Of them all, Boucher was someone King did not actually know very well, even though the man had been an integral part of the creation of Chess Team. In fact, he had been present at what King now thought of as the first assembly of the team, though only he, Rook and Erik Somers had been present at the time. Boucher, the longest serving director of the CIA in the Agency’s history, had worked with Deep Blue from the beginning to make Chess Team possible, providing black budget funding, logistical support and most importantly, mission-critical intelligence. But his interactions with the team had usually been indirect, filtered through Deep Blue. In the last few months, however, ever since his retirement from public service, Boucher had begun working more closely with the team, stepping back into the role that had begun his career: intelligence analyst. It was now his job to review all the information coming into Endgame and determine where intervention might be required. Thanks to the many active and passive channels he had established during his tenure with the Agency, there was a deluge of intel for him to filter. Boucher also acted as an intermediary with the current president, an arrangement that had been forged several months earlier during the Congo crisis. President Chambers knew only that Boucher could field an elite paramilitary team to deal with extraordinary situations while maintaining a buffer of absolute deniability. The capture of Mano—Juan Beltran—had been carried out at the president’s behest.
As if sensing that he was the subject of King’s contemplation, Boucher, accompanied by Deep Blue, wandered over to join him at the table. “You boys sure know how to party,” he remarked with a wink.
“It’s a bit slow now,” King replied, “but wait until the entertainment shows up.”
“A stripper in a cake?”
“Even better. Rook hired Garrison Keillor and the whole gang from A Prairie Home Companion to do a live show.”
Boucher grinned. “I must be getting old because that actually sounds like—” He broke off with a frown, and dipped a hand into his pocket to retrieve a cell phone. He glanced at the display and raised an eyebrow. “Uh, oh. It’s the Chief. No rest for the wicked.” He turned away before accepting the call, leaving King with Deep Blue.
“The President does realize that we’re unavailable for the next few weeks, right?” King said.
“When you sit behind the Resolute Desk, the whole idea of time off becomes a little fuzzy. Even when you’re on vacation, you’re working, and you assume it’s that way for everyone else, too.” Despite his off-hand manner, the former president appeared apprehensive about the phone call. “I’m sure he wouldn’t call unless it was something very important, and if it is…”
Deep Blue didn’t finish, and King didn’t need him to. The job they had all willingly signed up for wasn’t the sort of thing that allowed for time-outs.
But still, it would be nice if the world could take a break, just until I get back from my honeymoon.
When Boucher turned back around, King could tell by the look on his face that the world had other ideas.
18
Manteo, North Carolina
Sara stared at the crescent-shaped wound in mute disbelief. I’m supposed to do something, she thought, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what.
There was a sharp twinge in the back of her throat, almost like an electric shock. It was the same sensation she had experienced upon entering the hospital, but much, much stronger. It’s something in the air, she realized. Something that got in when the suit ripped.
She was only faintly aware of Foster and the nurses, hustling around her, tearing back the damaged suit and irrigating the wound with saline solution. All the while they watched her for some sign that she was about to become what Jason Harris and the others like him had become. Her heart was pounding, and the strange sensation only added to the feeling of lightheadedness. Was it the first stage of infection, or was she just panicking?
‘Five minutes?’ She recalled Foster asking the deputy.
‘More like two.’
Either she was infected or she wasn’t. If she was, there was nothing she could do about it. So there was no sense in worrying about it. What was important was to provide documentation, so the next disease investigator to arrive on scene would have some place to start. Meanwhile, she still had a job to do.
“I’m okay,” she lied. It was an effort just to get the words out.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Foster said, continuing to rinse the bite.
“Can we at least get out of here?” she said, her voice and nerve a little steadier. “Maybe he’ll calm down if we’re not in the room.”
Foster was receptive to this idea, and after pressing a large gauze pad to the wound, he helped her to her feet. Before exiting, she ducked in to retrieve the syringe. When they were back in the hall, she turned to Foster again. “I think I’m okay, but I’ll let you know if I feel even the slightest bit symptomatic,” she said, her professional calm now fully restored. “If I give the word, you’ll need to strap me down and call my superiors.”
Foster gave a wide-eyed nod.
Has it been two minutes?
Her hand was starting to throb in time with her pulse, but aside from the strange sensation in the back of her throat—and even that was diminishing—she felt perfectly fine. “I’ll start analyzing the sample right away.” Even as she said it, she knew that finding anything in the specimen of Jason Harris’s blood would be a long shot. “We might not be dealing with a contagion here.”
“Then what?”
“Something environmental, maybe. A toxin.” She shook her head. “No, the blood sample can wait. I need to talk to the survivor.”
She rinsed in the disinfectant shower and stripped off the ruined bio-hazard suit, now well past the five minute mark. Although a hopeful sign, it didn’t completely allay her concerns. Most viral and bacterial infections took anywhere from several hours to several days to incubate in the body. The rapid onset described by the first responders was almost certainly some kind of statistical outlier. Maybe the two college students and the paramedic had all been exposed at some earlier time. She would not be able to declare herself free of infection until she could isolate the exact cause and check her own blood for the presence of the contagion.
After placing a fresh sterile dressing on her hand, Foster led her to another private room, where she found a woman with auburn hair who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Although she was seated on a hospital bed, the woman was fully clothed, as if expecting to be released at any moment.
Dr. Foster made the introductions. “Dr. Dare, this is Dr. Fogg, from the CDC. Dr. Fogg, Dr. Dare.”
“Call me Sara.”
“Ellen.” It was evident from the woman’s demeanor that she had long since passed the point of fear, and was now chafing at the restrictiveness of the quarantine. “What’s happened to Jason and Haley? No one will tell me anything.”
Sara glanced at Foster. “Well, it’s a violation of federal law to share medical information,” she explained. “But I can tell you that they’re receiving treatment and being watched very carefully, the same as you.”
“I don’t need treatment,” Ellen said, an edge of desperation creeping into her tone. “I saw what happened to them. What they…turned into. There’s no treatment for that.”
Sara ignored the comment. “I need to know everything that happened. Can you talk me through it?”
Ellen gave a frustrated shrug. “There’s nothing to tell. One minute Jason was digging, and then next he was…” She struggled to find the right words for a few seconds, then threw her hands up.
“Digging?”
“Yes. We’re conducting an archaeological survey of the Lost Colony.”
“Lost Colony?” The reference was vaguely familiar, but Sara was mostly just trying to get Ellen to loosen up a little.
“The very first British colony in the Americas was located here on Roanoke Island, just a few miles from here. Back in 1587.”
“I think I remember that. T
hey disappeared, right?”
Ellen nodded.
“What were you digging for?”
“According to one historical source, most of the colonists died in the first year, but a few survivors managed to integrate with the local native population, including my ancestor, Eleanor Dare. If that source is accurate, then the remains of nearly a hundred settlers are buried somewhere on the island, but so far no trace has been found.”
“And did you find anything?”
Ellen shook her head. “Jason found an old animal bone, but nothing of significance.”
“Where is the bone?”
“Probably still at the excavation. It wasn’t important.”
Sara made a mental note to visit the site and collect the insignificant bone anyway. “Did you uncover anything else unusual? It wouldn’t have to be manmade. Did you notice any unusual odors?”
Ellen shook her head again.
“What about insects? Did Jason or Haley mention being bitten?”
Ellen threw up her hands. “Do you seriously believe a mosquito bite could cause that? They turned into monsters, for God’s sake.”
In her most patient but authoritative voice, Sara replied, “I’m trying to isolate exactly what it was that did cause it.”
“I already know what caused it.”
“Oh?”
Ellen faced her, and with all the gravitas of her academic expertise, said simply, “The curse.”
19
Endgame, New Hampshire
They reconvened twenty minutes later around a table in the command center, minus George Pierce, but with the addition of Queen and Bishop. Boucher had spent the interval working with Deep Blue and Aleman to organize what little intel they had into something approximating a mission briefing. When everyone was present, he nodded to Aleman, and a moment later, a grainy surveillance photograph of a dark-haired man appeared on the wall-mounted plasma screen.
“The man in this photo is believed to be Hector Beltran, the older brother of the man you captured last night in Mexico. I say ‘believed to be’ because he’s notoriously camera shy. In fact, he’s a mystery to just about everyone. We know very little about him, and what we do know is probably wrong.”
Rook yawned loudly.
Boucher ignored him. “Beltran and his brother came up in the Los Zetas cartel, but evidently Los Zetas was too tame for them, so they struck out on their own to form El Sol, which seems to be more of a religious cult than a drug cartel. Certain aspects of their practices borrow heavily from ancient Aztec religion.”
“Like ripping out people’s hearts?” Rook asked, suddenly taking more of an interest.
“There was a lot more to Meso-American religion than just human sacrifice,” King said, his voice low but nonetheless authoritative.
“That may be true,” Boucher said, “but judging by the rumors, and of course what you found during your last excursion, that’s the part of the old religion that Beltran is most interested in. El Sol—the Sun—is what the locals call it, but the name they use among themselves is…” He consulted his notes and spoke the next word very slowly. “Tepilhuan Huitzilopochtli. Think I got that right. Loosely translated, it means Children of Huitzilopochtli.”
Aleman tapped a few keys and Beltran’s likeness was replaced by a picture of what looked like a native warrior wearing feathers and holding a snake.
“Huitzilopochtli was a very important god in the Aztec pantheon, and the one most often associated with warfare and the underworld, as well as ritual human sacrifice and cannibalism. He was also a sun god, which is presumably where El Sol takes its name. The Aztecs believed that only the shedding of blood could keep the sun god moving through the sky, so the worship of Huitzilopochtli was particularly brutal.”
King leaned forward. “This is all very interesting, Dom, but we all got an up close and personal look at El Sol’s brutality last night. Can we cut to the chase?”
“No offense, Jack, but what you saw last night was nothing. Just little brother disposing of some bodies. However, in the interest of moving this along… Two hours ago, a charter bus full of American tourists—forty-six altogether—disappeared in Mexico City. Even before the bus was reported missing, someone claiming to be the leader of El Sol called the Mexican authorities and told them that if Juan Beltran was not released by sunrise tomorrow, they would start sending the hostages’ heads home to their families by express mail.”
Rook, for once, had no comment.
“The Mexican government has made it clear that they are not going to release their prisoner. Their position, much like that of our own government, is that they do not negotiate with terrorists.”
“He’ll butcher them,” King said. “If he hasn’t already.”
Boucher nodded gravely, then Deep Blue cut in. “I know some of you might be thinking this is your fault. It’s not, so get that idea out of your head.”
“Never mind whose fault it is,” Queen snapped. “How do we save them?”
Boucher looked around the room, studying each person in turn. King did the same. He saw mirrored in their faces the same anger and resolve that he now felt.
Except for one.
Knight’s face was an unreadable mask.
King knew that Knight was a consummate professional, but even the best shooter wasn’t immune to personal tragedy. Knight had been through the wringer. On top of everything else, he had just lost his last living relative, and he was now being asked to put all that aside and jump back into the deep end.
Not just him. Maybe we need to slow things down a little.
King cleared this throat. “Dom, with all due respect, why us? This is exactly the kind of thing Delta was created for. Shouldn’t they be handling it?”
He felt their eyes on him, not just Boucher, but Queen and Bishop and Rook. Even Knight seemed surprised by the unexpected show of reticence. Then Deep Blue spoke up. “I’m afraid I have to agree with King. We’re here for extraordinary threats, and I’m not sure that this qualifies. I had serious reservations about the mission to capture Mano in the first place.”
Queen brought her fist down on the table hard enough that everyone jumped just a little. “I don’t believe this. I never thought I would hear ‘not my job’ from anyone in this room.”
Deep Blue fixed her with an intense stare. “What is it you think we’re doing here?”
Queen glared at him, but after a few tense seconds, she unclenched her fist and sat back in her chair.
Deep Blue was not finished. “We came together because sometimes there are situations that no one else can handle. Situations that require immediate action and can’t wait for the politicians to pull their heads out of their asses and work together for the greater good. But here’s something that maybe you haven’t thought about. We’re breaking the law, and so is the President, every time he calls us up. Now, I just happen to believe that sometimes you have to bend the rules to get the job done, but when it gets to be a habit… Well, then we have a problem. We may be off the books and outside the chain of command, but we are not the President’s private army, and the day that we become that is the day that I hit the lights and walk away for good.”
Rook tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “The people on that bus should find that comforting.”
King stood up. “All right. The point has been made, but the question stands. Dom, why did the President call you for this?”
Boucher looked a little uncomfortable with the question. “Honestly, I think Tom may have hit the nail on the head. President Chambers knows we can get the job done, fast and without a trail that leads back to him. But yeah, maybe he’s starting to take this arrangement for granted.”
“Just so we’re clear on that,” King said, cracking a smile. “Saving forty-six innocent Americans is a good enough reason for me to make an exception, but if any of you want to sit this one out, for any reason whatsoever, that’s your prerogative.” He made a determined effort to avoid looking in Knight’s
direction, and then quickly added. “Hell, I’m tempted. It seems like there was something I was supposed to be doing this weekend.”
His comment produced the desired chuckle. Without waiting to see if Knight would excuse himself, King turned back to Boucher. “We got a little taste of what El Sol is up to. Can we expect more of that?”
“I wish I could give you an answer, but the truth is that we don’t actually know where Beltran is keeping the hostages. El Sol controls more of Mexico than any other cartel—the entire eastern coast, from the Texas border to the Yucatan—but their real strength is their secrecy. We don’t know where or even if they have a base of operations. Until you rounded up Mano, we didn’t know anything about their central leadership. So far, he’s not saying much, and I don’t think we’re likely to learn anything useful from him anyway. The hostages could be anywhere in El Sol territory.”
“So we just got all spun up for nothing,” Rook said, tilting his head back again. “I say we head back to the party. Who’s with me?”
“We’ll find them,” Aleman said, with easy confidence. “I’ll have the exact location before you cross into Mexican airspace.”
King regarded the tech expert for a moment, then turned his gaze on Deep Blue, as if to say: It’s your call.
“I guess I’d have to agree with King,” he said after a long pause. “Forty-six innocent Americans is a pretty compelling reason to bend the rules, regardless of whether we have an official sanction. But if anyone wants to sit this one out...” He nodded toward King. “Just say the word.”
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