is Macready's reply.
«You must get in touch with your men, immediately!», Ivanov's altered tone. «Warn them to not get close to any survivors or their remnants.»
«Dr. Ivanov, please, calm down», continues Ironside, pouring water into one of the glasses, and then bringing it closer to him. «Why don't you tell us what we have to expect?»
At the sight of the glass in front of him Ivanov retracts further, merely observing it as if it were poison and taking a few moments of reflection.
«Look», he exclaims, «I think I can help you... but I need you to help me back.»
«Due to an error of yours almost two hundred and fifty persons have died», exclaims Major Macready with an icy voice. «Do you really think that the United States government will make arrangements with you on that basis?»
«You're judging me for crimes I did not commit, Major. Do you think I'm a terrorist? Well, you are wrong. You have no idea with what kind of monstrosity you are dealing with.»
After a few moments of awkward silence Ivanov goes on. «Here are the facts. It's true, for me there is no longer a future in Russia, and we all are aware of this. I know I'm alone, however, and you'll understand it soon, without my help there is no future for any of us. Neither in Russia nor anywhere else. All that I'm asking is to not be arrested or extradited, either now or when and if this situation gets resolved. I help you and you protect me. I don't want to have to watch my back for the rest of my days.»
Ivanov and Ironside exchange a long look. It's the latter who takes the initiative. «Dr. Moore, Major Macready, please, could you leave us alone for a few minutes?»
The woman gets up and leaves the room without a comment. Macready seems reluctant.
«Please, Major», insists Ironside.
The marine slowly rises, visibly upset, and without looking away from Ivanov's eyes. Then, without a word, he heads for the door.
Boeing crash site
«Brody! You still there?»
Greg White's voice sounds muffled, coming from the inside of the military vehicle.
No response, the silence is broken only by the low hum of the equipment.
«Simon!» insists Greg, raising his voice.
After about a minute of additional silence, the marine moves toward the front of the vehicle and opens a side door. The air conditioning system and all the running electronic equipment makes the air inside the JLTV very warm. The impact with the cold night atmosphere outside seems to almost paralyze his sweaty face.
Greg White jumps out the vehicle, stretches his arms slightly sore from the prolonged position maintained until a few moments earlier, and arches his back. He observes the blanket of stars in the sky, and then walks a few meters towards the dune ridge overlooking the scene of the disaster. «Brody, where the hell are you?»
No answer.
The soldier adjusts the focal of his binoculars and watches the expanse of scrap, dozens of meters below. He runs through the area bouncing from one soldier to another, without dwelling on anyone in particular. He notices a group of colleagues around an object half-buried in the ground, dark and twisted like an olive tree. He can't make out the details, but notices the interest of the other soldiers, one of which takes several photographs.
Forgetting for a moment his colleague that isn't responding to his calls and intent on observing the scene, he doesn't notice a dark shape that begins to stand out against the sky behind him.
For long moments the shadow grows slowly, moving silently and gradually erasing the stars in the sky.
Intrigued by the scene taking place in the plain below him, Greg leans forward, adjusting the binoculars to further optimize their focus. The marine is careful not to lose his balance, to avoid slipping on the slope of the dune.
Why the hell are they so interested in that thing?
The silhouette behind him keeps approaching slowly. No sound, and now it appears huge in comparison to the slender figure of Greg.
The silence is total, as if the world itself had stopped breathing.
Is it just an impression, or one of the branches of that weird tree has just moved?
The breath of the soldier is still, as he watches one of graceless appendages of the strange trunk, writhing slowly. Under the surprised look of White, the branch angle changes with a barely perceptible movement.
Are you fucking kidding? This can't be... It must be a trick caused by the distance...
They are right there in front of it, they should notice...
A chill flows along his spine, shaking him like a thunderbolt.
For a moment he feels a presence behind him.
Then the world suddenly accelerates.
Two heavy hands grip the marine hip, pulling back with violence.
Greg's heart seems to skip a beat when he goes to slam into a huge and massive body.
«Pppaaam!», Brody shouts loudly at the same time. «Ha ha ha, my boy, that's how we lost the war! Wow wow!»
Greg gets rid from the marine's grasp. He feels like his heart jumped into his throat.
It's hard to swallow and breathe, while the adrenaline causes him to feel a thousand pins throughout his skin and on top of the skull.
Simon Brody laughs loudly, amused by the joke.
«What a fun!», more laughter, then he sniffles, accentuating the noise as of someone sniffing. «Uh uh... I bet you shit your pan...»
«Fuck the hell you Simon, what the fuck!», is Greg's answer, in a motion of anger he kicks the sand to throw it on the colleague, then he heads for the car.
«Come on, man, don't take it this way», replies Brody alternating words in an Eddie-Murphy-like laughter. «I mean, take it from behind!» Other laughs. «Forgive me, please... I could not resist. This will be reported in the annals, the guys will go crazy», Brody keeps laughing, wiping a tear from the corner of one eye.
«Are you done being an idiot? May I know where you have been? You shouldn't get away. You saw what a slaughter is down there?»
«I thought I heard a noise, this desert is weird. I went to see and there was nothing, a fucking nothing. So I took the opportunity to give my modest contribution, manuring this godforsaken place.»
White looks at him sideways saying nothing.
«Oh yeah, true and genuine New Jersey's shit, a real jewel.»
Brody accompanies the last words with a lip smacking. The other remains silent, while his colleague laughs again.
«I mean it, Greg, come on, let's go, come and see, it's really a masterpiece. I swear, it looks like the monolith of that movie, A Space Odiss...»
«Did you take off your suit?», blurts White. «At night, in the middle of the desert, during a containment operation of a possible biological hazard?»
The other looks surprised, his mirth dampens. «Well», he mutters. «Up here we're pretty far from that mess. It was only for a few minutes, you know, just time to let it go and...»
«Now that will really amuse Bishop», says White, heading inside the armored vehicle.
«Hey wait, I didn't mean... You don't have any sense of humor. What the fuck... Come on Greg!»
* * *
In the area circumscribed by the containment perimeter, some soldiers bundled up in the yellow bio-hazard suits look at the mysterious twisted trunk. Disgusted expressions on their faces, as they look at the chaos of distorted limbs and deformed faces.
«What the hell is this?», exclaims one of the soldiers.<
br />
«May God strike me dead if I know», replies another one. «At first I thought it was some kind of a sculpture, some African voodoo freaky totem, but I can't see the remains of a village, or other signs of human presence. And even if it was a totem, who ever would have put it here, surrounded by miles and miles of desert? It makes no sense, and... If it has been here before, the plane's explosion would have disintegrated it. No... I think this... this thing came down with the plane. Come in, look at here... Approach the light, right here, shine it on this section...»
The man crouches to collect a metal fragment, with which he presses on the surface of the trunk, on the shape of a bluish face with no eye sockets, frozen forever in a sinister grin. «See? It's not as hard as wood, it has the consistency of leather, or rubber as well. These parts are somehow fused together. Look, point the torch here. Do you see it? These are shreds of clothing...»
«Do you think it was the heat that melted the bodies?»
«No idea, Matt. You know, I once read a report about the effects of nuclear explosions at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. At a certain distance from ground zero the bodies of human beings vaporized, all that remained were shadows of them, printed on those walls that had not collapsed on the ground. At a greater distance they found charred bodies covered with radioactive ash. In one case, the skin of the arms of two girls, who sat next to each other, had melted and cooled in an instant, pasting them as conjoined twins. To separate them they needed surgery. However, we are talking about something superficial, due to an atomic flash. But here I have the clear feeling that the merge isn't limited to the epidermis but it also involves the structure of the underlying tissue, and possibly of bones too. The heat caused by the explosion of the plane's fuel would have burned the bodies, making coal of them, as with most of the passengers. In this case... well, it's as if they were dissolved and then reshaped as if they were clay.»