by Brian Parker
“Just let me know when you’re ready, alright?”
“Sure,” he replied, sipping the coffee. It was good, appealing to both his desire for alcohol and for a warm, sweet drink.
He ordered an oven-fired pizza and then wandered over to the fire pit. “Excuse me, is that seat open?” he asked the first couple he came to.
The woman replied in a nasally voice. “It’s been empty since we got here twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” he said and slipped between the couple and the fire pit. He settled down into the chair and leaned back, away from the fire while he sipped his coffee.
He stared at the flames and the memories came unbidden. So many memories involved fire and death. Maybe sitting by the fire pit wasn’t a good idea, he told himself.
It wasn’t long until his pizza arrived on a warm platter and he had to move to a nearby table to eat. He didn’t feel like having a scotch with the pizza either, so he ordered a beer—although at his age, he tried to keep those to a minimum since every extra pound he carried with him would be one less that he could carry in his pack on long missions.
His beer plunked down on the table in front of him and another followed almost immediately. He looked up, expecting to see the bartender, Rachel, but was surprised to see Pete Thompson. The Havoc Group’s operations officer sat down heavily in the chair beside him.
Pete reached across and scooped up a piece of pizza. “Thanks,” he said, without bothering to ask for permission.
“You sure you should be eating that, Skipper?” Grady asked, gesturing toward the older man’s midsection.
“Fuck you, Harper. I can still outrun your Green Beanie ass any day of the week.” He crammed a bite into his mouth, staring hard at the fire pit in the corner.
Grady chuckled and took a swig of the beer. He kept quiet, waiting for Pete to talk. They often met up after work to socialize, but the other man’s demeanor—and the fact that he’d tracked Grady down unbidden—meant that this was likely business.
Finally, when he’d finished the entire slice, Pete said, “We’ve got a job coming up.”
“Oh? What is it?” Grady asked for clarification.
“You’re not gonna like it,” Pete admitted. “Security detail. Nothing fancy, just a British ambassador who’s meeting up with the SecDef.”
“Doesn’t he have his own PSD?” Grady asked, using the shorthand military term for personal security detail.
“Yeah, former—or current, I don’t really know—SAS dick named Simon Groves is the team lead for his PSD. The Brits think there may be a credible threat against him due to the nature of his visit, so they’re requesting additional security.”
Grady grunted. Pete was right, he didn’t like it. He hated protection duty. It was usually incredibly boring, except that one time in Africa with the POTUS, but the bonus pay was good. More money for Lucy’s college fund was always a good thing. “Ah, hell. Why not?” he grumbled. “Who is it?”
Pete glanced around the bar as he sipped his beer, taking in the patrons without appearing to be doing anything except drinking. When he was satisfied that no one was in earshot, he said, “Ambassador Kellogg, the British ambassador to South Korea.”
Grady’s ears perked up. The North Koreans had been rattling their sabers recently in an attempt to ease some of the global economic sanctions against them. It had actually had the opposite effect as the UN Security Council voted to reinstate sanctions that had been lifted years ago when they’d promised to end their nuclear program. If the British ambassador to South Korea was having a closed-door meeting with the US Secretary of Defense, then something was up.
“Do we know the reason for the meeting with the SecDef, or more importantly, do we know what the credible threat is?”
“No, and no,” Pete huffed, draining his beer in one long swig that only a college frat boy should have attempted. “Another?” he asked, pointing at Grady’s mostly-full beer.
“I’m good for right now.”
“I’ll be back in a minute or two. Gotta go take a piss anyways.”
Pete walked stiffly up to the bar and spoke to Rachel. The old SEAL may have believed that he was still in prime fighting condition, but he wasn’t. The age monster had crept up and snatched him from field duty first when he’d blown out a knee during a ground movement in Afghanistan a couple of years ago, and now it seemed that it was beating him up just for sitting too long. Pete arched his back slightly to stretch it as he made his way to the stairs for the restroom.
Watching the older man was like staring into a mirror for Grady. The small, inconvenient aches and pains were a daily reminder to him that he’d gone hard his whole life. Pete was only fifteen years older than him, and he was headed down the exact same path that his mentor had taken. Grady’s team leader position in Havoc meant that he still went on every training exercise, every deployment, and got in every firefight that the thirty-year olds he commanded did. But these days, he had to work a whole hell of a lot harder than he used to just to keep up with his fellow contractors.
Pete reappeared at the doorway and walked to the bar to get his drink. Fifteen years wasn’t a long time, Grady mused. The former operator deposited a short glass of amber liquid in front of him and sat down. “Glenlivet,” Pete announced.
Grady nodded his thanks, even though he’d told Pete that he was good without another drink. “So, about the job?”
The SEAL sipped for a moment, eyeing the pizza that sat on the table between them. “They want us to provide the outer ring of security. His PSD will travel with him the entire time, we’re to run interference when he’s moving and provide overwatch when he’s stationary. We don’t have his itinerary yet, so we can’t do much more than prep the standard security detail stuff.”
“Kinda hard to plan movement and evac routes without knowing what the hell he’s doing or when he’s doing it.”
“I know. Sorry, buddy. We’ll get more details as it gets closer.”
“Timeframe?”
“Next Tuesday,” Pete replied.
“Shit. That’s in five days, Skipper.”
“Yeah, well, Old Man Kizer took the job. Bonus pay should be pretty damn good for only two or three days of work.”
“And you said we don’t know what the threat is?” Grady asked, attempting to jog the man’s memory about why they were asked to guard the ambassador.
“Nope. We need to be prepared for anything. It’s on US soil, in one of America’s most heavily policed cities, so we’ll have to work up a few scenarios that we can rehearse. Can’t do much more until we get his itinerary or more details on what they’re expecting.”
Grady dipped his chin, feeling his beard tickle against his chest where the neck of his t-shirt had gapped open. “To another job, then,” he said raising the glass of scotch that he hadn’t asked for. Pete raised his as well and they clinked the rims together before sipping.
That was life in The Havoc Group. They worked job to job, celebrated when there was a contract and searched for new work when there wasn’t one. He didn’t know why, but Grady had the feeling that this job was going to be a massive pain in the ass.
SIX
* * *
BRAZILIAN HIGHLANDS RAINFOREST, BRAZIL
ONE MONTH BEFORE THE OUTBREAK
Even after being assigned to the facility for six months to oversee the final phases of construction, the jungle sounds were still unnerving to Shaikh. The Iranian officer would never become accustomed to them. He was used to the noises of a bustling metropolitan city with the harsh rattle of engines, honking horns, shouts of angered drivers, and the passing of overhead aircraft. Here, the constant buzzing of insects and the chattering of monkeys, punctuated by the occasional screams of jungle cats made him cringe.
Born, raised, and garrisoned in Qom, Iran, Major Taavi Shaikh was ready to return to his home city where his family anxiously awaited his return from this assignment. He’d never been happy with the order that brought him here, to Brazil
of all places, but he was a soldier—a damn good one—and he followed the orders that his government had given him.
Taavi was the chief of security at Site 53, known locally as simply the Facility. He’d been here from the very beginning of the installation’s construction and now, at long last, the underground complex was complete. There’d been a few incidents with the local population that his mixed team of Iranians and Koreans had put down quickly and efficiently, and he was looking forward to passing the reigns of the security duties to whomever the Army sent to replace him now that his portion of the plan was complete.
Taavi looked at the small mirror in his locker to ensure that no hairs from his beard were out of place. When he was satisfied, he shrugged into his dress uniform jacket and verified that none of his medals had fallen askew when he put it on. His reflection was that of a well-manicured, professional Army officer. He was ready.
The walk to the command conference room was quick. The Facility was large by underground construction standards, but small when compared to the sprawling office complexes that were becoming popular back home… Home. The word echoed throughout the major’s mind.
He was ready to go home. Ready to return to his wife’s side and see his children grow. An arranged marriage, Taavi had been one of the lucky ones with his father’s pick for his wife. Rabbia was the perfect match for him. Where he was quiet, taciturn, and focused, she was talkative and caring, the comic relief in their household. His daughter Yasmin, his little desert flower, was only four, but she already showed signs of following in her mother’s footsteps, whereas the boy, two-year old Sohail, was more reserved and quiet, similar to his father. Taavi missed them terribly and he hoped the Facilitator would agree to his request to hand over the security operation to another.
The antiseptic white corridors gave way to a muted tan as he moved from the Facility’s laboratory section into the command section. He’d had the run of the place until now, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the Council assigned a commander—just one more layer of bureaucracy that his successor would have to endure.
“The Facilitator is ready for your communication, Major Shaikh,” the young third lieutenant, Ismael Khavari, said.
He smoothed his uniform once more and ran an open hand over his beard to ensure it was still in place. “Okay. I am ready,” Taavi said, sitting in the chair at the head of the conference table.
The flat screen television picture changed from the deep gray that the manufacturer had assigned as the call hold screen to a scene just as similarly bland. The Facilitator sat at a desk with the camera zoomed in too closely on his face. The bare concrete walls of whatever bunker he found himself in provided the backdrop for this strictly utilitarian call.
“Ah, Major Shaikh,” the Facilitator began over the video conferencing line. “I hear that good news is upon us?” It was posed as a question that he meant for the major to answer.
“Yes,” Shaikh answered, not bothering with the honorifics of the man’s title. “Site 53 is complete. All of the required safeguards are in place, and the laboratories are fully stocked with the directed equipment and supplies.”
“This is good. How are the cages?”
Shaikh assumed the large, reinforced cells that had been the first item completed in the facility had something to do with experimenting on jungle animals, why else would they build a secret laboratory in the middle of the Brazilian Highlands? He didn’t particularly care that animals would be harmed in the testing, but he did often wonder what they would be experimenting with. When he’d gone to university in England before joining the Army, he’d been to the zoo, but he’d never imagined that he would be responsible for helping to build one.
“The holding cells are up to specs. Zoo-quality vertical bars set into reinforced concrete that can withstand the strength of a gorilla, although, there are no such large primates in South America.”
The man on the other end of the VTC laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You think we are building a zoo?” He roared in laughter once more. “You think…” More laughter. Shaikh thought the man was drunk. “You think we’re building a zoo!”
“I do not, Facilitator. I stated that the cages are sufficiently reinforced that even a large primate could be kept in them.”
It took Hamid Abdullah Sari a further moment to calm himself. When he did, the man’s face was an impassive mask. “The time has come for you to secure our test subjects.”
“Ah, I’d hoped to return to Iran, Facilitator. Lieutenant Khavari is capable of running the security for the facility while the new administrator is establishing his directives.” He’d decided that it was better to ask for a leave of absence to make it back to Iran before asking to be relieved entirely; baby steps as his English host family used to say.
“No. This is the critical time. Site 18 has become compromised. All operations will be moved from the Pyongyang facility to Site 53.” The Facilitator held up a piece of paper as he spoke. “I have transmitted a flight manifest to you. We have a cargo plane headed to your location as we speak. It will arrive in about an hour.”
“What?” Shaikh asked, truly taken aback. It was a major breach in protocol to not inform the security staff of the arrival of a plane. “I was not informed of this.”
“Consider yourself informed. The new administrator is a Korean named Kim Pujon Hi. He was in charge of Site 18 and will brief you further upon arrival.”
“I do not understand. The Koreans are our partners, yes, but I was not expecting to take orders from any of them.”
“You will do as he asks, Major Shaikh. You will also keep me informed of every detail of the operation there. Administrator Kim will have business that requires his absence for extended periods of time, so you will need to remain heavily involved in the day-to-day operations of Site 53. Is that clear?”
There was an implied order in the Facilitator’s directive. The Korean would be in charge, however, Tehran wanted to know everything that was happening and would step in to change things if there was a development that they didn’t approve of. Again, he wondered what his government planned to use the facility for.
“Yes. I understand.”
“Good. Administrator Kim will expect to begin operations immediately, but he will need a couple of days for his scientists to get their equipment set up. In the meantime, you will have your men secure the test subjects.”
Taavi sat up straighter in his chair. This was what he’d waited for. “Of course. What am I securing, Facilitator?”
The man held up a chubby finger. “First.” He nodded off camera. “First, I have just transmitted a video to you. You will need to review it and then inform your men of their duties.”
“I do not understand.”
“You will,” he replied. “Now, come, come.” He waved someone to him. The shadows in the room showed movement before two smaller shapes resolved into the faces of his children. “I’m sure you recognize them.”
Taavi’s blood turned to ice. “Children! Are you alright?” He focused back on the man at the table. “What have you done, Facilitator? Where is my wife?”
“She is—Come here, foolish woman. Do not make this harder on yourself.”
His wife plodded into the camera’s view reluctantly. Her head was bare. The long, flowing locks of black hair that was normally concealed beneath her hijab outside of their home fell around her face. Her eyes stayed focused on the floor off camera. “Rabbia! Rabbia, what has happened?”
Slowly, she looked up to the camera. Her left eye was purple, nearly swollen shut. “They have taken us, my love.” She sounded despondent, completely devoid of the exuberance for life that she normally displayed. “Please, do as they say.”
“I swear by Allah, Hamid. If—”
“Stop yourself,” the man warned. “You are not in control of this situation. I am. You are an entire ocean away from us. You will do as I say or your family will not survive the day.”
“What is happen
ing?” Shaikh lamented. “I have done a good job for my country. I was asked to oversee the security of this facility while it was under construction and I have done so. We finished on time. Why have you taken my family?”
“The next phase of the operation will likely not be pleasant to you, but it must be done. The video I sent to you shows that we have the families of every one of your security staff as well. You will show them the video. Understand?”
“What will happen to them?” Pieces began to fall into place in his mind. He’d thought it a simple coincidence that every member of his security team was married with children whom they adored. Their assignment had been purposeful.
“Absolutely nothing.” The Facilitator smiled. “Do as you are told and your families will remain unharmed.”
Shaikh pointed at the display screen. “Unharmed? You beat my wife.”
“That was an unfortunate accident, Major Shaikh. Your wife is very protective of her children.” He gestured away and a soldier appeared, grabbing Rabbia’s arm and pulling her out of view. Another soldier ushered the children off camera.
“Now that I have your attention. It is time to tell you of Site 53’s purpose. You will go into the village and take prisoners. Healthy men and women only. We do not want to bother wasting resources on someone if they won’t survive the initial infection.”
Taavi’s mind reeled. “You are planning on human experimentation?”
Hamid Sari waved his hand dismissively. “It is of no concern to you what we are doing. You will ensure that Administrator Kim’s scientists have ample test subjects. This will be done in secret. Time is our enemy. The information that you have taken the locals must not reach anyone. Do you understand?”
