Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Hold up!” he yelled, turning around and pushing forward with his arms outstretched to prevent the others from falling. He caught Sherrie just as she came through the trees, the two Delta members, covering the rear, stopping in time.

  “Thanks,” gasped Sherrie as she looked over the edge. “There’s steps over here,” she said, pointing to the left.

  Kane stepped around her and ran down the steps, the others following. As he looked down into a cove he could see a sleek cigarette boat pulling away from a dock. Kane raised his weapon and fired at the front of the boat. The pilot looked back and Kane could see enough of the man’s features in the moonlight to see it had to be Scott Fowler.

  “That’s Fowler!” shouted Kane to the others. “Don’t fire, that boat’s liable to be a powder keg.”

  He reached the dock and sprinted along it but the cigarette boat’s engine was gunning now and it was out of the tiny cove and out of sight in seconds. Kane turned around and rushed toward a second boat tied to the dock, pointing.

  “Get that thing going!” he ordered, Niner jumping in and beginning to hotwire the boat with instructions from a specialist over an isolated frequency. Jimmy and Sherrie removed the lines as Kane jumped in, Niner firing up the engine. Kane took the controls and pushed the throttle all the way forward, the engine chewing the water as the nose rose high in the air before the craft began to rapidly move forward. The prow dropped as they picked up speed and soon they were skimming along the water, bursting from the cove and banking in the same direction Kane had seen Fowler go.

  “Overseer, Thunderbolt. We’re in pursuit of Fowler. He’s in some sort of cigarette boat near my location. Do you have him, over?”

  “Thunderbolt, Overseer. Affirmative. Steer zero-four-zero degrees. Looks like he’s heading for The Bahamas, over.”

  “Do we have any assets in the area that can stop him?”

  “Affirmative. We have a carrier group returning to base, over.”

  “Have them put everything they’ve got into this but remind them we need him alive!”

  “Copy that, relaying instructions now, out.”

  Kane leaned over the steering wheel, keeping below the windshield to reduce the spray from covering the plastic panel of his hazmat suit. As the cool night air from the ocean began to permeate his suit, he realized how damned hot he was.

  Fighting in this shit is insane!

  Outside of training, he had never had to wear this type of equipment before, his missions quite often involving jeans and a t-shirt, or light combat gear. He yanked at the clothes on his chest, pulling them away from his sweat soaked body.

  “Is that him?” asked Sherrie, pointing in the distance.

  Kane peered but couldn’t make out anything, then suddenly he spotted something, bouncing above the waves, no lights visible, and distant enough to not make out any details.

  “It has to be,” said Kane, adjusting his course slightly. He looked at their speed, and with only about a hundred miles separating the two coasts, and their speed better than 50 knots, they were looking at less than two hours to get there. He glanced at the fuel gauge. Full.

  These boats had definitely been prepared for a quick escape.

  He glanced back and saw his three companions sitting low in the back, relaxing, their arms and legs spread as they tried to cool themselves off. Kane had to chuckle at the sight, modesty at this point lost on them all.

  “Overseer, Thunderbolt. Where are those ships, over?”

  “Standby Thunderbolt.”

  He leaned forward, willing the boat to go quicker, when he spotted something on the horizon. With the waves kicking up a bit, it was hard to tell what he was looking at, but whatever it was, it was getting big quick.

  Could it be?

  Suddenly the entire horizon seemed to light up as dozens of ships running perpendicular to his course turned on every light they had, search beams cutting through the water, helicopters and aircraft overhead turning on their search lights, aimed at the water below.

  “We’ve got company!” yelled Kane, the others quickly joining him.

  “Jesus, it’s like the whole damned Navy is out there!” exclaimed Niner.

  Kane continued to push the boat toward the fleet now in front of them, the beams cutting through the night sky in search of Fowler’s boat.

  “There it is!” yelled Sherrie, pointing straight ahead.

  And indeed it was. A search light had spotted it, and with the call of the operator going out, all the beams immediately converged on the area, the cigarette boat soon bathed with so much light, Fowler would be quickly getting sunburnt if he didn’t surrender. At least half a dozen choppers rushed toward the position, two of them settling just above the waves in the path of the boat.

  Fowler jerked to the left, evading the choppers, but cutting his speed dramatically as Kane gently adjusted his course, the distance now rapidly closing.

  The choppers repositioned themselves and Kane could now hear orders being issued over a PA system, floating over the waves, their engine drowning out the specifics.

  Again the still well-lit boat swerved to the right, trying to evade capture. At this point smaller boats deployed from the large naval ships were in the water, racing toward the target.

  There was no escaping, it was just a matter of time, but Kane refused to ease up on the throttle. He needed to get there to make sure there wasn’t a firefight that may result in the death of a key witness.

  “He’s surrendering!” said Sherry. “Look!”

  Kane watched as the cigarette boat came to a halt. They were close enough now to see a figure standing, hands raised, and finally Kane began to ease up slightly on the throttle.

  “Overseer, Thunderbolt. Notify the flagship that we are approaching and are a friendly, over.”

  “Thunderbolt, Overseer. Already done. You are to report to the flagship where the prisoner will be held in quarantine, awaiting your arrival, over.”

  “Roger that, out.”

  Kane examined the signal flags around them, searching for the flagship when they were approached by two other vessels that pulled along either side of their boat.

  “Special Agent Black?”

  Kane nodded.

  “Please, sir, if you’ll come aboard, we’ll take you to the USS George H. W. Bush.”

  Two men jumped aboard and Kane yielded the controls to them as his team climbed aboard the other vessel. Within seconds they were racing through the now well-lit waters, Kane stretched out in the back like the others, all still in their gear, when there was a tremendous roar to the starboard side. Kane’s head spun as if it were on a swivel and cursed.

  The cigarette boat was in flames, the other boats pulling away, some of them on fire as well, their crews bailing.

  “Overseer, Thunderbolt! Do they have Fowler, over!”

  “Thunderbolt, Overseer. Stand by, over.”

  There was a pause as they all waited to find out the fate of Fowler, perhaps their only lead to Dr. Urban and the truth.

  “Thunderbolt, Overseer. Negative, he was still on the boat when it detonated, over.”

  Kane, now standing, kicked the gunwale, uttering a string of curses that would have a sailor blushing. He turned to the pilot.

  “Get us aboard as fast as possible and tell them to have a helicopter prepped to take us to the mainland.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Kane sat down, all their hopes now resting on a crooked ex-Russian Special Forces Major.

  Aboard the USS George H. W. Bush

  Carrier Strike Group Two, Off the Florida Coast

  Kane soaked his head in the shower, his mind still back on the ocean, wondering why Fowler had killed himself. It made no sense. With his money and resources, and with no qualms on how he used it, prison might be a temporary thing, assuming he even made it there. He had cards, high cards, that he could use to get himself a pardon. He knew the government was desperate. There was no way they wouldn’t let him go if they could get
Dr. Urban back.

  Something didn’t make sense.

  He quickly rinsed himself off then entered the locker room, getting his cellphone from his locker. He dialed a familiar number.

  “Leroux here.”

  “Hi buddy, it’s me.”

  “Hey! How are you? Are you okay?”

  Kane could hear the excitement and concern in his friend’s voice. He vowed when this was over that he’d try to make some time to spend not only with his family, but with his friend. Probably his only real friend in the world.

  Now that’s depressing.

  “I’m okay, and so is Sherrie. Listen, I want you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Gather all the footage you can get your hands on of the Fowler takedown, and look for anything unusual.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know. Unusual. Transporter beams, mother ship beam-up, whatever. Something doesn’t make sense. I just don’t buy him killing himself.”

  “I’ll get the tapes right away and let you know.”

  “Okay, thanks, buddy. Get back to me when you find something.”

  “Will do.”

  Kane tossed the phone back into his locker and began to dress, his mind slightly more at ease now that Leroux was on the case.

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  To say Leroux was exhausted would be an understatement. His eyes were drooping, and he was repeatedly yawning to the point where he was sure the walls of his divider were pulling toward him with each deep breath like a Disney cartoon.

  He had been asleep when he received Kane’s call. CIA Headquarters was in lockdown until all personnel were cleared, which should be any time now. Then it would be business as usual within, with all external visitors quarantined and communicated with through isolation booths.

  External security had been increased dramatically with several National Guard units arriving a few hours ago to beef things up. Reports of several Federal buildings across the country being attacked by protestors had everyone on edge.

  Didn’t these people realize we’re trying to help?

  But it was anger and fear that motivated them. They wanted in. They wanted to be where it was safe, or at least where they thought they would be safe. The President’s address to the nation earlier on live television had done little to calm things. He had condemned the events in Paris, but urged calm from everyone. He had ordered dusk to dawn curfews, and during the day only women would be allowed outside unless the men occupied essential positions.

  The nation was effectively shut down.

  The stock markets were closed the world over, the selloff so steep that it was agreed it was better to close them until the crisis was over, if it were ever over. Should things recover, the markets would reopen, take their hit, but at least the panic of the antiviral would be finished.

  But now he had a job to do. It had been months since he had kicked his Red Bull habit, but he eyed the can he had grabbed from the vending machine, but hadn’t yet opened.

  It’s for your country!

  He popped the lid, yanking back on the tab, the slight hiss weak compared to a can of Diet Coke that he usually liked to enjoy now. He took a sip and the psychological effect took hold almost instantaneously, his brain signaling the rest of the body that energy would soon be flowing, so get ready.

  He opened up the first video file that had arrived, and started going through it. There weren’t many, only a couple of dozen files, each lasting less than ten minutes, many from too far away to get any details without enhancement. He had already filtered those out and sent them to the specialists with an order to hold until he knew if he needed them to look at them or not.

  The first video showed a pretty standard takedown, albeit on a Naval scale that was probably unprecedented for one man. This particular angle missed the actual explosion, the camera man turning away for some reason just before it happened, then the video went dark as the crewman hit the water.

  The next two videos didn’t prove much better. But on the fourth he hit the jackpot.

  Langley Field, Air Combat Command

  Lieutenant Colonel Chernov didn’t expect much of a welcome wagon when his plane touched down, especially since they were escorted in by four F-22 Raptors after a handoff from the Canadian CF-18’s. They had almost been at the border when word finally arrived that they were allowed to enter US airspace and land at Langley Field.

  And now they were surrounded, having been ordered to a remote corner of the tarmac. As he exited the aircraft, they were approached by several dozen armed men, all in NBC gear. It reminded him of chemical warfare training back home.

  Unnerving, but not unusual.

  He held up his credentials.

  “I am Lieutenant Colonel Chernov of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation. I believe you are expecting me.”

  One man stepped forward.

  “Colonel Chernov. I am Captain Lewis, United States Air Force. I need both of you to come with us through decontamination, then we’ll get you prepped for your trip to Langley.”

  “Langley?”

  “Yes, sir. You’ll be briefed along the way.”

  Decontamination Zone, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Katherine looked up as Dr. Corkery sat down beside her, his shoulders slumped, the bags under his eyes with bags of their own. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and as demoralized as she felt.

  “I take it you’ve heard?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I think it’s already too late,” he said. “Last count I heard on CNN was over a hundred thousand men in the US alone are presenting, with that number expected to increase exponentially. They’re talking half a million by tomorrow, ten million within a couple of days.” He turned to Katherine, his eyes glassed over with tears. “We’ve lost!”

  Katherine gave him a gentle smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

  “It’s not over until there’s none left. We keep doing our job, we keep caring for the sick, we keep isolating those that aren’t sick, we keep searching for a cure. That’s our job as doctors. During the Black Death the doctors didn’t give up. They kept battling the disease, and eventually they won. And during that battle they learned many valuable lessons, including lessons we use to this very day. They learned about quarantining the sick, about proper disposal of bodies, about proper hygiene practices. Over the coming centuries we perfected those practices, and we’ll learn more this time. Almost half of Europe was wiped out in a couple of years, and they recovered, and so will we. It won’t be easy, but we’ll come back bigger and stronger than ever. Don’t lose faith, Doctor. Mankind will survive.”

  “So you think it’s over as well.”

  It wasn’t the message she had wanted him to take from her statement, but he was right. She had lost hope. The quarantine they had in place was now merely to try and protect themselves. Carload upon carload of sick people were being brought to hospitals all over the city. The Superdome was being converted into a massive treatment center, and arrangements were already being made for mass cremations. Her heart broke as she thought of it, and she prayed every spare minute for a reprieve, but none came.

  “If we haven’t figured this out in the next few days, it’s over. It will be too big to treat even if we have a cure.” Her chin dropped onto her chest. “My father was just admitted to a hospital in Fargo. My mom doesn’t think he’s going to make it through the night.”

  Corkery put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her toward him.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered as her head fell on his shoulder, this near stranger opening the release valve on the emotions she had kept under tight control since she had heard the news.

  She sobbed like she hadn’t since she was a child, all hope, all will having long ago drained away.

  Aboard the USS George H. W. Bush

  Carrier Strike Group Two, Off the Florida Coast

&n
bsp; Kane sat with the others in a quarantine room on the USS George H. W. Bush, but at least they were out of their bunny suits and had been able to shower. The ship hadn’t been to port since the initial release of the antiviral, and none of its crew had been either. In fact the entire fleet had been steaming back to its home port, exercises in Korea over.

  Niner was on a call with Dawson, and hung up the phone.

  “Well?”

  “They’re about to start interrogating Koslov, but he’s claiming only Fowler knows where the doctor is.”

  “Do they believe him?”

  “No, but the information might not be very forthcoming.”

  “Meaning not quick.” Kane shook his head then looked at Sherrie. “If we can’t get that intel soon, your dating scene is going to become a little lopsided.”

  Sherrie forced a smile, and he knew she was thinking about Leroux.

  “Those few of you that remain are going to be damned busy helping us women repopulate,” she said, managing a comeback.

  “Sign me up for some of that!” said Niner, who never seemed to be in a bad mood.

  Sherrie glanced at him.

  “They’ll probably just use artificial insemination. Start exercising your wrists.”

  Jimmy belted Niner in the shoulder with a shout of “Owned!” as Niner looked at his hands, giving each a tender kiss that had the room roaring with laughter as the phone on the wall buzzed for attention.

  Niner jumped and grabbed it, then turned to Kane.

  “For you, Special Agent Black.”

  Kane rose and took the phone.

  “Black here.”

  “Dylan, it’s me!”

  Kane immediately recognized Leroux’s voice, and the excitement in it immediately began to excite him.