“Well, I know you care about your parents, that’s obvious by how their tiny apartment is decked out. So, just to make sure they remain safe, I’ve had them picked up.” Koslov’s head darted up and he glared at Chernov for a brief instance. “Just to make sure nothing happens to them.”
That did it.
Koslov leaned forward.
“Nothing better happen to them, or I’ll kill you.”
Chernov smiled, then pointed at Koslov’s knees.
“You’ll have to drag yourself on your bloody stumps in order to reach me.” He leaned forward and wiped all friendliness off his face. “Let’s cut the bullshit. The world is dying out there. If we can’t stop it, your parents are probably going to die anyway. I don’t care how much money you were trying to earn to secure their retirement, there will be nothing left to live for.”
“That’s not the plan.”
So there’s a plan!
“Why don’t you tell me what the plan is?”
Koslov sighed.
“Fowler is going to release the information you need to stop the plague in three days.”
“By then hundreds of millions could be infected, millions dead.”
“That’s the idea. It will motivate governments to act.”
“To act on what?”
“Haven’t you figured this out yet?”
“Consider me stupid, Anton. What the hell is going on? What is this all about?”
“Money!”
“What?”
“Money! Stock prices! The almighty dollar!”
“What?”
“Fowler has billions in BioDyne stock. He wants more. Billions aren’t enough, not if you want true power. You need tens of billions. He strings BioDyne along with minor outbreaks, threatening a major one if they go to the authorities. They’re terrified, so they don’t go, paying his minor ransoms, and all along they are thinking it is a crazed former employee, Dr. Urban. It never occurs to them that it is one of their own behind this.
“His spies on the inside keep him informed of BioDyne’s progress, and when they finally have developed an aerosolized compound that can neutralize the antiviral, he springs the major outbreak, piggybacked on a minor one, so they are distracted by the minor outbreak, which flares quicker, while the major outbreak spreads around the world. Only it’s targeted much broader, so broad the governments will have no choice but to pay whatever price he asks for the cure.
“Only he doesn’t need to ask. BioDyne, innocent in all of this, will offer up the cure, at cost plus the padding that any company will add, all they need is the final piece of the puzzle, which Fowler is releasing in three days. At that point the dead and dying will be in the many millions, and the antiviral will have spread around the world. BioDyne will sweep in and save the day, their stock price will go through the roof when the markets reopen, and Fowler will sell his stock at a massive profit over the coming months. He will be incredibly rich, cash rich, my parents will be taken care of for life, and I will die in a nice corner of the world on a beach somewhere without a care in the world.
“At least that’s what was supposed to happen.”
“What changed it?”
“You guys figured out it was Fowler. You were supposed to think it was Dr. Urban and Fowler would be kept clean in this entire affair.”
“There’s always a kink in every plan.”
Koslov nodded, blowing air out of his mouth, puffing his lips out in the effort.
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s over, Anton. Give us the location of Fowler and Urban, and you can walk away from this. I promise you your parents will be taken care of, and you can go to that beach.”
Koslov shook his head.
“I can’t believe that. You know I lost faith in my country years ago. I don’t believe they’ll keep their word.”
Chernov sat up in his chair, leaning toward Koslov.
“Listen my friend. If Moscow doesn’t receive a call from me in the next thirty minutes that you are cooperating, they will kill your father, in front of your mother, in a most hideous way.”
Koslov looked at Chernov, horror written all over his face.
“No. I don’t believe it. They wouldn’t!”
“They would, and they will. The world is desperate, my friend. They—I—will stop at nothing to end this. So what is it going to be? The life of your parents, or a payday for them that won’t matter?”
Koslov dropped his head on the table, covering his eyes with his palms, his fingers squeezing his scalp. He threw his head up suddenly, dropping his arms.
“Pen. Paper. Before I change my mind.”
Fisher Island, Miami, Florida
Outbreak Day #13
Dawson crouched behind the rear wall surrounding the waterfront estate in Miami. To say this place was spectacular would be to insult it. He had only seen places like this in the movies, and part of him had never thought they actually existed. The house, or mansion, was massive, well lit, heavily windowed, and therefore hard to approach without detection.
And standing inside, sipping a glass of wine while working on a laptop, was one Scott Fowler, former VP at BioDyne Pharma, and the most wanted man in the world right now.
Dawson turned to Kane.
“Your show, ready?”
“Not today. You take it. I have to go check on something.”
And with that he disappeared around the corner, leaving Dawson a little surprised.
He shrugged his shoulders.
CIA. Always loners.
He activated his comm.
“Bravo Team, Bravo One. Prepare to go on my signal, over.” He climbed up the few rungs of the combat ladder, standing at the top so he could simply flip over the wall rather than have to scale it. “Overseer, Bravo One. Proceed with operation, over.”
“Bravo One, Overseer. Proceeding, over.”
It took a moment, but suddenly the entire island was bathed in darkness.
He quickly cleared the wall and flipped over to the other side, the rest of the team following suit. As he sprinted for the house he could hear a backup generator starting up, and lights began to flicker back on just as he slammed into the wall beside the deck, only feet from a door leading into the kitchen.
“Bravo Team, Bravo One. Sound off if in position, over.”
The entire team confirmed their objectives acquired.
“Niner here, I’ve got eyes on target, he’s still in living area but he’s on his feet. Looks like he’s wondering what happened. He’s approaching the window now.”
“Charge in place?” asked Dawson.
“Affirmative.”
“Blow it.”
“Roger that.”
There was a muffled sound to his right, accompanied by the shattering of glass as a shaped charge took out just the window, but not the target behind it. He rushed toward Niner’s position and found him already through the window, chasing Fowler around the corner.
The man’s fast!
Dawson ran after them and found Niner banging on a door moments later.
“What the hell happened?”
“It must be some sort of safe room. He went through and this damned door just shot up from the floor, damned near took my head off!”
“Blow it,” ordered Dawson.
“Are you sure? We don’t know what’s on the other side, or how thick that damned thing is,” replied Niner as he tapped on the metal. “I’m liable to kill him.”
Dawson kicked the door, the substantial quality of it evident by the tone it replied with.
“Dammit.”
“Okay, let’s get some cutting equipment in here. The rest of you search the place, top to bottom, and secure the outside, I don’t want him walking out of here through some secret exit.”
It didn’t take long for the cutting equipment to arrive from just down the street, this contingency planned for, and within minutes two Miami SWAT team members were cutting at the door.
“BD, I’v
e got something down here!”
It was Red, and he sounded excited.
“Where are you?”
“Basement.”
“On my way.”
Dawson headed for the basement, the plans for the house memorized. At least the official plans filed with the city. That safe room wasn’t on them. He rushed down the stairs and into the basement, but it wasn’t just a basement. He had seen basements, in fact, he had seen some spectacularly finished basements. This however looked like any other level of the house.
Man, the rich really are in another world.
“Over here!” he heard Red’s voice call. He followed it and found Red standing outside a door with Atlas. Dawson joined them and looked in to find Niner and Jimmy examining a woman who appeared to have been locked in the room, the door jamb splintered from where one of his men had kicked it open.
Dawson immediately recognized her.
“Mrs. Urban?”
She looked at him and nodded, her tear filled eyes accompanied by a look of relief at finally being rescued.
“My children?”
Dawson knelt in front of her.
“My name is Sergeant Major White. I’m with the United States military. Your children are safe and being taken care of by Canadian authorities.”
“Oh thank God!” she cried, her shoulders slumping as her chest heaved as sobs of joy and relief overtook her.
“Do you know where your husband is?”
She nodded.
“He should be in the lab, at the end of the hall.”
Dawson heard Atlas head down the hall.
“Locked door here, boss!”
“Check it for booby-traps, then open it.”
“It should be safe, I go in there all the time.”
“We’ll just double check it to be sure,” said Dawson, standing up. “Get her out of here, I don’t trust this place won’t turn out to be a repeat of Cuba.”
Niner nodded, helping Melissa Urban to her feet. Standing, she immediately hugged Niner, then Jimmy and finally Dawson.
“Thank you,” she managed between sobs. “Thank you so much.”
Dawson smiled at her, then motioned for her to be taken outside to the waiting EMT vehicles where she could get proper medical attention.
“Door looks clear, BD,” said Atlas as Dawson approached.
“Go ahead.”
Atlas tried the handle, and the door proved to be unlocked. He pushed the door open as they all stood to the side.
Nothing.
The door swung open, revealing a stark white interior. It was clearly a medical facility, and as Dawson stepped inside, weapon raised, a glass wall directly ahead of them revealed a fantastically equipped lab if he ever saw one, and one lone man working inside, oblivious to the company he now had. He was in a hazmat suit with a self-contained breathing apparatus, and his back was now to them.
Dawson tapped on the glass with the barrel of his Glock.
The man turned around and nearly dropped the vial he was holding.
Dawson pressed the Talk button on an intercom located on the wall by the door into the isolation chamber.
“Doctor Urban I presume?”
Kane sat on the deck of the cigarette boat, his Glock in one hand, the other resting on the gunwale holding a pair of handcuffs, the waves gently rocking the craft from side to side. It was peaceful. Quiet, the private dock as isolated as one could get on the water in Miami. And with the entire island still bathed in darkness from the power shutdown, only those homes with backup generators spoiled the darkness. He had monitored the communications and knew that the mission hadn’t gone as planned, Fowler too fast for them. It was a contingency he had planned on, and indeed had expected. And now Fowler was locked inside some sort of panic room.
Which Kane didn’t buy for a second.
Panic rooms were meant for innocent people who needed to delay their potential attackers until the police arrived. Fowler was a mass murderer, who would plan far ahead of just waiting for police to arrive. He would have an escape plan, just like there was in Cuba for his double.
The sound of the rippling water was broken, the calm disturbed by something breaking the surface. Kane checked his weapon, but remained seated. A hand clasped the metal rung that ran the entire perimeter of the boat, then another. A man’s head appeared as he pulled himself into the boat, flopping onto the deck, gasping for breath.
Kane stood and aimed the gun at the man’s chest.
“Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Fowler.”
Fowler’s eyes shot wide open and he rolled quickly to his feet, holding something too small to be a gun in his left hand.
“Don’t move,” he said as he edged his way toward the side of the boat.
“That’s my line,” said Kane, keeping a bead on the man’s chest.
“Let me go, or Dr. Urban dies.”
“Is that what you have there?” asked Kane, motioning to Fowler’s hand with his chin. “A detonator of some kind?”
“Something like that. Just let me go, and Urban lives. Try to arrest me, and he dies.”
“You know I can’t let you go.”
“Yes you can. The necessary information will be automatically emailed in three days. You’ll have what you need for your cure.”
“By then millions could have died.”
“Not my problem.”
“Why continue with this? You won’t see any of the money. Your stocks will be seized before the markets open. There’s no way you’re going to see a penny of this.”
Fowler shook his head, his expression almost one of pity.
“You’re so naïve. You have no idea of how money works. When you have it, you’re immune to the laws of man. Go ahead and seize my stock. It doesn’t matter. I have identities created all around the world that will capitalize on this situation, providing me with far more than the pittance the stock in BioDyne was going to give me. And by the time you would figure out those identities, I’ll be long gone with a new face, living a life people like you couldn’t even imagine.”
Kane smiled.
“It’s pretty hard to spend money when you’re dead.”
Fowler shrugged his shoulders.
“And again I say you won’t kill me, because you need me.”
“Actually, I don’t need you, I need Dr. Urban.”
Kane squeezed the trigger.
“How do you open the door?” asked Dawson through the intercom.
Dr. Urban waved his hands.
“No! No! No! Don’t touch it. He has to enter a code to let me out. Basically I’m locked in here twenty-four seven.” He pointed to a cot in the corner of the lab. “I usually have to sleep here.”
“What happens if we open the door?”
“Bad things.”
Dawson was about to ask Urban to expand upon that when he heard a noise behind him.
“What the hell?”
It was Niner who got in the first comment.
Kane entered the room, dragging a bloodied but breathing Scott Fowler along the floor. He tossed Fowler at his feet.
“Found something you were looking for.”
Dawson shook his head.
“Do you shoot every prisoner you have?”
Kane shrugged.
“Only if they deserve it.”
“Uh huh.”
“He had a remote detonator for this place, I had to take him out, so I shot him in the shoulder. He’ll live, and without a working arm, he wasn’t able to operate the thumb necessary to fry the good doctor.”
Dawson looked down at Fowler.
“Dr. Urban says you have a code to let him out of the lab.”
Fowler nodded.
“What is it?”
“You really expect me to give it to you?”
“If you want to live through the night, yes.”
Kane pointed his weapon at Fowler’s chest.
“Now that we have the Doctor, we don’t need you.”
“I’ll te
ll you everything you need to know!” cried the Doctor through the intercom. “Just get me out of here!”
“Fine!” shouted Fowler. “But I want immunity.”
“Done,” said Dawson. “Now open the door.”
Fowler tried to stand, but was too weak. He pointed at the keypad with his good hand.
“Six-seven-four-one-eight, then press the green button.”
Dawson stepped over to the pad. “Repeat the code.”
“Six-seven-four-one-eight,” repeated Fowler as Dawson entered each number as given. He pressed the green button.
A red light began to spin in the center of the lab and over the door, an alarm sounding. Urban shouted, rushing for the door, pounding on it as the recorded voice of a woman was heard over a PA system.
“Biological decontamination procedure commencing. Complete decontamination in ten, nine, eight…”
The countdown continued as Dawson stepped back.
“What the hell did you just do!” yelled Dawson as he stepped on Fowler’s wounded shoulder.
“I just improved my negotiating position.”
“How do I stop it?”
“You can’t.”
“Five…four…three…”
Dawson hit the button for the intercom.
“Doctor, what is the antiviral targeting?”
“Two…One…”
“It’s targeting—”
“Commencing biological decontamination.”
Flames shot from every direction as gas was pumped into the room and ignited, fueling a blaze that consumed anything alive or that had been alive. Urban’s face pressed against the glass for several seconds as they watched in horror, his screams silent as the intercom was automatically shut off.
“Biological decontamination cleansing complete. Testing for biological organisms.” There was a pause. “None detected.”
Kane shook his head, grabbing a syringe off a nearby table and storming from the room. Dawson’s boot continued to grind into Fowler’s shoulder, his toe forcing the man’s face toward the glass so he could see his handiwork.
The view suddenly cleared as the smoke was sucked out of the room and a gentle spray of water washed everything down, draining into the floor grates. Air blasted the lab dry as it was refilled with oxygen. The red lights stopped flashing, leaving a pristine lab, ready for the next scientist to move in.
Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2) Page 28
