by Brian Parker
“Those three dudes we killed, on camera, and the tissue samples aren’t enough?” Bazan asked incredulously.
Grady chose to ignore the question. “I had Rob take photos of the writing in that journal we found inside the facility and upload them to the Havoc database so they could start working the translation. Mostly, it was a joint duty log, in both Hangul and Persian, implicating the North Koreans and the Iranians.” More cursing interrupted his quickly organized bullet points.
“It was mostly mundane stuff about operating procedures for the facility and minor observational notes about the comings and goings of individuals whom we haven’t been able to identify yet. But, toward the end of the book, they say that the experiment was a success and that Sanjay was a genius—whoever that is.” He pulled out his satellite phone and unlocked the screen so he ensured that he hit the high points of the translation. “The journal says they were able to create some type of injection that makes soldiers impervious to pain. Sickness, cuts and bruises, even gunshots—handy tool to have in your arsenal if you’re planning on invading a country. Too bad it turned everyone that received the shot into stark raving lunatics with a penchant for biting.”
“Fuckers tried to eat me,” Baz grunted.
“An unintended consequence, at least as far as whoever was writing in the journal was concerned, is that illness is highly contagious. The biting and vomiting is how the infected spread their disease.” Grady stopped as the realization quickly came over his team. “Yeah, one of those things bit Ralph, so he’ll need to be watched closely.”
“Okay, so what does that have to do with our paycheck?” Knasovich asked. “Sounds like we got their evidence of human experimentation.”
“Yeah. I want my money,” Hannah said, laughing to show that she was at least half-joking.
“Somewhere along the way, the mission for the Koreans and the Iranians changed. They’re no longer trying to create super soldiers who can take a lot of damage without feeling any pain. They just want to cut out the middleman now. The infection is dangerous enough on its own and has the potential to be a pandemic. They’ve moved their primary lab to Brazil to be closer to the US so they can unleash the disease.”
Cursing erupted once more across the deck and Carmike called out from the pilothouse that he had a GPS lock on the British submarine they were supposed to link up with. Grady felt the boat’s direction shift slightly underfoot as the commo man altered their course toward the sub.
“According to the DIA, who helped Havoc analyze the journal, if it’s as deadly and as communicable as the journal claims, this has the potential to be a global pandemic if it isn’t stopped.”
“There’s a lot more capable forces that aren’t halfway around the world,” Alex said.
“Hit it with a JDAM,” Baz called out.
Grady nodded. “The president was briefed. They don’t know what would happen if we bomb the lab. What if that throws the virus into the atmosphere and now we did the terrorists’ work for them? They also want to keep this as quiet as possible. If word of this gets out, it’d be panic in the streets. 7th Group out of Eglin Air Force Base has an entire B-Team—four A-Teams and the headquarters element—down in Bolivia. They’ve already been briefed and are en route to Brazil as we speak.”
“Great. They’ve got it handled then,” Alex stated. “What’s that got to do with us?” He still wanted to know about his paycheck.
“As of right now, we are the only known element in the world who has seen these things in action. They want us to link up with the B-Team on the ground and advise them before they move to the new location, the—” He looked at his phone again to make sure he got the name right. “Site 53 in the Highlands of Brazil.”
“Site 53?” Hannah asked. “Does that mean there are fifty-two other sites?”
“We don’t know,” he replied honestly. “We don’t even know what the site we just raided was called.”
“I ain’t going to fifty-two more places, man,” McCormick said. “The contract was to go to North Korea, infiltrate an underground facility, and then get the fuck out. It wasn’t to go off, gallivanting around the whole damn globe.”
“I know, Chris. Havoc attached a contract rider to the translation. There’s an extra fifty thousand in it for everyone on the team.”
“What if I just want my five hundred and thirty-five thousand from this op and don’t go on part two?” the mechanic asked.
“Havoc already thought of that. It’s not their first time dealing with rolling mission parameters. The rider stipulates that you must go to Brazil to get paid for North Korea.”
“Ain’t that some shit?” Chris said, slapping Bazan on the knee.
“I don’t like it,” the demolitions man said. “What’s to stop them from adding another rider, and then another, and another—until we’re all dead like Seong?”
“We’ve got time to renegotiate for any subsequent missions. Due to the nature of this threat, they don’t want to hear about anything except, ‘Yes, sir. We’re on our way to Brazil.’ There is no other option.”
“Well, fuck,” Alex snorted, patting his M24 sniper rifle. “Ol’ Molly McGee here didn’t get a chance to give anyone new breathing holes. Maybe she can get a little action down in Brazil.”
“We’re there to advise 7th Group,” Grady reminded him. “That doesn’t mean—” He stopped as the Carmike cut the boat engines. “Looks like we’re here.”
They all looked out to the waters surrounding them, trying to catch a glimpse of the sub. Hannah slid over to where Grady stood and leaned in close to him. “Really? Brazil?”
“Yeah,” he said, not looking at her, but out into the blue waves. Rob had been right; the waves weren’t as bad this far from shore, but the sea was still far from calm.
“What’s next after that?”
“Huh?” He turned toward her.
“You know,” she smiled, dimples showing at her cheeks. “You promised me a date after North Korea.” She jabbed him in the ribs softly with her elbow. “You sure this whole Brazil thing isn’t your way of trying to weasel out of it?”
Grady cursed himself for violating his own rule: Do not discuss personal matters during a mission. He shouldn’t have said anything to her back there on that truck in Russia. Stupid.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” he said, irritated that she wanted to talk about going on a date while they were waiting for a British submarine to surface in the middle of the Sea of Japan. And then after that, they’d be flying to South America on a mission that could literally save the world—or fail to do so.
“There’s not a lot else to do,” she replied, pressing closer to him and then backing away, wrinkling her nose. “You smell.”
“So do you,” he chuckled.
“Yeah, well—” She stopped when the tower of the submarine broke the surface of the water fifty yards from their boat. “Wow.”
He smiled as the top of the sub became visible. He’d done some crazy shit when he was a Green Beret, and even crazier stuff with The Havoc Group, but getting picked up by a British submarine in the middle of the ocean was by far the wildest operation he’d ever been a part of.
A hatch opened along the top and a crewmember’s head popped up. He waved at them and called out, “Good morning, chaps! I’m looking for Major Ralph Alcock. Have you seen him around these parts?”
“He’s sick,” Grady yelled back. “Got bit by one of those things in Korea.”
The crewmember was too far away for Grady to see his facial expression, but he disappeared into the hatch for a moment, then resurfaced. “Okay. The captain says to bring him along. We’ll get you back to Japan in a jiffy.”
Carmike maneuvered the boat parallel to the sub and several crewmembers threw ropes over to them, which they secured to wherever they could on the old junker. The Brits put out oversized bumpers and hauled the fishing boat close. Then it was a simple matter, according to the sailors, to walk across a small gangplank onto the s
urface of the sub.
The only member of Grady’s team who didn’t look like they were about two seconds from death was Robert Carmike. Everyone else was ashen and haggard by the time they stood on the sub’s surface. Three sailors scrambled across the gangplank with a litter and in minutes they were carrying Alcock back to the submarine.
The team dropped their backpacks to sailors below and then hustled down the ladder below decks.
“Welcome aboard,” a sailor wearing a rank insignia with one line under a loop stated.
Grady had no clue what the British naval rank meant, but he assumed the kid was an officer. “Thanks,” he replied. “I need to talk to your commanding officer. We just received intel that is extremely time sensitive and we need to get to Japan as soon as possible.”
“Right this way then, Mr. Harper,” the sailor said. “The captain is waiting to receive you in his quarters. Sailing time to port is three hours, so the remainder of your crew may eat or use the lavatory facilities as needed. However, no one is authorized to go anywhere without an escort while aboard ship.”
Grady nodded and looked over his shoulder at his team. “Play nice, fellas. The Brits have been very gracious to us so far, don’t make them regret that.”
“Lavatory facilities?” Alex asked. “Does that mean we can shower? I smell like a goat that’s been fucked by forty Arabs and left to find my own way home.”
“Fuck off, you goddamned redneck,” Bazan hissed.
Alex grinned. “I knew you’d like that one.”
Grady turned back to the officer. His team would be fine. “Okay, let’s go talk to your captain.”
TWENTY-TWO
* * *
BRAZILIAN HIGHLANDS RAINFOREST, BRAZIL
MARCH 24TH
“It is in motion, then,” Taavi said as he read the paper that Lieutenant Khavari handed to him.
The young man looked physically ill. Taavi was sure that he probably appeared the same way. “What are your orders?”
“They will send another team,” he assured the young officer. “We must be prepared for that event. The final group of martyrs must be deployed today. Arrange for their flights and I will escort them to Rio.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned to his computer terminal and began typing.
Taavi reread the message. Iranian Quds Force operatives shot down two US military cargo planes full of Green Berets en route to Brazil from their base in Bolivia. His government had shown their hand and now there was no way to put the djinn back in its cave.
“What were they thinking?” he muttered.
“The commander was trying to buy as much time as possible for our mission to be a success, sir,” the lieutenant said without turning from his monitor. “It’s been four days since the first of the martyrs infiltrated America. By now, they have infected several people and the Curse is growing in secret. We are just days away from a great deluge upon the United States. Then, there will be no stopping the Cursed from destroying all of the heathens.”
“You speak with strong convictions for such a young man,” Taavi said. “I’m not as sure as you seem to be about the success of this disease. There are too many variables that we must address—and US soldiers knocking on our door will surely put an end to Kasra Amol’s big plans.”
Lieutenant Khavari shrugged. “Shooting down their planes will buy us some time, aaand…” he drew out the word. “I just got all four of our men booked onto a flight for this evening.”
“Just like that?” he asked. Computers still baffled him. “You have arranged flights for everyone in the time we were talking?”
“Yes, sir. I just go to the website and it has our credit card information stored, so checkout is easy.”
“Credit card? Is there a trail that will lead back to us?”
“The system is rerouted, masked, and switched through so many countries that even an outstanding IT tech would miss it. The credit card is billed to an account in Malta. The infidels will not be able to trace our activities.”
“I don’t understand all of your technical jargon, Lieutenant, but I do understand the essence of your meaning.” He pulled out his notebook so he could write down the information. “I do not want to risk mission failure, so I will personally infect the second group of martyrs before they board their planes today. When do I need to have the men at the airport?”
“Their flights are all within two hours of each other to different destinations within the United States. The first flight departs Rio de Janeiro at 19:24.”
Major Shaikh looked at his watch, doing the math in his head to backward plan. They needed to arrive at the airport two hours early for the international flight, add thirty minutes for transport from the facility’s C-130 to the terminal, and an eighty minute flight time from the facility to the airport. “We must depart from here in six hours. Alert the men. They are to have a full lunch and arrive at the runway with their luggage in five hours. Do not tell them that is early. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He waited until the lieutenant made the announcement over the intercom and followed it up with personal phone calls to the martyrs. When he was finished, Shaikh cleared his throat. There was still the other matter to attend to.
“Sir?”
“As you know, I spoke to Kasra Amol before you gave me the message about the Quds Force. That is why I came here to talk to you. She had two questions that I must report back to her. What is the status of the Cursed in the holding pens?” He extended his thumb to count the first question, followed by his index finger as he asked the second. “And what is the scientists’ progress on creating a vaccine to keep our troops from being infected if they are bitten?”
Shaikh hated everything about the Cursed and avoided them as much as possible, relying on the staff for information. He was in charge of the facility’s security, not the operations. That’s why they’d appointed Administer Kim as the head of operations, but the man had been recalled to North Korea a few days ago for a meeting with Kasra Amol and Shaikh hadn’t heard from him since. Taavi expected that meant the man was dead and operations reverted to him until a new administrator was appointed.
“We have three hundred and forty-two fully infected in the pens, sir,” Khavari answered. “This number has not changed in the past two days. We have detained another fifty or so villagers and homeless from the city that are not infected yet.”
“Why are you waiting? Infect those people and put them with the others.” Part of the Council’s plan involved releasing the Cursed upon South America and allowing them to progress northward naturally. The more of them they could release at one time, the better the prospect of success.
“Of course, sir.” He opened his log book and pointed to a passage written in Persian. Underneath it was the same paragraph written in the meaningless Korean symbols. “The experiments to create a preventative vaccine are coming slowly. The scientists insist they are close to a breakthrough, but need more time.”
“They have had over a month,” Taavi said. “They know exactly how the serum is created, it should be a simple matter to—” He stopped himself. He’d allowed his emotions to overtake rational thought. He hadn’t heard from his family in weeks and their lives depended on the success of this facility.
“Forgive me,” he stated flatly. “The scientists must make every effort to advance their work. Kasra Amol will not wait much longer. Let it be known that if they do not produce results within a week, then their numbers will be culled.” The words were like acid in his mouth as he relayed the woman’s orders. If the men and women did not provide tangible evidence of progress, then he was to kill one of them, preferably the least capable, and then another every two days until they’d been sufficiently motivated to perform their duties.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied, writing the orders down in his duty log. He looked up and said, “Will this tactic work? Won’t reducing the number of scientists working on the problem make it much harder to develop the vaccine?�
��
Shaikh grimaced. “You are correct. This is what I believe as well, but I am only the messenger.” He glanced at the camera mounted across the room and shifted his body to block its view. “You must remember that the Council watches everything, Lieutenant Khavari. To question Kasra Amol’s orders is not wise. They have all of our families and will do whatever it takes to ensure their orders are followed. Do you understand?”
Khavari gulped and nodded, looking up at the camera himself.
“I do not like what we are being asked to do here, with the scientists, with the Curse, with any of it. But, if Allah allows our actions to be the catalyst for the extermination of every infidel—man, woman, and child—then so be it. When we stand before him in judgement, he will remember our actions. All of them.”
“Yes, sir. I will pass along Kasra Amol’s orders to the scientists and they will achieve the success that the Council demands.”
“Inshallah,” Taavi grumbled. If God wills it.
PERUVIAN AIRSPACE
“Say again?” Grady yelled, pressing his finger into his ear to hear over the roar of the big jet’s engines.
He listened, glancing up at the members of his team spread out along the interior of the oversized C-17 Globemaster that they’d been hustled onto at Yokota Airbase. The words coming through his headset were garbled. They have to be, he thought as he struggled to make sense of what the pilots told him.
“I think my headset is screwed up,” Grady said into the microphone. “I’m coming up to the cockpit.”
He took off the headset, put it on a hook set into the fuselage, and stood. Most of his team was asleep, but one or two of them looked at him, then at their watches. They were still at least an hour out from their destination, a medium-sized international airport approximately forty miles from where analysts back in the States determined to be the location of Site 53.
“I can’t hear the pilots,” he said, pointing to his ears in response to Bazan’s questioning stare.
