She hurried to her desk, bumping her knee against it in the dark. She had left the rifle case on top of her desk. She fumbled for it, undid the latches, and quickly assembled the two halves. Marines might be able to break down their weapons in the dark, but not her. She struggled for a breath, but finally the stock snapped into place.
Behind her, Jack kept watch on the door.
She grabbed two syringe cartridges and plucked the vial of M99 from its velvet-molded compartment in the case. It was stupidly dangerous to attempt this in the dark, but she had no choice. She might not be able to assemble a rifle blindfolded, but she had years of experience with needles and drug bottles. She quickly filled the two syringes and loaded them into the rifle.
As she turned Jack’s silhouette slipped back from the window. Through the frosted glass, darker shadows swept past out in the hallway, eerily silent. She had not even heard a footfall. One shadow stopped outside the door.
Lorna froze, holding her breath. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
Then the shadow moved on. She could guess where they were headed. The kennel ward lay in that direction. Still, they would be disappointed when they got there. They’d find mostly empty cages. While the lamb was still down there, the other rescued animals were up another level on the second floor, still caged in the genetics lab after Lorna’s testing.
But how long would it take to find the others, especially if the intruders were using electronic trackers? Would the devices even work inside?
After ten seconds, Jack crossed to her, moving unerringly in the dark. She tried to give him the rifle, but he pushed it back into her chest. His words were a breath against her ear. “Stay here. Stay hidden.”
He squeezed her fingers tighter to the rifle, communicating silently.
She understood.
The game had changed. What was a possibility before was now a terrifying reality. They were under siege. He refused to leave her unarmed while alone. From the firm grip on her fingers, this was one argument she wasn’t going to win.
He didn’t wait for any acknowledgment and moved back toward the office door. He eased the door open and slipped out. Once in the hall, he pulled the door silently closed.
Lorna stared at his silhouette out there, suddenly not wanting him to leave. But Jack had no choice. His shadow retreated, heading in the opposite direction from the intruders.
But how many more were out there?
JACK HATED LEAVING Lorna alone, but he dared not wait. He hurried down the dark hall toward the nearest exit. He should never have allowed her to come with him. The others, locked up in the cooler, had the best chance of avoiding any encounter with the assault team. And he didn’t harbor any delusions that these were ordinary thieves. These were professional killers, likely with military backgrounds.
His mind ran over their potential objectives, and he didn’t like the conclusions he came to. Clearly this nighttime raid was a cleanup operation, a continuation of what was started with the trawler’s explosion. The primary objective had to be the collection and elimination of the remaining animals. But what then? How extreme was the order, how thorough a cleanup was necessary to cover their tracks?
He feared the truth.
As he reached the end of the hall, a set of swinging double doors led out to the main lobby and the front entrance. He knew better than to attempt to exit that way. He remembered how swiftly and silently the team had moved down the dark hallway. The intruders had to be employing some form of night-vision equipment, and someone was surely guarding all the exits.
Knowing that, he wanted to get as close to the parking lot before abandoning the cover of the building. Any open window would do.
Still, he wanted to know what he faced.
He edged to the double doors. A pair of narrow, wire-reinforced windows allowed him to spy into the shadowy lobby. The main entrance—a set of glass doors—lay directly opposite his position. He saw no movement, no suspicious shift of shadows inside or outside.
But he wasn’t fooled.
He began to turn away, then stopped. If it hadn’t been so dark, he might have missed it. In the center of the lobby, half hidden by a sofa, a small blinking red light drew his eye. The waxing and waning glow illuminated a five-gallon steel canister on the floor.
The hairs on the back of his neck shivered at the sight.
Bomb . . .
Jack pulled back and swallowed his fear. At least he had his answer concerning the ultimate objective of this raid. The assault team wouldn’t be satisfied with just eliminating the animals.
This was a total clean sweep.
No one was meant to survive.
Jack pictured the others hidden in the building, both those below and Lorna locked in her own office. He had felt the tremble in her body as he whispered for her to stay. She had put her trust in him, a trust now proven to be sadly misplaced. Holing up here would only get them all killed, blown up during the firestorm to come.
He had only one choice.
If it was a war they wanted . . .
Turning back to the swinging door, he shifted his weight to one leg and kicked out with the other. The door swung open, and he tossed the flashlight into the lobby while flicking it on with his thumb.
The blazing light tumbled in a wheeling arc into the pitch-dark lobby.
Jack trusted that whoever was watching this door was using night-vision scopes. He didn’t have a flash-bomb to blind naked eyes, but the sudden burning flare of the flashlight through the night-vision scopes would achieve the same end: to momentarily blind any spying eyes while at the same time drawing attention to the lobby.
Jack turned on a heel and headed to the side of the hallway, to a window that led out toward the parklike grounds between the building and the parking lot. If this was going to be a war, he needed weapons.
He yanked the window open, punched out the screen, and climbed into the bushes just outside. He ducked into cover. The distraction would only buy him a minute at most.
It would have to be enough.
He shoved through the bushes and sprinted toward the dark parking lot. Off to the side, in the direction of the front door, he heard a muffled order crack out, angry, pissed.
Jack kept low as he ran, praying the others kept their heads down, too. Especially Lorna.
But he made a mistake, underestimated his opponent.
A sharp detonation blasted behind him. Startled, he tripped on the wet grass and fell headlong. He caught himself and shoulder-rolled to the side. He stared back toward the building. Fire and smoke spat out the front of the facility. Broken glass rained down as far as Jack’s position.
He sat in the grass, stunned. They’d blown the bomb. He had only hoped to distract the others while he fled the building. Blinded, they must have feared an escape out the front door and overreacted, triggering the bomb. It was overkill, like swatting a fly with a wrecking ball.
From this response, Jack knew two things about the leader of this assault team. The bastard was ruthless and determined.
Jack rolled back to his feet and set off for his truck.
If they were to survive, he would have to be the same.
Chapter 29
Duncan approached the fiery ruins of the facility’s main entrance. He had a gas mask held in place as he pushed through the smoke. The heat seared his face, clearly defining where nerve-dead skin ended and healthy tissue started. He evaluated the damage ahead.
The incendiary charge had sent a ball of fire and superheated air through the front of the building. Flames licked through the toxic smoke, but the charge’s concussive force was only moderate. Glass had blown out, and a part of the drop ceiling had caved in, but structurally the building remained intact. Duncan had studied the schematics of the facility. The place was built like a concrete bunker, meant to withstand hurricanes and floods. It had been a calculated risk. One charge would not knock it down.
That’s why Duncan had ordered another ten charges set around the build
ing. His goal was not to blast the facility to the ground, but to burn it down to the foundation. Already the fires from this single charge had spread into the second level. He hadn’t planned to prematurely set off the charge. But the sudden flare of light in the lobby had blinded him. Even ripping off his night-vision goggles hadn’t dimmed the flash. It felt as if his retinas had been permanently burned. Angry and fearful that the scientists were making a break for the main exit, he had reacted on impulse and blown the charge to plug the hole here.
No one could be allowed to escape.
Reaching the doors, he stared into the fire-ravaged lobby. Smoke, swirling soot, and collapsed debris made visibility difficult. One of his men had already dismantled the building’s sprinkler and alarm systems. He searched for bodies, for whoever tried to make a break for the exit.
Half the lobby was covered in the collapsed drop ceiling. If there were bodies under there, he’d never know. Satisfied that no one could have survived the firestorm, he retreated.
Luckily this facility was remote and isolated. He doubted anyone would have spotted the brief fireball rolling into the sky. Still, the premature explosion upset his timetable, shortened it. With fires spreading, his team would have to clear out of the building sooner than projected.
Once clear of the smoke, he crossed back to his second-in-command. The man had a hand pressed to an ear, clearly listening to a report from the team inside.
Duncan waited for him to sign off, then asked, “What’s the word?”
“The team reached the kennel ward. Found one of the animals. A sheep. We decapitated it as ordered. The team has the head and is moving out.”
“What about the others?” Duncan knew from the transponders that there should be at least another four specimens.
His second shook his head. “No sign. Korey is splitting his team. Three men are heading down to the morgue. To attend to the carcasses recovered from the swamp.”
Duncan pictured the two cats.
“The other three are going to split up and canvass floor by floor, room by room. We’ll find the others.”
Duncan slowly nodded. The order from Lost Eden Cay was to salvage what they could—specifically, the skulls of the specimens—and burn the rest. It seemed the problems on Eden had been growing worse. His superiors had little patience with the mishap here. Duncan needed to perform. But it was more than that. It was a matter of pride. His blood and flesh had gone into the Babylon Project. He would not see it fail.
The animals were the intellectual property of Ironcreek Industries. What was in their skulls belonged to the company, and in turn belonged to him. He recognized that if his team couldn’t find the missing animals, the flames would still claim them. Nothing would remain. Still, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had the heads of all the animals.
Plus there remained one other objective.
“What about the scientists?” Duncan asked. “Have they secured at least one for questioning?”
Again that irritating shake of a head. “No, sir.”
Duncan sighed and kept watch on the building. He hoped he hadn’t inadvertently blown them all up, but either way, he’d know soon enough.
“Keep that net tight around the building,” Duncan said. “If Korey’s team doesn’t flush them out of hiding, the fires soon will.”
Chapter 30
Lorna crouched low in her office. She clutched the rifle to her chest. Since the explosion, it was getting more difficult to breathe. Smoke rolled under the door and continued to fill the small space. Terror kept her breathing sharp and shallow. She fought back tears, not all of them due to the sting in the air.
She pictured Jack caught in the blast. She had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead. Either way, she was on her own. She had only two choices left to her: stay and suffocate or move and risk being caught.
It was really no choice.
But where to go?
She wasn’t about to head out into the main hall. Any attempt to reach her brother and her colleagues in the pathology lab would mean crossing paths with the intruders. The others should be safe down there for the moment if they kept quiet. The walk-in cooler was the size of a double-car garage and steel-reinforced. It should withstand any smoke and fire for a while.
But that didn’t apply to her.
She glanced over a shoulder. A second door at the back of her office led to her adjoining lab, where she spent most of her workday. From there, she could sneak her way, lab by lab, away from the flames.
But she knew she had to do one thing first.
Igor and the others were still up in the genetics lab, a floor above hers. She could not let them burn. There was a small service stair that led from this floor up to the next. She could reach it if she crossed her lab.
Still, a part of her only wanted to hide, to let someone rescue her. She fought against it, knowing it was born of shock, that such panic hadn’t served her in the past, and it wouldn’t now.
Move . . .
She slowly rose from her crouch, drawing some strength from the weapon in her hands. She wasn’t totally defenseless.
Keeping a watch on the main office door, she retreated to the other. Once she was moving, the terror abated somewhat. She placed a palm against the lab door to make sure it wasn’t hot. Satisfied, she eased it open and searched the lab.
Tables, benches, and biogenic equipment—microscopes, catheters, micropipettes, incubators, cell fusion units—filled the space, along with books and piled lab reports. One entire wall was filled by a double-door refrigeration unit, along with a bench holding a long bank of stainless-steel Dewar’s bottles containing cryotubes of frozen embryos, sperm, and eggs of endangered species. It was her life’s work: the facility’s frozen zoo.
Despite her terror, a part of her feared the loss of all her hard work. It could be duplicated eventually, but it would take many years and not all of it would be recovered. She could only hope the fires didn’t spread here and that the liquid nitrogen would keep the embryos frozen long enough for a fire-response team to arrive.
Unable to do anything else, she crossed the dark space and headed toward the service stair that led to the second floor. She strained to listen for any sign of the intruders. The pounding rush of blood in her ears made it hard to hear. She stepped carefully, one hand holding her rifle, the other reaching out as she moved through her lab. Luckily, she knew the place well enough that she could have crossed it blindfolded.
She reached the door that led up to the next level. Again she tested it. It was warmer than the one into her office, but still not hot. She was headed toward the fires, but it should take her only a few moments to rush up, grab the animals, and head back down and away.
She edged the door open, found the stairwell empty, and hurried up the narrow flight to the second floor. The genetics suite encompassed most of this level. The door into the lab was only a step away. Holding her breath and steeling herself, she rushed across and through the door. Once inside, she leaned back against the closed door.
She did it.
Across the dark and quiet lab, a soft questioning chirp called to her. Igor.
The parrot knew she was here. She pictured eyes staring toward her out of the darkness. A slight chill danced over her skin. She remembered the strange intelligence the bird had demonstrated earlier.
She stepped away from the wall and shook away the chill. These were innocent creatures, cruelly used. And at heart they were still animals—only more so.
She crept cautiously down the length of the suite. Being on the top floor, the genetics lab was equipped with a few skylights, which lessened the gloom a bit.
She found Igor still in his cage in the conference room off the main lab. The cub and twin capuchins had been temporarily housed in transport cages, not much different from plastic airline carriers. The cages were used to temporarily hold and move various subjects undergoing testing.
Reaching them, she realized a dilemma. How was she going to carry the
m all? In their carriers, the cub and monkeys were no problem. But she’d need a third arm for Igor’s cage.
Slipping into the conference room, she crouched by Igor’s cage. “Now be quiet,” she whispered, lifting a finger to her lip. “Shh . . .”
He seemed to understand and matched her tone, uttering under his breath, “Igor . . . help, Igor . . .”
That’s the plan, little fella.
He must smell the smoke.
She unlatched the small door. She couldn’t haul the cage, but she could carry the bird. Igor hopped up on the inside of the door, cocking his head back and forth. As she pulled the door open the parrot came with it, as if he knew her intent.
He climbed to a wobbly perch atop the thin door. She held out her arm. Without any prompting, he hopped from the door to her arm and scrambled up it, using his beak on her sleeve to tug up onto her shoulder. He quickly sidled next to her head.
She felt the tremble in his body. The explosion and smoke surely had him spooked. He plainly trusted her to get him out of here—and she intended to do just that.
With Igor balanced on one shoulder, she slung her rifle over the other. Out in the lab, she collected the two carriers. Bagheera had slunk to the back of her cage and silently hissed at her, mouth open, tongue curled, baring immature fangs. The two capuchins clung to the front of the cage, each with one arm. Small masked faces pinched out at her.
Her charges in hand, she headed back across the lab to the service stair. The carriers made her ungainly, especially with the rifle, but she had to manage at least as far as the main floor. Even if it meant setting them all loose out a window, she would. They stood a better chance out there than in here.
As proof, the smoke in the stairwell was already thicker, the air hotter. It was like climbing down a chimney.
She hurried, trying to move as quietly as possible. The animals also remained silent, as if sensing the danger. The only sound was a deep rumble in Igor’s chest, almost like a moan. She only heard it because he was squashed up against her ear. She worried about toxins in the smoke. Birds were almost all lungs and air sacs and thus more susceptible to poisons.
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