Perimeter

by M. A. Rothman

  “Yes, sir.” The man lifted the fifty-caliber on its tripod and peered through the night-vision scope.

  Nate made a circular motion with one hand and led the other four agents downstairs and across the street.

  In other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful night. The air smelled of the ocean—the Chesapeake Bay was just a hundred yards away. But as they crept to the warehouse door, everything was eerily silent. No gulls, no water, no voices.

  One of the men leaned his ear against the door while another worked with the lock. Using hand signals, Nate asked if there were any sounds coming through the door. The agent shook his head.

  The snick of the deadbolt announced success with the lock. Nate drew his Glock, opened the door, and took the lead.

  The warehouse was huge, empty, and dark. But a reflected light appeared about fifty yards ahead. Nate motioned to the reflected light. His men spread out, keeping each other in sight, and slowly advanced.

  Voices from up ahead.

  Nate motioned again. Enemy.

  Still in the shadows, he moved around an obstruction and got his first view of their targets. The woman was in a metal chair, a gag in her mouth. Her head sagged as though she were already dead. Nate watched until he saw her chest rise and fall.

  Still alive.

  Ten feet away stood the group of Germans. One had a pistol drawn, hanging loosely at his side. But there were only five of them.

  Again he used hand signals to communicate with his team. Five enemy. Missing one.

  The Germans were arguing with each other, but Nate had no idea what they were saying. He wished he’d gotten his language training in German.

  Then the man with the pistol pulled back his slide, loading a round in the chamber.

  Nate’s pulse raced. Now was the time. He had to make the call.

  He motioned again to his team. Pistol. I. Sniper.

  The men knew what to do. It was why he’d picked them.

  Steadying his breath, Nate took aim.

  Feeling the pulse in his trigger finger, he willed himself to stare down the barrel, imagining the path of the bullet as it traveled fourteen hundred feet per second.

  Between heartbeats, he pulled the trigger.

  Almost as soon as Nate felt the recoil, the armed man collapsed, a bullet buried in his head.

  Nate’s team immediately yelled, “FBI, hold your hands up!”

  One of the Germans who'd begun to raise his arms suddenly swiveled toward the team; he was taken down immediately. Two shots in the chest from two different agents. A gun clattered to the floor, and the agents swarmed the rest of the Germans.

  The sounds of his men yelling echoed off the large shipping containers as Nate rushed toward the wide-eyed hostage. But just as he reached her, a blinding flash followed by a deafening explosion rocked his senses. A flashbang. Before he could recover, someone barreled into him, knocking him off his feet.

  Still blind from the flash, Nate punched wildly at his attacker. His fist struck flesh, a gun went off, and he felt a serrated knife plunge into the back of his leg.

  He screamed.

  Seeing only the blur of a face, he aimed his thumbs at the man’s eyes. Now it was his attacker who screamed. Nate’s vision was slowly returning, and he saw a long scar running down the man’s cheek.

  Another shot rang out, and the attacker wrenched himself away and vanished.

  With the knife still buried in the back of his leg, Nate blinked the tears out of his eyes as he strained to get a clear image of his surroundings. He grabbed a nearby support beam and levered himself to his feet.

  “Three down, two in custody,” one of the agents yelled.

  “Where’s that scar-faced fuck?” Nate shouted back.

  “Sir?”

  “The guy who threw that flashbang. Big scar on his cheek. The asshole who stabbed me!”

  A metal door slammed behind them, and two of the agents took off in pursuit.

  Nate turned his attention back to the hostage. Dark hair framed a bruised, swollen face. She looked scared… defeated. He pulled the gag from her mouth.

  “They were going to kill me!” she sobbed.

  “Ma’am, we’re with the FBI. You’re safe now.”

  One of the agents raced back. “Sir, we lost him. The bastard popped a smoke grenade and vanished. There’s no way we’ll find him before he’s in Timbuktu.”

  Nate looked over to the other Germans, who by now had been trussed up with zip ties. “In that case, let’s take this garbage out and get the lady to a hospital.”

  One of the men clapped his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “You do realize that you’ve got a big-ass knife sticking out of your leg?”

  Nate grimaced. “Yeah, I’d have to say I’m pretty aware of it.” But he knew better than to pull it out. He might do more damage pulling it out than it did going in.

  The man pulled a phone from his all-black fatigues. “I’ll get two ambulances.”

  One agent dragged a chair over and said, “Nate, you want to pop a squat?”

  Nate shook his head. “I think I’m good leaning against this pole for right now.”

  Even though it felt as if someone had shoved a hot coal in the back of his right leg, the pain in his leg took a back seat to his anger over the guy who got away. Who were these people? What did they want with this woman? With Juan?

  He had a sinking feeling he’d just put Juan in even greater danger.

  ###

  Frank sat in the mess hall, eating scrambled eggs. Or what they called “scrambled eggs.” It tasted like… nothing. Even with all the hot sauce he’d slathered on.

  Kathy sat across from him on the long picnic-style table, eating a green apple and staring off into space, her mind elsewhere.

  The visit from the East Coast doctor—Dr. Gutierrez—had gotten everyone’s hopes up. It made them think that maybe they were going to get out of here. It had definitely brightened Kathy’s outlook. And when the doc told Frank he was going to visit Megan and let her know things were okay, that had settled a lot of Frank’s anxiety. Frank didn’t care what happened to him; he just wanted Kathy and his wife to be taken care of.

  But that had been a week ago. And they’d heard nothing since.

  “Your momma’s probably losing her mind.”

  Kathy nodded and sighed. “Juan promised that he’d go talk to her.”

  Frank stabbed at another chunk of the rubbery eggs. “Do you trust that doctor?”

  “I think I do,” Kathy said. “But then again, I don’t really know. I told you he and I went to dinner once, and it was really nice. He was really nice.”

  “Boyfriend-material nice?” Frank asked, arching one eyebrow.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head and bit her lower lip. “I don’t know much of anything right about now. But I do think he kept his promise to tell Mom we’re okay.”

  “I wish I could talk to her myself,” Frank said. “I just hope this gets over and done with sooner versus later. The whole idea of your mom alone, your life being disrupted, and hell—I don’t even want to think about the ranch and what’s going on there.”

  Kathy grabbed her father’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Oh, you know Mom—she’s probably driving Buck and the other guys crazy, running them all through their paces.”

  Frank laughed. “You’re probably right. I hope so. It’ll help her keep from going plumb loco.”

  A woman in fatigues called from the door of the mess hall. “Franklin and Katherine O’Reilly, are you in here?”

  Frank waved, and the woman motioned for them to join her. Kathy took her father’s arm as they crossed the mess.

  “A doctor just arrived at the clinic,” the woman said. “He needs both of you right away.”

  Frank and Kathy glanced at each other, and without a word, they both began running toward the clinic.

  ###

  Juan felt worse than he had in
ages. His throat was dry and his head was throbbing. The last week had been pure torture.

  For seven days, he didn’t once leave the FBI laboratory facility. And during that time, he’d worked almost nonstop. Sure, he’d snatch fifteen minutes of sleep here and there between DNA polymerase chain reaction sessions, but then he would wake up and get right back at it. There was just so much to be done, and so much riding on it being done quickly.

  He and his team had started by growing much more of Kathy’s and Frank’s original, unmodified DNA. Then they’d carefully snipped out segments of that DNA and used them to replace portions of the experimental DNA sequences that had caused all of the trouble.

  With shifts of trusted assistants working day and night alongside Juan, nearly a half year’s worth of lab work had been completed in the span of a week.

  And they’d done it. They’d developed a new gene therapy virus.

  Or at least, so Juan hoped. There hadn’t been time to run any clinical experiments. He’d broken every rule imaginable getting things done as quickly as he had. He didn’t have much choice in the matter. They had at most another day or two before an “accident” was going to happen. He’d taken the results of their lab work and hopped on the first flight to Vegas.

  Now he sat in the same bleak room he’d used the last time he was in Camp X-Ray. In front of him was an insulated case full of marked syringes, each holding a yellowish liquid.

  The product of his exhausting work.

  The door opened, and Kathy walked in, her father right behind her. Juan’s throat tightened as he motioned for them to come in.

  At the sight of him, Kathy’s expression turned to one of concern. “My God, Juan, you look terrible.”

  Through his exhaustion, Juan grinned. “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, I mean, you’ve got huge bags under your eyes, and it looks like you’ve lost a bunch of weight. Seriously, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Juan grabbed two alcohol swabs from the bag and said, “I’ve just been working overtime on some of this.” He motioned to the two folding chairs. “Please, sit and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

  Juan came around the table and sat so he was facing them both. “I’m going to give you a shot that we’ve created using the DNA I got from Megan.”

  “You got Megan’s DNA?” Frank asked.

  Juan rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. His head buzzed from lack of sleep. “No, sorry, let me rephrase that. Kathy, I visited your mom and told her you’re both okay. She’s doing fine as well; she seems like a very strong woman. And she gave me some of your DNA—your baby teeth.” He turned to Frank. “And I got your DNA from an old shirt that had unwashed blood on it.”

  “Why did you need our DNA?” Kathy asked. “And why get it from Mom? Why not just take a swab from us?”

  “I needed a sample of your DNA from before… from before you took the cancer medicine.” Juan skirted around the edges of the things he knew he couldn’t say. “You see, the cancer treatment was a form of gene therapy. It made changes to your cells, helping to fight your cancer, Mr. O’Reilly. Unfortunately, it also had some serious side effects.”

  “What kind of side effects?” Frank asked.

  Juan frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to say. Let’s just say they can be dangerous. But,” he quickly added, “neither of you are suffering from these side effects now. No one in the camp is. It’s just that there’s a risk you could eventually suffer from them.”

  He pointed at the syringes on the table. “The good news is, we used your original DNA to come up with a way to reverse what was done to your system. A series of shots that I’ll need to administer every twelve hours. Effectively… it’ll restore you to the way you were before. So you won’t ever suffer from these side effects.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kathy said. “Does that mean Dad’s going to get his cancer back after you give him that shot?”

  Juan had anticipated that question—and he hated the answer. “The fact is, I don’t know. Nobody does. We’re in uncharted territory. My best guess is that if the cancer was put into full remission—meaning all the cancer cells were eliminated—then this shot shouldn’t reverse any of that. But I can’t promise that, because we’ve never done this before. I can’t promise the cancer won’t come back.”

  Frank put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “You said you trust this doctor. Let’s do what he advises. I just want to get you home to your mother. We’ll handle whatever comes our way after that.”

  Kathy still looked uncertain, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Wait, one more thing.” Kathy hitched her thumb toward the table and said, “How will we know if those shots worked?”

  “Well, I believe that an elevated temperature is part and parcel of the genetic changes you both received. My guess is that we’ll see your fever break. That’ll be the first sign. We have other fairly extensive genetic tests that we can do, but those will take time.” Juan picked up two syringes, each marked with one of their names. “This is a pretty high dose of the newly modified virus with your original DNA in it, at least compared to what you drank in those glasses of water. I have two more doses that I’d like you to take, each twelve hours apart. So, if you’re ready, I just need your arms.”

  Frank began removing his shirt while Kathy took off her outer shirt, revealing a form-fitting tank top underneath. She turned her right shoulder toward Juan and cringed. “Please be gentle. I hate shots.”

  Juan swabbed Kathy’s arm with alcohol, popped the cap off the syringe and said, “On three. One… two—” He slid the needle into her arm and pressed the plunger. “Three.”

  “Ow!” Kathy rubbed at the injection site. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

  He smiled. “Oops.”

  She pouted as he placed a Band-Aid on her arm. “Thank you.”

  Juan reached for the next syringe and gave her a weak smile. “There’s nothing to thank me for yet. We don’t know for certain if this will work.”

  “Either way, I have plenty to thank you for,” Kathy said, her cheeks flushing.

  Juan wiped Frank’s upper arm with the alcohol swab and said, “Let’s wait and see. I’ll be here through the night and into tomorrow. Remember, every twelve hours.”

  ###

  Twelve hours later, Kathy was receiving her second shot. She winced as the needle pierced her skin, but she managed not to cry out this time.

  Juan glanced at his watch and said, “Okay, that’s dose number two at nine p.m. Your next one is at nine in the morning. Can you find your father and bring him in for his second dose as well?”

  Kathy stood, rubbing where she’d just gotten a shot. “I will, but…” She put her hands on Juan’s cheeks. “You need to go to bed. Get some sleep. You’re killing yourself.”

  As Juan looked into Kathy’s green eyes, he felt as though time stopped. He could look into those eyes forever.

  He gently grabbed her hands, lowered them, and gave them a light squeeze. “I’ll be fine. Trust me, I don’t need a bed. I’m exhausted enough that just by putting my head on the table, I’ll be out instantly.”

  “You know,” Kathy said, “you could sleep at my parents’ house. My mom would love to have someone to fuss over, and she’s a pretty decent cook.”

  Juan laughed. “No, it’s late, and besides, the last time I was there your mom greeted me with a shotgun and the biggest dog I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Kathy smiled. “Well, you must have gotten past her bark if you pried away any of my baby stuff from her. And Jasper is just an overgrown puppy. If he’s wagging his tail, you know you’re fine.” She took a step closer. Very close. “Seriously, you should go there and get some rest.”

  Juan shook his head. “No, I’m staying here. I want to be here if anything happens. You or your dad get a sniffle, the fever drops, whatever, I don’t want to be an hour or more away.”

  He c
ouldn’t tell her his real fear. That if he left her alone here, an “accident” would happen. A chill ran through him at the thought.

  Without warning, Kathy wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Juan’s surprise—and joy—banished his exhaustion. His heart threatened to beat itself out of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her back. At this moment he felt closer to her than he had to any girl he’d ever been with. And they’d never even kissed.

  Kathy’s body trembled, and she tightened her embrace. Her voice muffled, she said, “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us.”

  Juan kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. He didn’t want the moment to end.

  But she pushed away and wiped at her eyes. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “I’m getting you a cot at least. Even if I have to drag one out from under one of those guards.”

  With a smile, she turned and walked out the door.

  And as he watched her go, Juan could only think one thing. What if this treatment doesn’t work?

  ###

  At the sound of the door opening, Juan lurched up from his cot. Nate had entered the examination room, carrying a duffel bag.

  Juan glanced at his watch. Six a.m. “Nate? When did you get here?”

  “Just landed about ten minutes ago. Came to see you first thing.” Nate limped to a chair and set his duffel on the table.

  “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  Nate waved dismissively. “Nothing, it’s just a sprain. So—I’m actually on my way to a meeting with the bigwigs. But they asked me to come by first and see how the vaccine is working.”

  Juan gulped, feeling nauseated with concern as he rubbed at his burning eyes. “It’s not a vaccine, it’s—never mind. Like I told you before, this’ll be our first attempt at a DNA therapy reversal procedure, but call it a vaccine if you want. And I don’t know if it’s working yet. I gave the second dose about nine hours ago. I’m still waiting to see results. Next dose is in three hours. Speaking of which…”

  Nate patted the duffel. “Got the stuff right here. Your team’s been busy. I’ve got four more doses ready for each of the O’Reillys. Oh, and we’ve been able to track down blood samples for about eighty percent of the others. We’re still working on the last twenty percent.” He squinted at Juan. “Hey… you know you look like shit, right?”