Nightmare Army

by Don Pendleton

  “Do we have a problem?” Richter asked, setting down his laptop.

  Estvaan pointed. “No, look—the energy is draining out of him even now. However, he does not pass out as the early subjects did. The drug is containing him, for lack of a better term.”

  Their test subject’s efforts grew more labored and he sank to the floor, still trying to shove the door open, but failing as the tranquilizer coursed through his body. With one final growl that sounded more like an anguished groan toward the end, he slumped over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he sank into unconsciousness.

  “Restrain and stabilize him. After-team, run the standard battery of tests and send me the results.”

  Richter ran his hands over his head, resisting the urge to clench them into fists and hammer the wall. “I thought this variant had so much promise, but we are no closer to arresting the effects once the cycle begins. What good is true superhuman strength and reflexes without the control to stop using them when the immediate threat has been neutralized? And if the subject cannot remain active once the surge is done, that is another problem.”

  Dr. Estvaan nodded. “Perhaps. We are close. Another few modifications and we’ll be able to turn this on and off in subjects at will, either by neuro feedback or by remote control.”

  “Yes, but I’ve got to tell Stengrave that we haven’t gotten any closer to controlling the virus’s effects.”

  Estvaan nodded again. “Keep in mind the potential this compound also has as a weapon by introducing it into unknowing or unwilling subjects.”

  Her last words sparked something in Richter’s mind. “What about the transfer vectors you’ve been working on?”

  “Well, you would have seen it if the chimpanzee had survived. Within six to eight hours, it would have been exhibiting the same pretest symptoms as the human subject. Currently the virus is best transmitted via blood or saliva.”

  “And the genetic safeguards we’ve tailored it with have been effective?”

  “One hundred percent so far.” Dr. Estvaan glanced at him. “As I have stated before, we cannot guarantee that a mutated form wouldn’t be able to cross genetic types, but the self-destruct safeguard should prevent that, as well.”

  “Lastly, you have confirmed that the virus cannot survive independently outside of a host body?”

  “Correct, Doctor. If exposed to open air, it begins breaking down at the cellular level immediately. There is no chance of an active strain using an airborne or fluid-borne vector to contaminate others. Of course, the infectious strain can be introduced into food or water in its dormant state and, once ingested, begin affecting its victims within two hours.”

  “Good, I’m glad to see that parameter has been maintained. Prepare a dormant sample large enough to affect...oh, say thirty to fifty people. I’ll need to update our superiors, but I see no reason to halt our tests on a limited public group. It’s time to begin phase two.” Dr. Richter smiled. “After all, if this cannot be used as a controllable weapon yet, perhaps its application lies in using it as a less-controlled one.”

  Just then his smartphone beeped. Richter glanced at it and saw the reminder he’d been waiting for. “Prepare your after-test reports and forward them to me once they are finished. I’ll be in my office, but am not to be disturbed for the next hour.”

  * * *

  AS HE STRODE through the halls toward his office, Richter dictated his notes.

  “Although the virus appears to have potential practical applications on the battlefield, there will need to be more tests done to refine a more controllable variant. This is not to say that the research here has been in vain, on the contrary, we have done more here in six months that has been possible in the past three years. With additional time and experimentation with the various strains we have cultivated, I am sure that we can create a version that will give us the abilities we’re looking for, along with the necessary control.”

  His laptop chimed and Richter frowned at the interruption to his train of thought. He reached over and paused the computer recorder, then hit the answer button. “Ja?”

  The voice on the other end of the satellite connection was smooth and cordial but hard underneath—like silk over a steel glove. “Dr. Richter, I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

  Richter recognized the voice instantly. “Of course not, Mr. Stengrave. I am ready to present our status to the board, as directed.”

  “What can you tell me about your recent progress?”

  “We are making progress, but it has slowed considerably.” Verifying their channel was secure, he summarized the recent tests. “We cannot seem to strike the balance between the advantages the drug gives the recipients and the negative effects afterward.”

  “I see. How do you intend to mitigate this situation?”

  “One of our potential uses for the virus in its current form would be as an inflammatory agent, which could be tailored to fit a specified population. Spiking the water would introduce it into their systems, and chaos would follow. I had wanted to discuss a possible test of this scenario—”

  “I already have something in mind for that—a geographically-isolated test on genetically-limited population. I’m sending Mr. Firke down with the necessary genetic sample. He will stay until the batch is ready, and will escort it to our on-site team within thirty-six hours.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s easier to make a point with a little bloodshed. Spun properly, I think this could be just as effective as our first projected use of the virus.”

  “I’ll have the samples ready for splicing the moment he arrives. If you do not mind my asking, how will you handle the meeting today?”

  “I’ll put them off for now, saying you are in the middle of a delicate series of tests and cannot be disturbed. Make it happen, Doctor. If the results are good enough, I may have you conference in to a later meeting to field questions. I’ll let you know once we know how the field test has gone.” Stengrave broke the connection with a click.

  Richter stabbed his intercom button. “Sharene, please ready the guest quarters. We’re going to have company soon.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fifty hours earlier

  Dr. Richter stood at the main doors of the lab, watching as a man dressed in jungle fatigues rappelled from a helicopter to the small clearing in front of their concealed facility. The moment his feet hit the ground, he unclipped himself from the rope, which was swiftly drawn back up as the helicopter was already flying away from the area. It had hovered over the site for maybe a minute at the most.

  “Dr. Richter,” the man said as he walked up to him. “I’m Reginald Firke. Interesting place you have here.”

  Well, at least he didn’t try any sort of “I presume” crap, Richter thought with a disdainful glance at the man’s crisp new fatigues and polished combat boots. “Come inside.”

  The two men headed across the small vehicle bay to the outer airlock, past the half-dozen mud-splattered Range Rovers, and stood in front of an industrial glass-and-stainless steel door as the large outer doors closed behind them, throwing the large room into semi-shadow. “I assume your cargo is intact?”

  Firke shrugged off a small backpack and held it out. “In here are all the samples you will need. I’m sure our mutual boss has informed you that time is of the essence.”

  “Of course he has.” Richter didn’t move to take the pack, nor did he spare the shorter man a glance as the outer airlock door opened. “The emphasis was unnecessary, however. You’ll have the tailored viruses and be on your way soon enough.”

  If the slender man was insulted by Richter’s annoyed tone, he didn’t visibly react as they headed into the airlock. “No need to insult the messenger, Doctor. I’m simply passing on the message, that’s all.”

  “Humph.” Richter stared straight ahead as compressed air jets containing a powerfu
l disinfectant covered their clothes and exposed skin. He didn’t think much of Stengrave’s hired goon. He’d had the man researched and learned he was ex-SAS, the British special forces arm of the military. That information did not faze him in the least. In Richter’s opinion, a gun was only used to accomplish a goal when those involved neglected to use their brains to find a more elegant and much less obvious solution. “I assume that Mr. Stengrave has also let you know of my requirements for this experiment?”

  The safe tone sounded and the inner airlock door opened, revealing the cool tile and sterile-white hallway. Richter stalked forward through the corridors, brushing past men and women who knew to get out of his way when they saw the tall man walking with such purpose.

  “Yes, that is not a problem. You’ll have all the eyes on-site you requested.”

  “Good.” Richter turned a corner and lengthened his stride, making the shorter man hasten to catch up. It was a faint jab at the other man, but the doctor took his pleasure where he could find it.

  “You realize, of course, that observing is all you will be doing.”

  Now Richter did turn to the other man and let a small, mirthless smile appear on his face. “Of course, Mr. Firke. Just as you would never presume to tell me how to do my job, I would not feign to know the slightest bit of knowledge about how to carry out yours.”

  The ex-military man’s only physical response was a raised eyebrow. “So glad we understand each other.”

  Richter didn’t reply until they reached the culture room. White biohazard-suited figures, their faces obscured by full hoods, worked on various trays and at various lab machines and microscopes. The doctor stopped by a drawer set into the wall and hit the switch on an intercom.

  “Dr. Estvaan to the transfer drawer, please.” A lithe figure on the far side of the room approached. Richter pulled the drawer out of the wall, then turned to the other man and held out his hand. Firke unzipped the backpack, pulled out a small metal case that was cold to the touch and handed it to the scientist.

  After placing the metal case in the drawer, Richter closed it, sending it into the room as he activated the intercom again. “This is the package you were briefed on. You have the entire lab at your disposal to create as many strains using the DNA in here as possible over the next sixteen hours. This assignment takes priority over all others.”

  With a curt nod, Estvaan took the case and pulled the rest of the suited workers to her as she began assigning tasks.

  “Why Armenia?” Richter asked as he watched the group begin its work.

  “Stengrave told you about the final destination, then,” Firke replied.

  “Of course.” Richter glanced sidelong at the ex-soldier. “That is the one thing I don’t understand about this experiment. There are plenty of isolated places with a limited population around here. I could find several villages that would suit his needs within a half-day’s travel.” He turned to the other man. “So, why Armenia?”

  “You know, I asked him the very same question.” Firke’s mouth curved into a grim smile. “Apparently, about fifteen years ago, a shipment of medical equipment was hijacked and its contents sold on the black market. Don’t ask me who bought it. I didn’t even know there was a black market for plasmapheresis machines, but apparently there is. Anyway, the thieves stole from our boss, at a time when his company had invested everything in this new technology. That shipment was not only worth several millions dollars, it was supposed to open up an entire new world of sales opportunities for Stengrave Industries. When the shipment was lost, insurance didn’t cover nearly enough to make up for the loss. The company almost went under.”

  Richter blinked. “And you’re telling me that Mr. Stengrave is now about to exact his revenge on the Armenian thugs who did this to him?”

  “Well, over the past fifteen years, that small family of Armenians that took that shipment has grown into one of the largest crime families in the country. The file that my predecessor was required to keep on them is almost 20 gigabytes of data and pictures. Their leader has a vacation place in the mountains, inside a walled city.”

  Richter held up a hand. “Just to be clear... Mr. Stengrave has been holding on to these DNA samples for all this time?”

  “Well, you know the old saying ‘keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’? Mr. Stengrave has quite a collection of both.”

  “But to collect all of these various samples... It seems, I don’t know...”

  “Obsessive?” Firke shrugged. “Perhaps. Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s spent time in a lab coat over the years.” He cleared his throat. “Regarding what you and your people are about to do, one could say that Mr. Stengrave just wants to run a test in a controlled area, where there is the least likely possibility of your little tailored friends in there getting loose. The fact that he’s selected that particular place to do so—also delivering a particularly gruesome revenge on an old enemy who by now has most likely forgotten the reason why this biological death is about to rain down on him—could be a staggering coincidence...or you could chalk all of this up to simple Stengrave efficiency, and take out two birds with one carefully aimed stone.”

  Firke turned to the other man. “Fortunately, down here in the Congo, you do not have to worry about such things. Just keep working on what Mr. Stengrave wishes you to work on, and all will be well.” He looked up and down the corridor. “Since I’m basically stuck here for the next several hours, I’ll be in my quarters. Notify me an hour before the batch is ready.”

  He walked down the hall, leaving a silent Richter staring after him and trying to repress the shudder that quivered its way down his spine.

  Thirty-three hours earlier

  AT 0200 LOCAL TIME, Reginald Firke’s eyes popped open without the aid of an alarm.

  Swinging his legs over the side of the cot he’d been sleeping on, he sat up and reached for his tablet. Logging in to the local network, he accessed the security cameras and saw that just about everyone was down for the night, except for Dr. Estvaan and her busy crew, still working hard in their lab. He brought up the camera in the main security room and recorded about three minutes of the lone sentry there, then got up and left his room.

  Firke walked through the corridors until he came to a room marked Security. The door had no handle on this side, just a keypad and a card slot on the wall next to it. Firke pulled a black key card out of his pocket and swiped it through the reader. The door opened with a soft click.

  “What are you doing back?” the guard at the monitors asked as he began turning in his swivel chair, a finger reaching for a large red button. “You’re not due for another thirty minutes...”

  Firke held up the black key card. “Good reflexes. You know who I am, correct?”

  The guard nodded dumbly, removing his finger from the alarm button.

  “And you know who I work for?”

  Another nod.

  “Very good. I am conducting a surprise inspection of this facility’s security. I am pleased to see that you are at your post and alert. However, I must now ask you to step outside for a few minutes.”

  Still nodding, the guard slowly got up from his chair and walked toward the door. He didn’t take his eyes off Firke, who watched him leave, not turning back to the main security console until the door was completely closed. Once it did, he casually glanced at the panel, which controlled every camera both inside and outside the complex, as well as doors that sealed off particular areas and even overrode controls for power, temperature and air intake. Firke didn’t bother with any of these; he just pushed the guard chair aside and sat on the floor.

  Taking a screwdriver with an unusual, star-shaped tip from his pocket, he unscrewed six screws in a small panel under the console. Removing that panel revealed a small, unmarked console with another keypad next to five switches, each one underneath a small
light and all in the down position.

  Firke carefully punched in a long, memorized series of numbers. Then, taking a deep breath, he flipped each switch one by one from right to left. In each case, a green light came on. When they were all activated, he let out the breath he had been holding. If he had input the code wrong, activating the last switch would have been the end of him and the base—literally. Carefully, he replaced the panel and screwed it back into place.

  Getting up, he checked the display on his tablet, which showed the camera’s view of the security room in what was supposed to be real time. Instead of him, however, the screen showed the footage of the guard Firke had recorded earlier. With a satisfied nod, he replaced the chair behind the console, then walked to the door and opened it to let the guard back inside.

  “Is everything all right?” the man asked as he walked to his station.

  Firke nodded. “Everything is exactly as it should be. You are doing a fine job. Keep up the good work and we may have a promotion for you once you’ve completed your duty here. And the best way you can do that is by never mentioning that you ever saw me here, all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Firke nodded. “Excellent. As you were.”

  The young man almost raised a hand to salute, but turned it into scratching an itch on his cheek. Smiling thinly, Firke stepped outside the security room and let the door close.

  Retracing his steps, Firke was back in his room without a soul seeing him. Sitting on his cot again, he activated a control panel that showed a full blueprint of the base with small red Xs revealed in every room and ringing the outside perimeter of the complex. Below all of that was a simple sentence: BASE SELF-DESTRUCT SYSTEM PRIMED.

  Satisfied, Firke cleared his tablet and set it aside, then lay down and was asleep within sixty seconds.

  * * *

  “YOU HAVE everything you need. Introduce it into the water supply, or even food will work. It can survive being boiled or cooked, so whatever way you find will get it into the target populace will be best. Of course, you and your men would be best advised to not eat or drink anything in the area once the contamination has been implemented.”