An intercom box was mounted nearby, along with an oblong window which offered a view of what lay in store. I peered into a narrow hallway of cinderblock and steel. Then, pulling firmly on the handle, I stepped over a reinforced metal ledge and entered the room. Invisible pressure slammed the refrigerator door behind me, and I now saw what had been obscured from my view. Rows of stainless steel shower heads lined the ceiling and walls. Clammy fingers of fear slipped inside my suit and clutched me by the throat.
Get a grip! I began to take slow, steady breaths.
I proceeded down the passage to one final metal door which stood silently in wait. I could no longer distinguish the rush of my blood from the thud of each boot as I drew closer to the steel portal, where a white sign with red lettering announced You Are About To Enter Biohazard Area Four.
My brain switched on to automatic pilot and my gloved hands latched onto the wheel, spinning the circular handle. The pressurized seal gave way with a hiss and I entered the room. The air-lock door instantly closed behind me.
I found myself in a chamber that was half Julia Child’s kitchen and half Frankenstein’s lab. The room was awash with shining metal and glass. I walked toward a stainless steel table holding cylindrical glass bottles with metal tops. Each container had several tubes running in and out, though a witches brew of liquid fermented only in one. It emitted a captivating low hum. Next to it sat a Bunsen burner warm enough to alert me that someone had been working in here just recently. I wondered what sort of sinister soup they were cooking up, but the room was silent, unwilling to relinquish its secret. The biggest relief was that there were no animals inside cages or shackled to walls.
I quickly scanned the room, determined to find a clue of some sort. A freezer and refrigerator stood in the far corner and I headed over to investigate.
Instead of Hungry Man entrees, the freezer was filled racks holding tubes of specimens, all marked with different dates. Unfortunately, that didn’t provide me with any useful evidence. I pulled out a second metal holder, which proved to be of more interest. The tubes had larger labels, and I lifted one up to eye level. The Satan Bug, I read.
My trembling fingers slowly centered the deadly cylinder above an empty slot, and ever so carefully lowered it. Then, I painstakingly slid Pierpont’s noxious concoction back inside its frozen vault.
My thoughts began to pirouette in a poisonous ballet. Were F.U. and his cohorts terrorists? I quickly dismissed the idea as completely ludicrous. Yet the only time I’d ever heard of the Satan Bug was in conjunction with genetically engineered viruses. Caught between horror and excitement, I checked out the refrigerator.
Sitting on the bottom shelf were sealed jars similar to those in Pierpont’s office. I picked up one of the glass bottles, staring at its contents.
There was no question that Pierpont was brewing up the ingredients for a biologic Armageddon. I closed the refrigerator, knowing what I’d stumbled upon was way beyond my professional capacity. The most important thing I could do at the moment was simply to get out of here.
My thought was punctuated by a loud burp as the air-lock door swung open, and I spun around to discover I had unexpected company. Martin Pierpont walked inside, dressed in a Tyvek suit and a full Racal hood. He closed the door behind him with his hooks.
“Why is it that you insist on visiting me without an appointment?” he pleasantly inquired.
“Probably because you keep refusing to give me one,” I replied, trying to sound more calm than I felt.
Pierpont looked different than I’d ever seen him before—then it hit me. There was no Jimi Hendrix wig stuffed inside his helmet. The man was completely bald.
Pierpont took note of my gaze, and self-consciously reached up to stroke the top of his hood. Jeez! Men and their vanity! At the same time, I caught sight of his other hook. It was locked onto a 9mm revolver.
“It really would have been wiser if you’d waited for an invitation. But now that you’re here, I suppose you’ve already looked around,” Pierpont commented with his annoying Mona Lisa smile.
Man, did nothing rattle this guy? “If I say no, do I receive a ‘get out of jail free’ card?”
Pierpont’s smile morphed into a more ominous Cheshire Cat grin. “No. What it means is that I get to put you to work. Actually, your timing couldn’t be better. I’ve been looking for some temporary help.”
I wondered if I could push him aside and make a run for the door without getting shot.
“Don’t let these hooks of mine fool you. My aim is deadly,” he advised as if he’d read my mind, raising the 9mm in my direction.
I took a quick glance around the room. Except for a microscope, there was nothing with which to bop him on the head.
“Would you mind filling me in on what’s going on before you start saddling me up with chores?”
“You mean you really don’t know?” Pierpont asked in astonishment. “And all this time, I thought you were fairly smart.”
That’s the other thing about guys. Let them get a gun in their hooks and they begin to feel it’s an open invitation to insult you.
“You’re in luck today, Agent Porter. It so happens I’d be thrilled to enlighten you on the finer points of my project. Otherwise, how can you truly appreciate what lies in store for you?” He clearly relished the thought.
Pierpont moved toward the stainless steel table. “These bottles are small bioreactors. What you’re witnessing are cells that have been infected with a virus, and are now beginning to replicate.”
Terrific. “If you don’t mind my asking, what type of virus is it?” I inquired, leaning back against the refrigerator door.
“I’m delighted you’re showing so much interest. That’s the hardest part about this whole thing, you know,” he confided. “There are so few people I can include in my work.”
The tip of his hook raked along the steel table top as if he were dissecting a patient. This was the happiest I’d ever seen him.
“These biorectors are producing three different genetically engineered strains of the same virus. The basic bacteria is a little something called anthrax.”
The word shot through me like a bullet. Anthrax was the most frightening of all biological weapons. Invisible to the eye, a fatal dose is smaller than a speck of dust, and easily inhaled in a single breath. My respiration quickened, suddenly fearful of the very air I was breathing.
Pierpont noted my reaction with enormous satisfaction. “Good. I’m glad to see you understand what I’m dealing with.”
“Does F.U. know you’re doing this?” was all I could ask.
“Of course! Who do you suppose is sponsoring my work?” he said with amusement. “Krabbs and his associates are the proud owners of my formerly defunct company.”
Pierpont moved toward me, and I quickly headed to the other side of the table.
“Then they must be under the impression your work involves something else. Otherwise, why would a group of businessmen have anything to do with the production of anthrax?”
“That’s a perfectly valid question,” Pierpont responded, “and one which is easily answered. Just think about the world in which we live today. Nuclear arms are no longer the biggest threat we face. That menace has been replaced by germ warfare, precisely because any maniac can concoct a bioweapon simply by getting the recipe off the Internet! Add a beer fermenter, some culture, a gas mask, and you’re in business.”
I raised an eyebrow at the maniac. “Funny. That’s exactly what it appears you’ve done here.”
“No, Agent Porter. You have absolutely no idea what you’re looking at. But you will,” he added sinisterly. “The people Krabbs and his associates worry about are not only renegade countries like Iraq and Libya, but terrorists as varied as Hezbollah, Osama bin Laden, and the Aryan Nation. The threat can come from any individual or small organization with a grudge that wants to punish society. What if those who blew up the federal building in Oklahoma had had access to microbial toxins instead of
bags of fertilizer? Thousands of lives would have been extinguished. Now take a look at those flasks in front of you,” Pierpont instructed.
My gaze became riveted on the bioreactors.
“These are the poor man’s nuclear bomb. There’s no doubt that a germ attack is going to occur in this country; it’s only a matter of time. And when that takes place, what do you think is going to happen to people like you? Let me tell you,” he eagerly offered.
I nodded as if fixated by an oncoming accident.
“One day you’ll hear a news report about a strange outbreak of a respiratory disease. First locally, and then around the nation. A few hours later, crowds will converge on emergency rooms gasping for breath and complaining of high fever. The government will realize what they’re dealing with. But of course, by then they’ll have taken all the necessary precautions. Already, important federal officials, as well as FBI and CIA agents, are being inoculated for just such an event. So are those in the Army, Navy and Marine Corps. Possibly even police, fire fighters and health workers will have been vaccinated. Soon after the news breaks, the National Guard will be on the move, declaring martial law over cities and quarantining highways. It will all run fairly smoothly because emergency plans to deal with such an attack have been in place for years.” Pierpont paused and smiled. “Oh, but I haven’t yet said what will happen to you, have I? People like you will be dead.”
I stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.
Pierpont casually waved his gun in my direction.
“The government has never bothered to create stockpiles of anthrax vaccine for civilian use. For one thing, it’s too expensive. For another, it’s bureaucratic bumbling at its best. Which means the most you can hope for is a body bag to crawl inside as you suffer an excruciating death. Krabbs and his friends are taking the necessary steps to defend themselves, so that doesn’t happen to them.”
I waited until my panic had subsided enough so that I could catch my breath. “If what you say is true, then why are you creating viruses instead of developing the vaccine?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” Pierpont smiled. “It turns out the Russians recently engineered a new microbe, rendering all existing anthrax vaccine totally useless. Obviously, they’re not the only ones creating designer strains. It’s quite simple to modify anthrax to outwit what few antitoxins we have. To combat that, I’ve also been engineering new, improved forms of anthrax in order to develop a broad spectrum antidote. You’ll be pleased to learn I’ve come up with a counteractant which should work against any anthrax strain that could possibly be manufactured.”
Pierpont opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the milkshakes. “This is the part which will interest you the most. I’m now at the final stage of testing.”
“Which is why you’ve been smuggling chimps in over the border,” I added.
“Oh, good. You actually do know something. Yes, the chimps will be my gold standard test. I plan to infect each with a different strain of anthrax, then I’ll have them drink this antidote. Keep your fingers crossed: if they live, that means my work is a success.”
“Does that include testing on the infant hybrid you created? Or isn’t she quite ready to be killed off yet?” I challenged.
Pierpont’s face positively beamed. “So, you’ve discovered my masterpiece. Isn’t she beautiful?”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You really are crazy. How could you cross humans and apes, solely for the purpose of giving a new species a fatal disease? That’s completely psychotic.”
Pierpont’s smile faded. “You’re trying to hurt my feelings, aren’t you? I have no intention of infecting her. At least not until she’s produced a second generation hybrid all of her own.”
“And when you finally develop a hybrid with the same susceptibility to disease as human beings, what then?” I questioned.
“I’ll clone it,” Pierpont patiently answered, as if teaching a child a science lesson. “If one truly cares about saving human lives, we must discover antidotes for otherwise incurable diseases. Believe me, Agent Porter: I have no qualms about testing on people. But there are all these annoying laws which prevent me from doing so. What I’ve come up with is the next best solution.”
“Are you saying that if your antidote works, it will be made available to the public?” I inquired hopefully.
Pierpont condescendingly shook his head. “Of course not. This medication is purely for the private use of those who are funding the project.”
“So much for any grand idea of saving the human race from anthrax. What are you getting out of this?”
Pierpont returned the milkshake to the fridge, and headed toward a built-in cabinet opposite the table. “Actually, I negotiated a very satisfactory deal with the conglomerate in which I’ll receive royalties from the sale of all hybrids. So you see, I really didn’t lie to your friend Lizzie. I have been working on cloning.”
Pierpont opened the cabinet doors to expose an array of flasks and glassware. Reaching in, he removed a vial filled with a dry pink powder. I caught sight of a rifle on the bottom shelf. It was a duplicate of the gun used to tranquilize the injured antelope on the Happy Hunting Ranch.
Pierpont followed my gaze and nodded. “I’m afraid Tyler proved to be as much of a nuisance as you. He also had to pay the price for learning too much.”
“But why did you use succinylcholine to kill him?” I asked, desperately glancing around in the hope of finding some sort of weapon.
“You figured that out, as well? Now I am impressed.” Pierpont congratulated me. “The animals I work with are unpredictable, so I keep my rifle loaded with a Sucostrin cartridge at all times. I had it with me on the morning Timmy Tom was snooping around. As I said, you never know what you might bump into. It was the first time I’ve used it on a person, and I’m pleased to report it worked exceptionally well. Since it’s a paralyzing agent, his death was appropriately gruesome—though a little too quick for my liking. But don’t worry. That’s not what I have in store for you.”
Pierpont placed his 9mm on the table while he opened the vial in his hook. My adrenaline soared as I grabbed the revolver. God! It felt good to be the one in power!
“Why don’t you recap whatever you’ve got. You won’t be needing it where we’re going,” I instructed.
Showing no fear, Pierpont began to walk toward me.
“I’m warning you to stop, or I swear to God I’ll shoot!” I threatened, never having been more serious.
Pierpont’s smile turned to a taunt as he continued in my direction.
“It’s over, Pierpont!” I cautioned one last time.
But the guy was a certifiable lunatic. He was a mere six feet away, leaving me with no choice. I gritted my teeth and pulled the trigger. I heard the hollow click of an empty chamber—and stared at the man in horror.
“That gun’s just a little something I keep on hand for any necessary intimidation. As you can see, it served its purpose well,” Pierpont said with a smirk. Then he reached out and ripped off my mask.
There was no time to think, much less react, as the vial’s pale pink contents were thrown in my face. My brain screamed at me to hold my breath. Instead, I gasped and inhaled. An Easter parade of tiny spores scrambled down my lungs and swam up my nose, filling my body with a basket of deadly goodies. There was no place to run, much less hide from the cloud of minuscule particles floating around me. The granules coated the inside of my mouth and tickled my throat, as if I’d just polished off some cotton candy. I immediately began to cough.
Pierpont studied my response, as if taking mental notes on a lab animal. “Oh, dear. It appears you’ve just inhaled my most lethal strain of anthrax. It’s one I call the Satan Bug, because it’s particularly nasty.”
The name high-dived in my brain, heading straight into a pool of sheer terror. “But I saw that in your freezer. It’s a liquid,” I protested.
Pierpont complacently folded his ho
oks in front of him. “You received a form that was dried and ground into a fine powder. All the easier to inhale, Agent Porter.”
Horror began to wrap around me as tightly as a winding sheet.
“You should begin to feel its effects shortly. Shall I tell you what they will be?” Pierpont’s voice cut with the skill of a scalpel. “First your pulse will beat rapidly. Then your temperature will soar. Finally, your lungs will fill with liquid until you can no longer breathe.”
My pulse sped up as he spoke and my skin began to sizzle with the intensity of bacon spattering in a frying pan. I stared into his bottle lens glasses in disbelief.
Pierpont smiled from behind his filtered hood. “Death will take a while, giving me time to observe your reactions.” His voice coiled as venomously as a snake inside me. “Oh yes…that’s the other thing. I’m afraid I’ll have to withhold the antidote. After all, I do have ethical guidelines I must follow; I couldn’t possibly use it on a human until running a final test on the chimps. But before I can test it, you have to die. Then I’ll be able to disinfect the room and get on with my work.”
My disbelief transformed into boiling rage.
“Like hell you will!” I growled, my anger propelling me toward him. Turning at the last moment, I planted my shoulder directly in his chest and sent Pierpont flying up against the open cabinet. An April shower of glassware tumbled down, including a beaker of liquid which crash-landed on the steel table. Its contents splashed onto the warm Bunsen burner and burst into flames.
“You idiot! That was ether!” Pierpont dashed to put out the fire.
My adrenaline racing like a turbo engine, I sprang for the cabinet and grabbed the dart rifle. Whirling around, I found Pierpont lunging for me, his hooks aimed at my throat. I pulled the trigger and a red-tailed dart hit its mark. It was Pierpont’s turn to stare in disbelief.
Border Prey Page 24