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

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Biological decontamination complete. You may enter when ready.”

  Dawson motioned for Atlas to try the door.

  Atlas approached and pulled on the handle. The door swung open and he stepped inside. He looked through the window to his right and shook his head.

  “There’s nothing left of the guy, BD.”

  Dawson’s head dropped, his eyes closed as his heart filled with rage.

  When this is over, Fowler dies.

  Kane filled the syringe he had taken with water, then waited several minutes in the hallway, trying to clear his mind of the horror he had just witnessed. He had seen men die in battle, bodies torn apart by explosives, but had never seen a body burnt alive by a machine with a sexy voice, doing its programmed job. That was a first. He had killed with weapons, he had killed with drones, but there had always been someone, somewhere, behind the controls.

  He punched the wall then stormed back in the room.

  “What’s the genetic sequence the antiviral is targeting?”

  “Go to hell! I want immunity before I tell you anything.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time. People are dying.”

  “You’ve got all the time in the world, because I’m not saying a word until I have my pardon in writing, signed by the damned President himself.”

  “You’ll get it, but we need that information now. We can’t wait for the damned red tape.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  Kane pulled the syringe from his pocket and dropped down beside Fowler.

  “You want to play it that way, then fine.” He plunged the syringe into the man’s leg and pushed down on the plunger. He then yanked it out and tossed it down the hallway. “Now you’re infected too, just like the rest of them.”

  Fowler’s eyes shot wide open, and he paled as the blood drained from his face.

  And Kane knew what he needed to know in that one instant.

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  Leif Morrison sat at a chair in the operations center, listening to the exchange over the comms. His eyes were closed, his hands were pulling at his thinning hair, and he wondered what the hell could go wrong next. He had already put out the request for the presidential pardon, and would probably have it inside of the hour, but like Kane said, time was of the essence.

  “Overseer, Thunderbolt. It’s men, over!”

  “Thunderbolt, Overseer. Repeat your last transmission, over.”

  “It’s men. The antiviral is targeting men!”

  Morrison jumped up and rushed over to the station communicating with Kane, ripping the headset off the startled woman.

  “This is Morrison. Can you confirm that?”

  “Sir, I injected him with the antiviral and he got scared. Too scared. There’s no way he’d have Dr. Urban create an antiviral that could affect him, unless he was going for something so big, it had to affect him. He’s targeting all men. That’s the only way to explain why he’s terrified right now.”

  “So this is a guess?”

  “Yes sir, let’s call it a damned strong hunch.”

  “You better pray you’re right.”

  “Already praying, sir.”

  “Good work, son. I’ll pass the intel along.”

  Morrison turned to Dr. Kapp who was just ending a call from his cellphone.

  “I’ve passed the information to our team. They already had a test compound prepared in the event it was just men. All we need now is to test it on humans.”

  Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Katherine sat by Stanley’s bedside, holding the man’s limp hand. He had been given the injection several hours ago, but there had been no improvement. He was just too far gone. Only feet away Dr. Corkery was checking Richard’s vitals manually, not willing to trust the monitors, looking for any sign of recovery, but so far there had been none.

  Stanley’s monitor flat lined, his chest falling one last time. Corkery rushed around the bed, calling for a crash cart when Katherine waved him off.

  “Leave him be. He held on as long as he could. Let him rest in peace now.”

  “But the compound? It might work!”

  “Not on him. The antiviral had destroyed too much of his system already.” She turned to Richard. “Let’s hope he shows some signs of improvement soon.”

  She shifted her chair to Richard’s bedside, and waited, the entire ward now quiet, the women who had initially occupied it now all dead, the men now arriving all quite aware of what was being tested, all remaining as silent as they could as if any noise might cause the potential cure to fail.

  Katherine’s eyes blurred as they stared at the monitor, unblinking. The heart rate was steady but slow, the blood pressure low, too low. His breathing was labored, and there was no doubt he was in the final stages of the disease.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Look!”

  She woke with a start, still sitting in the chair, her body leaning against the gurney, Corkery still standing on the other side, apparently having not budged.

  She looked at the time on the monitor, realizing she had been asleep for at least an hour.

  “What?” she asked, standing up, then she saw the answer.

  Richard’s heart rate was up ten points, his blood pressure up to 100 over 60, a little low but safe.

  “I’ve taken a blood sample to see if we can get an antiviral count, see how much improvement there has been, but it looks very promising.”

  Katherine’s head tipped upward, a silent prayer going through her head when she heard a moan. Katherine leaned over Richard as his eyes fluttered open, something that hadn’t happened since hours before they began treatment.

  “Don’t try to talk, you’ve got breathing tubes in. Just nod or shake your head, okay?”

  Richard nodded slowly.

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  He nodded.

  “Would you like some water?”

  He nodded.

  Katherine took a wet sponge and placed it against Richard’s lips, squeezing a few drops out to moisten his dry mouth. She placed the sponge to a nearby tray then looked at the monitors. His heart rate was now normal, his blood pressure normal.

  Corkery leaned over so Richard could see him.

  “Do feel well enough for me to remove the breathing tube?”

  Richard nodded, a little more emphatically this time.

  Corkery held his back up as Katherine loosened the tape holding the tubes in place.

  “Just cough when I say so, and they’ll be out in no time, okay?”

  Another nod.

  “Okay, ready? Now cough.”

  Richard coughed as Katherine pulled the tubes out in one swift motion, Richard then gasping for his own breath, his body taking over completely, the assistance of the machines now gone.

  And he immediately seemed to appear stronger.

  “Water!” he croaked, and Katherine gave him a glass, Richard managing to handle it on his own, his Adam’s apple bobbing greedily as he sucked down the water. Katherine pulled it away from him.

  “That’s enough or you’ll get sick.”

  Richard frowned, still eying the glass as it was put out of reach.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Did you find a cure?”

  Corkery nodded, smiling through his hazmat suit.

  “It would appear so. You’re the first person to be cured. At least we assume you’re cured. We’ll know for sure in a few hours.”

  “I feel fantastic, at least compared to before. I still feel weak, but a normal weakness, if you know what I mean. Like you’re supposed to feel after a bad flu. Better, but like shit if you’ll pardon my French.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good,” said Katherine as she began to check his eyes, ears and throat, everything as expected.

  “What about Stan?” Richard asked, pushing himself up so he could see to the next bed. “Why’s the curtain closed?” he asked, his v
oice subdued, cracking.

  “I’m sorry, Richard, but your friend didn’t make it. He was just too far along. He tried as hard as he could, but the antiviral had just progressed too far for his body to recover. He died less than two hours ago.”

  Richard dropped back on the bed, his eyes filling with tears as he looked away in shame. Then his shoulders began to shake. Katherine pulled her hood off and peeled the gloves off her hands, taking Richard’s hand in her now bare hands, squeezing gently, providing him with the first human touch he had felt since the ordeal began, her own tears rolling down her cheeks as the end might finally be near.

  CDC Briefing area, New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Mr. President, we have good news,” began Katherine. “Of the two patients, one survived, and his blood has been cleared of the antiviral. He has been cured, Mr. President.”

  Katherine couldn’t contain the excitement, and apparently neither could those listening in at the White House as cheers erupted from the other end, the CDC personnel and LSU hospital staff already having just finished their own hugging and kissing and cheering fest.

  When things died down, the President asked the exact proper question.

  “And the other man?”

  “He was too far gone to save, Mr. President. We don’t believe it is any indication of the effectiveness of the compound provided by BioDyne, simply the limitation of the human body.”

  “And how quickly can we begin to administer this compound?”

  “Mr. President, Dr. Kapp here from BioDyne, perhaps I can speak to that.” The monitor switched focus to the still remarkably kempt gentleman. “We took a risk that the compound would work, and began production before we had confirmation of the genetic sequence targeted. It was a risk that could have cost us millions, but it appears to have paid off. Due to this, the first vials of the compound are ready to ship already. Now that we have confirmation it works, we have already begun to license production facilities around the world to begin production. As they come online over the coming days, there should be enough injectable and aerosolized compound to treat the major centers within two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Won’t that mean potentially millions dead?”

  “No, sir, only if the infection continues unchecked. Remember, once infected, it takes ten days for symptoms to show up, then about one day for the patient to succumb. We have tens of thousands of cases across the country right now. We will have enough serum to treat these people, we will just need to get it delivered.”

  “How can we help?”

  “We’ve contracted FedEx, UPS and pretty much every major courier company to begin delivery to every major city in the country. They are already picking up the initial batches as we speak. We need you, Mr. President, to open the airports to these planes.”

  “Consider it done,” said the President with a snap of his fingers, somebody running past the camera behind him. “Anything else?”

  “The courier companies might need military escorts on the ground.”

  “Done.”

  “And we’ll need the Air Force to begin spraying as soon as possible. This will essentially nip this in the bud after we have saved the initial waves of infected.”

  “And when can we declare ourselves free of this thing?”

  “It could be years before it is completely wiped out, but continued spraying and then treatment of those who get sick should keep casualties to a minimum. But, Mr. President.”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Well, I hesitate to say this, but the cost will be substantial. Potentially in the hundreds of billions.”

  “Understood, Doctor. You’ll get your money.” The President stood up, the person controlling his camera refocusing. “This is excellent news ladies and gentlemen. I thank you for all your hard work and dedication. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a scared and tired nation to address.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Katherine as she sank into her chair, the teleconference ended. She turned to Corkery and Johnston.

  “So, who’s buying the beer?”

  Corkery shrugged.

  “I don’t know, who cried last?”

  Katherine sighed.

  “Fine, you win. I’m buying. And I plan on getting plenty drunk. And with how tired I am, that should be about one beer. Two tops.”

  Eglin AFB, Florida

  Outbreak Day #15

  Dylan Kane sipped his beer, the ice cold beverage a welcome respite, he having gone nonstop for days now. The Delta Team Bravo guys were scattered throughout the lounge, and Sherrie sat at the opposite end of the couch he occupied. Everyone was drinking, but it was quiet, the mood somber. Distribution of the vaccine or compound or whatever they were calling it had begun almost two days ago now, and patients were recovering all around the country, but thousands were too far gone for it to help.

  In the end it was expected that tens of thousands will have died, but the world will have been saved. The man behind it, Scott Fowler, was placed unprotected in an infected isolation ward so he could see what he had done. Unfortunately he had become infected. The President had decided Fowler would be the last to receive the compound, meaning he was essentially dead.

  And Kane had delighted in informing the mass murderer of this.

  The door opened, and Lt. Colonel Chernov entered. The room stood to the superior rank, and Chernov waved them off. Kane and Dawson approached him.

  “Gentlemen, I will take my leave of you now.”

  “Back to Russia?” asked Kane.

  “Eventually. Your government has agreed to honor the Presidential amnesty, and I will take my comrade to some place hot where he can enjoy his final days.”

  Kane nodded, regretting slightly he had been forced to shoot the man in the knees, especially now that he knew the man was terminal, his last few months now to be spent in a wheelchair.

  But he did help a mass murderer.

  Kane’s conscience was clear.

  Handshakes were exchanged, then Sherrie joined them.

  “I’m going to head back to Langley. There’s someone there I need to hug.”

  Kane smiled.

  “Say hi to Chris for me.”

  “I will,” she said, giving Kane a hug, then a handshake to Dawson. “It was a pleasure working with you, Sergeant Major.”

  “Any time, Agent.”

  Sherrie turned to Kane.

  “And what about you?”

  “Oh, I’ve got some cigars to deliver.”

  “Cigars? Where the hell did you find time to buy cigars?”

  “Buy them? I liberated them before the compound in Cuba decided to try and light them.”

  “And just who’s getting these contraband cigars?”

  Kane winked.

  “I’ll never tell.”

  Detective Laprise’s Apartment, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Isabelle shut the door and locked it, tossing her keys and purse on the kitchen counter and stepping out of her shoes. She peeled herself from her clothes as she stumbled toward the bedroom, exhausted, it having been all hands on deck since the outbreak had begun. Now with things calming down and the quarantine lifted, the city was starting to return to normal.

  She looked forward to her first regular old murder tomorrow.

  Naked save her bra and panties, she turned toward the bathroom when something caught her eye. She spun toward the bed and saw a brown, wooden box, polished to a brilliant sheen, with a red rose and a yellow piece of paper, folded, sitting on her pillow.

  Her heart leapt as she jumped toward the bed, bouncing on it as she grabbed the note, unfolding it.

  “Isabelle, I had a wonderful time. And as promised, these are on me. D.”

  Isabelle opened the box and laughed, a dozen Cuban cigars save one, sitting in the velvet lined interior. She snapped the box shut, then dared to call out his name.

  “Dylan?”

  But there was no answer. She rose and searched the apartment, but knew all along she wouldn’t find
him hiding, lying in wait to surprise her.

  They weren’t meant to be.

  He was a spy, serving his country in God knows what hellhole, a man meant to be alone, attachments merely baggage that could be used against him, or worse, distract him in those moments when every split second counted.

  Instead, for her, he was to remain a memory, a wonderful memory, of a man who didn’t exist, who had never parachuted into a quarantined city with no thought of his own safety, who had saved the world and received no thanks for it.

  And who would be remembered by her for the rest of her days.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always many people were involved in one way or the other. I’d like to thank them in no particular order. The real Chris Leroux for spit balling this idea with me. The real Isabelle Laprise for her support through my career and finding those typos that all those eyes still missed! The real Fred Newton, the biggest Jag fan I know, who tried valiantly to change my opinion. In your honor, Fred, I let this one drive away successfully. The real Greg “Chief” Michael, who gently pressured me to finish this book, and swore up and down he’d never read a vampire book. I “gently” pressured him to read my book The Turned and though he’s not a Twilighter now, he’s at least become a fan of the Zander Varga series.

  Others to thank include Leanne MacLeod for helping me navigate the streets of Washington, DC, Brent Richards and Ian Kennedy for their advice on some military technical terms and NBC gear, and of course thanks to my official researcher, my dad, who I now think longs for his old air force days where the workload was lighter.

  And one last thing. I’m constantly asked when the next book is coming out. Visit my website at www.jrobertkennedy.com then sign up for the Insiders Club. You’ll get emails about new book releases, new collections, sales, etc. Only an email or two a month tops, I promise!