V Plague (Book 16): Brimstone

by Dirk Patton

  “Get a medic and get these goddamn people cleared!” Captain Black roared into his radio as he pressed on Packard’s chest.

  The Admiral’s eyes were open, his face already an ashen color that sent a thrill of fear through the normally unflappable Marine. He bellowed more orders as he held pressure on the wound and tears began running down his face.

  “Hang on, sir. Help’s coming,” he said gently to the Admiral.

  Packard didn’t seem to hear, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he gasped for air.

  “WHERE’S THE FUCKING MEDIC?” Black screamed.

  “Coming, sir!” one of the Marines answered, but Black didn’t take his attention off Packard.

  Two squads of Marines in full battle rattle rushed down the center aisle, a pair of Navy corpsmen loaded down with gear at their center. Anyone not smart enough to get out of their way was unceremoniously shoved aside as they cleared a path for the medics. Outside, a full platoon of Marines had already cleared a flat area large enough for an orbiting helicopter to land and evacuate the gravely wounded Admiral.

  Six hours later, Captain Black sat in a waiting room at The Queen’s Medical Center, just south of downtown Honolulu. There had been two seconds of debate with the corpsmen about whether to take him to the base hospital at Pearl Harbor or the level one trauma center at Queen’s. Both agreed the civilian hospital was the better choice and he hadn’t questioned their advice.

  Now, he was in a hard plastic chair, still dressed in his blue dress uniform which was hopelessly stained with the Admiral’s blood. Across from him, Captain West, looking drawn and angry, busied himself with a stack of plans dealing with the logistics of the evacuation of the entire population of Hawaii.

  The waiting room and halls all around the surgical suite where Packard was being worked on had been cleared of anyone not absolutely essential. Stern faced Marines guarded every inch, ensuring no one approached who didn’t have a damn good reason.

  He looked up when the Corporal he’d sent to his quarters to retrieve a clean uniform walked in. Standing, he quickly stripped to his underwear and dressed in the combat utilities. He was lacing his boots when he received word over the radio that Admiral Huber, now the highest ranking military officer, was on his way up. Quickly finishing and giving himself a once over, he stood and waited for the Admiral to arrive.

  He didn’t know Admiral Huber well, and only from when he was present while the man interacted with Admiral Packard. But during those occasions, he’d often picked up on a vibe that the two men didn’t necessarily see eye to eye on the decisions the more senior Packard made while dealing with the Russian threat after the attacks.

  Looking at his soiled uniform that the Corporal had already bundled into a laundry bag, he stopped him from leaving and reached in to retrieve his phone. He had received a preliminary report from Navy investigators less than half an hour ago and wanted to be prepared if the Admiral was looking for answers.

  “Admiral on deck!” one of the Marines guarding the door snapped a few seconds before Admiral Huber swept into the room.

  “As you were,” he said distractedly, looking around and focusing in on Black and West.

  “Any word on how he’s doing?” he asked, striding up to the two officers.

  “No, sir,” Captain West answered. “He’s been in surgery for almost six hours, but we’ve received no update.”

  “Goddamn it,” the Admiral growled, turning to Captain Black. “How the fuck did this happen, Captain?”

  “Sir, our agreement with the state police is that they were responsible for security at the entrances. They set up metal detectors, searched bags and had EOD K9s present to detect any explosives.”

  “Then how the hell did someone sneak a knife through?” the Admiral asked in a low voice, eyes boring into Black.

  “Sir, I just received a preliminary report from one of our investigators. The knife that was used to stab Admiral Packard was constructed of composite materials. No metal of any kind to trip the scanners. Nothing short of a full body search or back-scatter X-ray machine like the airports use would have detected it.”

  Admiral Huber stared at the Marine for a few moments before blowing out a big sigh and shaking his head.

  “I just got off the phone with the lead investigator and he didn’t tell me this.”

  “It’s a preliminary report, sir,” Black said carefully. “I’m sure he didn’t want to tell you something until it is officially confirmed.”

  The Admiral frowned briefly before nodding acceptance of the explanation.

  “What about who this man was? His motives? Any preliminary info on that?” he asked with a slight note of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Some, sir. He’s been identified as a resident of Honolulu. A successful businessman. Big donor to the governor’s campaign, which explains how he secured a seat in the front row. But so far, I’ve heard nothing that would explain why he’d do something like this.”

  “This wasn’t a businessman,” Captain West said with certainty.

  “Agreed,” Captain Black said, nodding.

  “Explain,” the Admiral said, looking back and forth between them.

  Both men hesitated, then Captain West nodded for Captain Black to speak.

  “Sir, first of all, a fully composite knife is a very specialized weapon. I’ve never actually seen one in person. There’s really only one purpose for it, and that’s to do exactly what the man did. Walk it through a security cordon without setting off any alarms. You don’t just walk into Walmart and buy one.

  “Secondly, I watched this happen with my own eyes. There was no hesitation. No fear or reluctance to plunge a six-inch blade into another man’s chest. From a strictly professional perspective, it was text book. And he immediately went for a second strike. No shock at the blood or the thought of what he’d just done to another human being. Whoever he is, or was, this guy was a trained pro. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  “I concur, sir,” Captain West said. “However, this is just our opinion based on being eyewitnesses to the attack. That said, I expect the investigation to confirm.”

  “Russian?” the Admiral asked, accepting the reasoning from the two officers.

  “Perhaps,” West said cautiously. “He’s dead and it may not be possible to ever determine who he was working for beyond a reasonable doubt. But he’s someone’s, sir. As long as he’s not one of ours, I’m not actually sure how it matters.”

  “Explain that, Captain.”

  “Sir, if we can definitively prove he’s a Russian agent; a sleeper agent or an assassin in place, waiting for a target assignment, if you will, what do we do with that? We’ve already fought the Russians to a stalemate. There’s very little else we can do. But, if it turns out that he was one of ours, CIA, for example, or former special forces... well, then we’d have to look at this from a different perspective, considering Admiral Packard is the leading candidate in a presidential election.”

  “You’re not saying…” the Admiral blurted in surprise.

  “No, sir,” West said quickly. “I’m not drawing any conclusions other than the man was professionally trained. I’m merely pointing out what could become a political disaster.”

  “And if we begin fighting amongst ourselves instead of working together, we might as well go sit on the beach and wait for the world to die around us.”

  “Yes, sir. Something like that,” West said.

  “Assuming the worst. That he’s not just some random crazy or Russian agent taking advantage of an opportunity to cut off our head and is one of ours. What’s your advice on handling the investigation?”

  “Classify it immediately. The assassination attempt may have happened in the state police’s jurisdiction, but it was a naval officer who was attacked. No civilians were even harmed, other than the perpetrator who was killed in the act. Lock out the cops and let our investigators do their job and control the information.”

  “And if it turns out to be political
? I release that and there’s going to be a fucking firestorm of epic proportions.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but we have people who can deal with this quietly,” Captain Black said, his gaze intense.

  The Admiral looked at him, considering what he was proposing.

  “Would that make us any better than whoever ordered the hit?” he asked slowly, eyes boring into the two junior officers.

  “It would keep it out of the court of public opinion,” West chimed in. “We are quickly running out of time to begin the exodus. If this explodes in the media, there will be politicians at every level who will use it for less than altruistic purposes. That will divide us. Bitterly. Create a distraction we cannot afford. It would cost lives. Potentially tens of thousands of innocent lives.”

  Before the Admiral could respond, the Marine guarding the door announced the presence of Packard’s lead surgeon. The man was tall and thin, lank hair plastered to his skull and seemed tired as he waited to be granted access to the waiting room. Admiral Huber waved him in and the three officers met him halfway.

  “How is he?” the Admiral asked without bothering to introduce himself.

  “He’s alive. Stable but critical at the moment. He’s being moved to the ICU. He’s actually extremely fortunate. The knife missed his heart by only a few centimeters and penetrated between two major blood vessels without damaging either. In thirty years, I’ve never seen anyone that lucky. He must have had a guardian angel sitting on his shoulder.”

  “So, he’ll be okay?”

  “It’s still too early to determine, but I’m cautiously optimistic. Whatever he was stabbed with must have been incredibly sharp and thin. The wound is almost surgical in the fact that the surrounding tissue wasn’t torn and degraded like you see with most stabbings. However, he did sustain an injury to a lung that then collapsed. He also lost a lot of blood. Whoever got to him first almost assuredly saved his life. We’ve repaired the damage, but he’s on a ventilator at the moment. The next twenty-four hours are critical. There are more things that can go wrong than not, so if you’re so inclined, I’d suggest a heartfelt prayer.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Admiral Huber said after absorbing the update.

  “One more thing,” he said. “We X-rayed his chest to make sure we had found all the damage and found something else. A large shadow on the film. He has a large growth in the upper lobe of his lung. I excised a sample for testing while I was in there, but I’m all but certain it’s cancer. And it appears to have metastasized. Spread to numerous other organs. I’m waiting for formal confirmation from the lab, but… well, I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  The surgeon paused, hesitating.

  “Doctor?” the Admiral prompted.

  He looked at the three men and took a breath before continuing.

  “Based on what I saw, he’ll very likely never leave the hospital. He had a few months, a year at best, before the cancer killed him. Now, in his weakened condition, it will be a miracle if he even regains consciousness.”

  “Would he have known he was sick?” Captain West asked.

  “There’s no way he couldn’t have known something was very wrong. I’ve seen it before, unfortunately. The person chooses to ignore the warning signs until it’s too late because they can’t even consider caring for themselves to the detriment of their responsibilities. I guess in the Admiral’s case, he decided it was more important to keep doing his job than it was to see a doctor.”

  Stunned and saddened, they stared at the surgeon, none of them able to speak.

  50

  Strickland stood on a beach in North Korea, watching the rough surf as the Sea of Japan battered the coastline. A minor storm was overhead, lashing his face with a frigid mix of rain and snow and tossing the surface of the ocean. Behind him, across a narrow ribbon of rock studded sand, a series of imposing bluffs rose more than a hundred feet. Descending a narrow footpath in the storm had been an adventure in itself. Igor, carrying Admiral Shevchenko’s frozen corpse, had nearly gone over the edge on several occasions, the loose soil crumbling beneath the weight of him and his burden.

  When the old man had been killed by a freak ricochet during the fight with the mafiya soldiers, they had tried to dig a grave. But the frozen ground was unyielding. Nothing short of heavy equipment could have hoped to break through the rock-hard surface. There had been a short discussion about what to do with the body, but Irina had ended it quickly. The body was going with them and they would find a place where a proper grave could be prepared.

  As they moved south through China and approached the North Korean border, the weather had warmed slightly, but that only meant it was no longer below zero degrees Fahrenheit. The ground remained impenetrable, not thawing until they were within thirty miles of the coast.

  Igor had pulled to the side of the crumbling road and looked around, seeing several suitable locations. Irina, exhausted from the trip and the emotions of losing her uncle, had fallen asleep an hour earlier and didn’t stir when the Hunter ground to a halt.

  “Whatta ya think?” Strickland had asked quietly from the back seat.

  “We dig there,” Igor mumbled, pointing at a small hill that overlooked the valley they were driving through.

  As if he’d conjured them, a group of people suddenly appeared at the precise spot his finger was indicating. They stood watching the idling Hunter for a beat, then with faint screams, females leapt off the hilltop and charged down the slope in their direction.

  “Not that many,” Strickland offered. “Wanna pick ‘em off and get on with it?”

  As Igor considered the question, more females, responding to the screams, raced over the hill. Soon, nearly a hundred infected were bearing down on them.

  “Trakhat' svoyu mat',” Igor cursed, releasing the brake and accelerating away from the swiftly approaching females.

  Strickland snorted. He didn’t understand the words, but had no doubt they meant the same thing he was thinking. He turned to look out the rear window as the group pursued them. Watching, he grimaced to see more infected emerge from the surrounding forest and join the chase.

  Igor increased their speed despite the poor condition of the North Korean road. The ride steadily grew worse, one pothole bouncing the Hunter hard enough that both men’s heads slammed into the roof. Irina, nearly knocked out of her seat onto the floor, woke with a start and looked around in alarm. Igor said something in Russian that calmed her and she twisted to see out the back window.

  “Asian chicks can’t resist me,” Strickland said with a grin and a shrug.

  They’d continued, slowly outdistancing the sprinting females. But soon, more began charging in from the sides, suddenly appearing from the dense stands of trees that lined the narrow road. Several managed to reach the Hunter, slamming into the sides in their frenzy.

  The atmosphere inside the vehicle was tense as Igor did his best to navigate the cratered road while simultaneously avoiding the largest concentrations of infected. Irina asked a question to which he gave a curt answer.

  “What was that?” Strickland asked.

  “I asked if the infected could stop us,” she explained.

  “And?”

  “He said yes. If enough get in front, we won’t be able to push through.”

  Strickland looked around at the slowly growing volume of females. Some, hearing the approaching engine, were beginning to charge in from the front.

  “Tell him to go faster,” the SEAL said, not liking the thought of being trapped inside the Hunter by a throng of infected.

  “No fast. Break car,” Igor said through gritted teeth as a female bounced off the Hunter’s grill.

  The impact was hard, sending a shudder through the vehicle, then a tire dropped into a pothole and nearly sent them into the ditch. Igor fought the wheel, bringing them back under control just in time to meet another female head on. A second brutal impact, this one causing the front edge of the hood to visibly distort.

  “F
uck this,” Strickland grumbled.

  Drawing his knife, he reached up and sliced an opening in the Hunter’s canvas top. Cold air and rain immediately began coming through, but he ignored it and sheathed the blade.

  “What are you doing?” Irina asked in alarm.

  Igor didn’t take his attention off the road, cursing loudly when another female rammed herself into the grill.

  “Just tell Igor to keep driving,” the SEAL said.

  Standing, he shoved his upper body through the rent in the top and pulled his rifle around. Aiming, he fired at a female directly in their path, missing as the Hunter bounced viciously an instant before he pulled the trigger. Muttering a string of invectives, he spread his legs wide to brace himself against the motion and started firing again.

  He missed more often than not, but managed to start dropping infected. Quickly, Igor had to steer to avoid running over bodies instead of trying to protect the front end of the vehicle. Strickland maintained his rate of fire as they drove, only two of dozens of females managing to reach the grill of the Hunter.

  Suddenly, he was out of targets. Surprised, the SEAL raised his eye from the scope and looked ahead, but didn’t see any more running to intercept them. Behind, the leading edge of the pursuing horde of females was steadily losing ground. With a sigh of relief, he lowered himself back inside the vehicle.

  “Shooting good!” Igor said, meeting his eyes in the mirror and grinning.

  Strickland smiled and shrugged, wiping water off his face before looking up at the roof. More rain poured through the slit, continually soaking him. A few seconds of digging through his pack and he found a small roll of duct tape which he used to seal the opening.

  “Good idea,” Irina said. “Not sure this old bucket would have survived much longer.”

  After that, it was only a matter of a few miles until the landscape opened up and they got their first view of the ocean. Under a gray sky, the storm-tossed water was the color of lead. Row upon row of white caps marched across the surface to slam onto a beach at the base of a series of tall bluffs.