“Out of country? Where are you going?”
A thunderous sound that had been building for the past several seconds finally became too loud to ignore.
“What the hell is that?” she asked as she went to the window to look outside.
“That’s my ride,” said Kane, still at the table.
Isabelle gasped as she saw a military chopper settle down in the courtyard, several personnel in chemical warfare gear jumping out.
“I’ll be going now.”
Isabelle spun around as Kane stood up, wiping his face with a napkin and downing the last of his ice cold water. She followed him to the door and grabbed an ankle-length jacket as he picked up the backpack he had been toting around since he arrived by parachute.
He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her tight against him, and gave her the type of goodbye kiss she had only ever seen in the movies, a kiss that made her knees give out and her heart hammer so hard she could barely hear herself moan in pleasure.
He let her go and opened the door. She slipped on a pair of flats and followed him to the elevator then outside, the entire time saying nothing, just leaning on him, his arm around her shoulders. As they left the building, the pounding of the blades kept their conversation short as she held one side of her jacket up to block the dust from getting in their eyes.
“Take care of yourself,” she said, one hand holding his cheek.
“I always do,” he said with a smile, placing his hand over hers, pushing his cheek into her palm a little harder. “I had a wonderful time.”
“So did I. I’m sorry if I pressured you into something, you know, you didn’t want.”
She looked down at the ground as her eyes filled with tears. A finger under her chin pulled her gaze back to his, a loving smile she hadn’t seen for years looking down at her.
“I did nothing I didn’t want to do. You’re a remarkable lady.” He kissed her gently, then pulled away. “I have to go.”
He began to walk away when she realized he hadn’t answered her question.
“Wait!” she yelled. He turned to face her, his arm raised to try and block the wind. “Where are you going?”
He wagged his finger at her.
“You know I can’t tell you, but if you like cigars, I’ll bring you back some.”
She smiled and waved and he ran toward the helicopter, the soldiers helping him aboard. As the chopper lifted off, she could see him staring at her, a smile on his face as he never took his eyes off of her until the chopper banked away. She continued to watch it until it was no more than a pinpoint in the distance, finally turning around and heading inside.
And she knew two things from what he had said.
He was going to Cuba.
And he’d be back.
Eglin AFB, Florida
Kane spent the better part of the next two hours in isolation. His blood test taken earlier had come back clean, but because he had additional exposure, he had been tested again. But the time hadn’t been wasted. He had been fully briefed and brought up to speed not only on the situation he was heading into, but the situation around the world.
He felt slightly sick to his stomach, especially after hearing about the hundreds killed aboard the plane as a result of the actions of a terrified young French soldier.
From what he now knew, he knew there were two antivirals on the loose, one that should burn itself out shortly, the other that could be far worse. Mankind was on the brink, and unless they could capture either the missing scientist Dr. Urban, or his partner or abductor, Scott Fowler, there might be no chance of recovery.
At this point the spread seemed fairly slow, but not contained. Cases were being reported all across the planet, with the vast majority in the United States, with Canada and Mexico pretty much tied for second. It made sense. The virus was following the trucking routes of the continent, and whatever the infected truckers had in common with the people they encountered, those people were then exposed, and possibly infected.
And with the spread being worldwide, they assumed it was something very common. But with the ten day incubation period, the patients were only now starting to get into numbers significant enough to detect patterns. Over the coming days and weeks they expected the cases to grow exponentially, with hospitals being overwhelmed worldwide within two weeks.
What was terrifying was that the only pattern they had been able to detect this time was so broad, so general, that if it weren’t fine-tuned to a more specific genetic pattern, the world would never be the same in as little as a few weeks.
Because the only pattern that had been detected so far affected half the species.
All were men.
It was enough to scare the shit out of anybody, especially those with testicles. And apparently the President had a pair, because he had immediately taken action when he heard this. Governments around the world were now encouraging men to stay at home, and avoid contact with other men whenever possible. He had been told that the President was going to announce on television tonight that all men were to remain home unless they were deemed essential personnel, as well as the recall of all naval vessels from around the world. These would begin to be used as temporary shelters for those who weren’t infected. Islands all along the coast were being evacuated, residents isolated and tested, and when cleared, allowed to return.
Massive quarantine areas for the uninfected were already being set up in athletic facilities and community centers around the country, with men undergoing a two-step quarantine process. Those without symptoms, and of low risk to previous exposure, were tested and ordered to remain at home, then when cleared, ordered to report to a second facility where they would be isolated for 24 hours while their second test was completed. They would then be allowed into the quarantine facility.
The hope was that enough men could be saved to repopulate the species should containment be lost.
It was a doomsday scenario they all prayed they were overreacting to, but with the evidence now in front of the scientific and political community, it was decided there was no time to waste waiting for confirmation. And with the President thankfully in his second term, he had decided he would fall on his sword as a laughing stock should it turn out to be nothing. But if the scientists’ worst-case predictions came true, he may be the very savior of mankind.
Which just might go to his head.
Kane shook his own as he began to apply his camouflage face paint then gear up. He hadn’t been to Cuba yet, his own area of expertise Asia and the Middle East, but his Spanish was pretty damned good by anyone’s standards. The problem was he didn’t blend, and cover stories of being in country as a business man didn’t work in such a closed communist society—they were still too closely watched. Instead, most CIA agents in Cuba were either locals, ex-pats, or Latino Americans who could blend right in.
There was a knock on the door, then it opened before he could reply.
“Well, Special Agent, are you ready or what?”
“Good thing I’m decent. I coulda been in my birthday suit here,” said Kane, grinning at his old friend Burt Dawson. Dawson had trained him years ago during his short stint in the Delta Force before being recruited into the CIA. Like almost everybody in his life, he hadn’t kept in touch, but they’d had the good fortune to go on a couple of missions together recently and get reacquainted.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Didn’t know you had taken that close a look.”
“Just checkin’ to see where in the pecking order you fell in case there was ever a need to pull them out and measure while on a mission. You always want to put your best man forward.”
“Yeah, well from what I saw of your team last time, something tells me Atlas has us all beat.”
Dawson roared in laughter, and the massive form of Atlas poked his head in the room.
“I heard my name.”
“Don’t worry, we were just talking about your junk, nothing personal,” said Kane.
&nb
sp; Atlas nodded, his lips pursed.
“Then no harm done,” he said in his impossibly deep voice.
He disappeared leaving Kane and Dawson chuckling.
“I assume my test came back clear?”
Dawson nodded. “Yup. So far we’re all virus—rather antiviral—free. We’re going in full NBC gear, so break out the bunny suit. You can leave the mask off until we’re about to drop. If anyone is compromised they’ll have to go into quarantine again when we return.”
“Makes sense,” said Kane as he checked his NBC warfare gear, then headed out the room with Dawson. “When do we leave?”
“Ten minutes if you’re ready.”
“I’m always ready.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Kane followed Dawson to the assembly area. Three Gen-3 Ghost Hawk “Jedi Ride” choppers awaited them, along with the rest of Delta Team Bravo, and a familiar face that was beaming at him.
“So we finally get to go on an official mission together!” he said as he approached Sherrie White, giving her a quick one armed hug. “How’s our mutual friend?”
“Worried as usual, but otherwise great.”
“And things are still going well between you two?”
Her smile grew even larger, the crinkles in the corner of the eyes and mouth betraying how genuinely she felt about his high school buddy.
“Glad to hear it. Now let’s capture this sonofabitch so we can all get back to our friends and families.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Sherrie as they all turned to Dawson.
“Everyone take a knee,” he said and they all dropped as one. Dawson handed out several photos. “The first is Major Anton Koslov. He’s former Spetsnaz, so watch yourselves. He’s very good. Assume he’s better than you. The second is Scott Fowler, a former VP of BioDyne Pharma, and we assume the money behind these attacks. He apparently likes yoga and long walks on the beach.” Chuckles. “The third is the scientist behind this, Dr. Victor Urban. We presume he’s being coerced so should put up no resistance. Just try not to get poked by anything he might be holding.”
Niner held up his hand, his mouth open, then he shook his head.
“Never mind. There’s a lady present.”
Sherrie looked over both shoulders.
“Where?”
More laughter, and Dawson shook his head at Niner.
“Niner, I’ve met your parents and they’re good people. Are you sure you weren’t adopted?”
Niner’s face brightened. “You mean there’s a chance I’m white!”
Atlas punched Niner in the shoulder, sending him tumbling onto his side in a fit of laughter. Dawson let it go for a few seconds, it always good to loosen up before a mission, and he was pleased that the two CIA agents were joining in with the fun. Bonding with your comrades-in-arms was the best way to know they had your back. Friends instinctively would die trying to save another friend, but they sometimes had to think about it to save a stranger.
“Now, Niner’s questionable heritage aside, we need all three of these people alive. We’re not expecting to find them all there, in fact I’m only expecting to find Major Koslov. The CIA thinks he can lead us to Fowler, who can lead us to Urban. We believe Fowler, and definitely Urban, know the exact genetic sequence that the antiviral is targeting. BioDyne needs that to come up with an antidote, and end this plague once and for all. If we can’t find these people, it could be over for all of us, and there will be a lot of lonely women out there left to bury our corpses.”
Everyone was solemn with the image that no doubt filled their minds. Kane’s mind immediately pictured his mother at his father’s funeral, of Isabelle at his, of Sherri at Chris’. He pushed the image away, instead focusing on the mission ahead that could end all of this.
“Now, you’ve all seen the layout of the compound we’re going to. It was popular with the Soviets during the Cold War days, so expect it to have escape tunnels and the works. It’s small, and appears from satellite overpasses to be lightly defended—perhaps a dozen men. We’ll set up three sniper positions as discussed earlier, enter over the rear wall, and once the targets are secured, we’ll eliminate the rest as the entry team leaves. We’ll be picked up on the beach by our choppers, secondary rendezvous is four miles north where a sub will be waiting should the need arise. Any questions?” There was silence, everyone already knowing their job. “Good. One final thing. This is a CIA operation. Our friend who you’ve met before will be in command.”
Kane gave the team a nod.
“Gentlemen.”
Niner yawned. “From what I saw in Syria, he doesn’t need us. Can I go back to my rack?”
“If you’re not needed, maybe you’ll learn something,” said Dawson as he stood up, the rest following as the choppers powered up, drowning out a chorus of “oohs” and “burned!” catcalls.
“Good hunting!” shouted Dawson as he waved them toward the chopper. Kane followed Dawson to his chopper, Sherrie in tow. Only two choppers would be carrying personnel, the third would be on standby offshore should something go wrong. The intent was to slip in and out with the Cubans not even knowing they were there until they were long gone. There apparently had been some debate as to whether or not they should just ask the Cubans to arrest the occupants of the compound, but it was decided they would more likely kill everyone inside in a botched operation, and then all hope would be lost.
Kane strapped himself in, and double checked Sherrie’s gear as the choppers lifted off, banking toward Cuban airspace.
And hopefully a cure.
Over Canadian Airspace
“Our escorts are back,” announced the pilot over the internal channel. Lt. Colonel Chernov looked out the windows on either side of the Sukhoi T-50 trainer and saw two Canadian CF-18 Hornet’s pull into position on each wing. So far everything had gone smoothly. A conversation with his commanding officer, along with several favors called in, and he was airborne on a stripped down fighter with extra fuel tanks, heading over the North Pole. They had refueled at the edge of Russian airspace while the Canadian and Russian governments coordinated the rest of the journey. And if they couldn’t agree, it would be a short trip.
But the name of the game today was international cooperation. If there was a chance he could avert the crisis, he was welcome. An isolated landing in Iqaluit with their aircraft refueled and no human contact made, then they were off again, now headed for Washington, DC. They still hadn’t heard from the Americans, but he was confident they’d agree. After all, this was their mess, and they were the most vulnerable. The risk of him introducing the virus was next to nil; if anything, he was the most at risk in this equation.
And his pilot.
“Did you ever think you’d see the day you were flying over the Canadian North, peacefully escorted?”
“Certainly not what I trained for, Comrade Colonel.”
His pilot, Vlad Bodrov, was old school. He’d run the NATO borders in his MiG, turning back at the last second, spooking the air traffic and air defense controllers, the game constant for decades. A game a lot of Russia missed, the prestige of facing down the mighty West now gone.
But so was the expense.
Or at least it should have been. Putin seemed in a rush to roll the clocks back to the sixties, instead of ahead.
If they don’t get Anton none of it will matter.
What disturbed Chernov the most in this situation was that it was a time to learn from each other, to cooperate, and to realize that everyone was sharing this blue ball and had no more right to it than the next man. But he knew, if history were to be heeded, that once this crisis was over, there would be rhetoric filling the halls of the United Nations, and within months, everything would be back to the way it was, old animosities and rivalries restored, cooperation a mere blip for the history books.
Or, if the antiviral had its way, it wouldn’t matter, the population wiped out.
Sometimes he wondered if they should bother trying to stop it. Let it wipe out mos
t of mankind, then we could start over, do it right, taking advantage of what we had learned from our past mistakes. And with a small population and modern technology, there’d be no need to fight over land or resources, there’d be plenty to go around, and the planet could heal itself of the scars of modern cities and mining.
It was a pipedream that he didn’t even believe in, but he loved to think of such things and debate them in his head, or better yet, with a friend, the philosophical discussions that would result sometimes heated, but always stimulating.
Conversations he used to have with his good friend and comrade, Major Koslov.
He sighed as he gazed at the CF-18 out the cockpit window. He knew the interrogation could go one of two ways. Either his old friend cooperated, and gave the information they needed, or he’d be tortured until he did.
And if he was indeed involved in this crisis, then when it was all over, he deserved to die.
And he’d pull the trigger without hesitation, the major having dishonored his family, friends, unit and country.
All Chernov wanted to know was why the hell Koslov had participated in the first place?
Approaching the Cuban Coast
Kane looked out the side of the chopper as the coast in the distance rapidly began to fill their view. The Ghost Hawk’s ridiculously quiet engines and propellers had them covering the ninety miles between the coast of Florida and Cuba in no time.
He watched Dawson activate his comm.
“Overseer, Bravo One. Status on coast line, over?”
“Bravo One, Overseer. You are cleared for insertion. Satellite shows no hostiles at the insertion point, over.”
“Overseer, Bravo One. Roger that, insertion in sixty seconds, out.”
“Let’s go ladies, sixty seconds to the drop.”
The doors were slid open and over the comm Kane could hear Dawson’s second in command, Red, giving similar orders, though a lot less politely. The men checked each other’s gear as the helicopters slowed and hovered about a hundred feet from the private beach. At this distance anyone in the compound shouldn’t hear them, and if necessary, the choppers could abort and still be out of effective small arms range.
Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2) Page 23
