by Bob Mayer
Biotech Engineering
_12:56 P.M._ After reaching the dirt road, Ward had turned south, heading down to Route 64 and then following that up to the lab. Going that way instead of cross-country had saved a considerable amount of time. Ward had ignored the few questions that the Special Forces soldier asked when they first started out, and the rest of the trip had been made in silence. He was busy thinking, trying to figure out how the collars could have been cut off. He had to acknowledge the growing possibility that someone had survived the break-in. It would explain several of the more unusual factors they'd discovered so far. But the Synbats must have gotten away from that person, since there were no human tracks where they'd found the collars. But if no humans were present, how were the collars cut off? Ward was still grappling with that problem when they turned into the lab parking lot. Two plain white vans with government plates had joined the other three vehicles there. The vans were unmarked and had tinted windows in the front, preventing him from looking in the vehicles. Ward told the soldier to stay with the helicopters and he entered the building. Merrit was still at her position behind the counter. A tall man wearing unmarked khaki pants and shirt was with her. Ward didn't recognize the stranger. The man had dark hair flecked with gray, and a patrician face. His bearing and stance immediately suggested to Ward that this man was military. Merrit and the stranger turned from the portable computer and faced Ward as he strode in. Merrit stood up and gestured. "Doctor Ward, this is Mister Lewis. He's -- " The man interrupted in a voice accustomed to command. "That's _Colonel_ Lewis. I'm the DIA chief of CONUS security. I just flew in from Washington to Fort Campbell by military flight along with my team and our vans. My men are downstairs right now sweeping up." Ward wondered what Lewis meant by "sweeping up." But he didn't have time to waste -- he needed to get back out into the woods. Ward stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you. You'll excuse me if I don't have time to talk with you right now. I have to get our tranquilizer rifles and go back out." Lewis didn't shake the offered hand. "Slow down, Doctor. I thought the creatures were terminated by remote detonation." "We did do that, but we just found the collars out in the woods and no bodies. It looks like the collars were somehow cut off prior to detonation. The Synbats are still alive. The soldiers and your man Freeman are tracking them. Now, if..." Ward paused. Four men carrying a body bag pushed open the doors to the corridor and walked by with their bundle. Lewis watched as the two men went outside and threw the bag into the back of a van. One of the men got into the pickup truck and the two vehicles drove off. Lewis turned his attention back to Ward. "Doctor Merrit has filled me in on what she knows. Perhaps you'd better give me your version, and then tell me what's presently going on out there in the woods." Ward shook his head. "I've got to get back out there. The -- " Lewis held up a hand. "Doctor, let me explain something to you. This may have been your lab but I'm in charge here now. You've got a fuckup on your hands and my job is to clean up the mess. Freeman knows to kill those things if he spots them. In fact, he made a mistake by even allowing you to think we'd let you tranquilize them. Those things have already killed. If they attack some civilian, it will make the situation that much worse. Just their existence being discovered is unacceptable." The colonel poked a finger in Ward's chest. "Listen closely. This is the way it's going to work from here on out. I've already explained it to Doctor Merrit. _I_ ask the questions. _You_ give the answers. I tell you what to do. You do it without question." He stared hard at Ward. "If you have a problem with that, you can pick up the phone and call General Trollers. Let me warn you before you do that, though, that you're not a very popular person with the general right now. Congress is looking to kill the Black Budget programs, and your screwup here could hand them the scalpel they need." "This wasn't my fault," Ward defended himself. "Those people -- whoever they were -- broke in and tried to steal the Synbats. The security -- " "Those _people_," Lewis interrupted, "were three convicts from Eddyville State Prison who escaped last night. We have a positive ID on the remains. We're holding that information from the local authorities because they're our ace in the hole in case your creatures do some more damage out there in the real world. Those bodies not being discovered gives us a very convenient cover story." Ward seemed stunned. "But what about the security guard?" "I don't know about that yet," Lewis admitted. "Those convicts had to have gotten down here from Eddyville somehow. Maybe they had someone else with them. I don't know. I've got people checking on that right now. "We haven't had a chance to analyze everything yet, so we don't know what happened, but we'll worry about that when we get this thing under control." Lewis sat on the edge of the desk. "Now. That helicopter isn't going anywhere until I say so. And I'm not going to say so until I know what's happening. So. Fill me in." * * * *
Route 139, North of the Tennessee Border
_1:08 P.M._ Kentucky State Trooper Mike Truscott had his service revolver lying in his lap ready for use as he slowly cruised down the road. The manhunt for the escapees from Eddyville was concentrated along the interstate, but Truscott had been detached to check out the area in the vicinity of the Land Between the Lakes. All morning he'd cruised the entire length of the Trace, the road running up the middle of the LBL, and now he was moving east, closer to the suspected path of the escapees. People in the local area were very nervous, because two of the three escapees -- Billy Hill and Chico Lopez -- were convicted murderers. As Truscott topped a small rise, he spotted tire tracks rolling off the hard tar into mud on the right side of the road. He slowed and pulled to a halt, peering off to the left where the back side of a van was visible through the trees. He called in his location and the situation, grabbed his shotgun, and exited the patrol car. The back doors of the van were shut and the windows blacked out, so he edged around the driver's side, muzzle of the shotgun leading. He stepped up, pointing the gun directly at the glass, and stared in. A woman was in the driver's seat, staring directly ahead, her hands gripping the wheel. Truscott would later tell his buddies over a few beers that it appeared she was still driving the van in her mind, because her hands were twitching on the steering wheel, trying to maneuver as if she saw a turn in the road. Truscott tapped on the glass with the shotgun; the woman ignored him. He'd seen many victims in shock after accidents but never anything quite like this. Putting down the shotgun, he grabbed the panel door and slid it open. He lunged for his shotgun as the body of an overweight man rolled out the door onto the wet grass. * * * *
Vicinity Lake Barkley
_1:23 P.M._ Williams Hollow ran northeast from Lake Barkley. After twenty minutes, the team had reached the end of the draw, where the tracks had turned north. They'd been following them in this direction for fifteen minutes. Riley was impressed with the tracking job Trovinsky was doing. The wet ground obviously helped, but in places the trail traversed old leaves or rocky areas and Trovinsky was still able to stay on track. They were walking along the edge of a ridge when Trovinsky halted. He turned and signaled for Riley to come up. "What do you have?" Trovinsky indicated some matted grass at the base of a tree. "They must have slept here for a while." Trovinsky edged around the tree with Riley following. He pointed at some droppings. "Now we'll get an idea of how long ago they were here." Trovinsky poked at the feces with his knife and the lumps broke apart. "I'd say they were here not more than two hours ago. This hasn't had a chance to harden much yet. I've followed deer when I bow hunt and use the same method to tell how far behind I am." Trovinsky cleaned his knife on some leaves and resheathed it. "I would assume that monkey shit works pretty much the same as deer shit." Riley signaled for the team to come in. "Looks like they rested here. They're less than two hours ahead. Let's tighten it up a bit. I want to move in an inverted V with Trovinsky at the point. I'll be his swing man." Riley pointed at Freeman. "You follow right behind me, about ten feet back." Riley was a little nervous about his men having live ammunition. He trusted them, but he also knew from hard experience that it's just as easy to get killed by friendly fire as enemy. Bullets didn't care if y
ou were a good guy or a bad guy. Riley was encouraged that eight of the men had seen duty during Operation Desert Storm and knew how to play the game for real. Riley addressed the team before starting off again. "Make sure if you shoot that you have a clear field of fire. I don't want anyone firing on three-round burst. Semi only. I know I probably don't have to say this, but do not fire across the formation." He peered around the group. "Any questions? All right. Let's move out." At that moment a distant chattering in the air grabbed his attention. Shit, Riley thought. Terrible timing. He gestured. "Philips and Carter. Head on back to the stream and follow it to the lake. There should be an open area there. Bring the bird down and then guide the doctor and T-bone up here. On the double." The two men backtracked at a trot. Riley was now down to seven men, eight counting Freeman. He turned to the DIA agent. "You armed, sir?" Freeman pulled a snub-nose Colt from under his jacket. Riley was tempted to tell the major to be careful not to shoot himself. He contemplated taking his 9mm automatic from its shoulder holster under his fatigue shirt and giving it to the agent but decided against it. Instead he simply signaled for the team to move out. With Trovinsky in the lead, the team broke through the dense undergrowth. The great monkey hunt, Riley thought sarcastically. Riley had worked with some DIA people in Thailand in the early eighties on some so-called intelligence-gathering missions; he didn't have much respect for the military men in civilian clothes trying to play superspy. The DIA was the Pentagon's pooper-scooper. Too many of the men and women in the DIA came from regular military intelligence circles and, in Riley's opinion, lacked the flexibility in thinking necessary to conduct intelligence operations. They might be good working a desk, but some were disasters out in the real world. Traditional army mentality didn't jive with the curvilinear, inductive thinking often required to do good intelligence work. Certainly the DIA must have many good people, but Riley had had the misfortune to work with some of the bad ones. The DIA also tended to overemphasize security at the expense of operational necessity. This Freeman fellow wasn't giving them the whole story, and Riley didn't like that. Experience had taught him that uninformed people made mistakes. Riley diverted his attention from Trovinsky to briefly scan the rest of the team's positioning. Doc Seay was a comforting presence on his right. Riley could make out Barret, the junior engineer, breaking brush to the right of Seay. On Riley's left, Knutz was moving solidly through the woods, bulling his way through the undergrowth rather than slipping through as Riley was. Beyond Knutz, out of sight, Sgt. Martie Trustin and SSgt. Lou Caruso finished out the left wing of the wedge. Riley turned his attention back to Trovinsky in time to see the man stop abruptly and signal a halt. Riley raised his fist and passed the signal to the rest of the team. He patiently waited as Trovinsky quartered the ground in front, gradually increasing the radius of the search pattern. After ten minutes, Trovinsky turned to Riley. "The trail ends here." Riley looked around. "Then where are they?" Trovinsky pointed up. "They took to the trees." * * * *
2:14 P.M.
The party from the helicopter had tramped up from the beginning of Williams Hollow to the point where the monkeys had gone vertical. Ward seemed very subdued and Riley took an instant dislike to the DIA colonel. Lewis's first comment after Freeman's quick recount of events was to demand to know why they had stopped looking. Riley decided to step in at that point. "Look where, sir? There's no trail to follow up in the trees, and none of my men are Tarzan qualified. We need to bring in a bunch more bodies if we're going to sweep this area. Those monkeys could have gone in any direction once they went up." Lewis leveled his hard gaze at Riley. "You have any other brilliant observations to make, mister?" Riley held his temper. From behind him, Freeman interceded. "What about thermal imagery from the helicopters?" Lewis nodded. "That's a good idea. I'm sure some of the infantry units at Campbell have thermal sights that we'll be able to use." Lewis obviously is going to do whatever he wants, Riley thought. He'd be damned if he'd get into an argument with the man. Warrant officers didn't win many pissing contests with full colonels. Lewis made his command decision. "I'm going to have one of those helicopters go back and get some thermals. It's worth a shot." Trovinsky offered another alternative. "If we could get some search-and-rescue dogs, we might be able to find them." Lewis frowned. "If the monkeys are up in the trees, how can the dogs follow their trail?" Trovinsky shook his head. "Not all search-and-rescue dogs are trailing dogs, sir. Some use what's called winding. We put them downwind of the last known position, which is here, and the dogs do a search pattern until they pick up the scent, and then work upwind to the source. It's actually a lot quicker than trailing, because the dogs can head straight for the source once they pick up the scent rather than following a winding trail. The Montgomery County Sheriff's Department over by Clarksville has some dogs trained in that." Freeman threw in his two cents' worth. "We can call the sheriff's department and ask for their assistance." Riley could tell that Lewis didn't like the idea of calling in anyone else. The colonel seemed to be holding an internal debate. Lewis made his decision. He pulled out a Motorola radio from a shoulder holster and keyed the send button. "Search Base, this is Search Six. Over." The radio hissed. "This is Search Base. Over." "Call the DPTM at Fort Campbell and have him get some thermal sights ready for pickup. Then send Jameson back with one of the helicopters to get them. Also, contact the Montgomery County Sheriff's Department to get us some tracking dogs. Use the other bird to pick them up. Have Gottleib go on that one. I want the thermals brought back to the lab and the dogs brought straight out here. Over." "Roger. What should I tell the sheriff's department is the reason for the dogs? Over." "The goddamn federal government needs them, that's why. Out."
* * *
*Chapter 5* _Vicinity Lake Barkley_ _3:42 P.M._ While waiting for the dogs to arrive, CWO Dave Riley spent forty-five minutes trying to sort through the day's events. He was a methodical thinker who scrutinized every aspect of a situation, examining each detail from various perspectives. Then he'd try to reassemble the details so that the entire situation fit together and appeared clearly in his mind's eye. Except it wasn't working here. Riley could understand the concern about the possibility of a new strain of the VX virus getting loose via these monkeys. But he was puzzled by just about everything else he had seen today. The collars, the security setup at the lab, the vehicle in the parking lot with a retired enlisted sticker, the -- Riley's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an inbound Huey. He held his patrol cap in place as the helicopter settled down onto the knee-high grass bordering the terminus of Williams Hollow Creek. The side doors slid open and two county sheriffs hopped off, each one controlling a German shepherd on the end of a short chain. A third man got off, dressed in what Riley assumed to be the DIA's field uniform of khaki pants and bush jacket over a khaki shirt. The man was armed with an MP-5 submachine gun slung over his shoulder. The bird lifted and winged back in the direction of the lab. After briefly greeting the two law officers, Lewis gave the order for Riley to lead the entire party back to the last ground tracks of the monkeys, where Trovinsky and Caruso were standing by. Riley quickly led the way, his team automatically fanning out on either side of him. The dogs, their handlers, Lewis, Freeman, the third DIA man, and Ward tramped behind in the center. Once they reached the tree, the two sheriffs allowed their dogs to spend some time sniffing around the base and along the monkey tracks leading up to the tree. As soon as they got the scent, both dogs immediately started an agitated whining. "What's wrong with them?" Lewis demanded. The senior sheriff, identified as Douglas by his nameplate, shook his head as he tried to control his dog. "I don't know. I've never seen them like this. I guess it's because they've never smelled monkey before." "Are they going to be able to do the job?" Douglas nodded. "Yeah. They'll be all right." The two officers spent a few minutes calming their dogs, then both switched the short chain leashes for longer nylon ones. "All right. Let's go," Douglas called out. "The wind looks good, coming from the west, and the dogs are picking up the scent that way. Just keep you
r people downwind from us." Riley positioned his men with a few quick hand and arm signals. He followed as the two handlers moved the dogs out in a series of S-shaped movements, always coming back centered on a west-northwesterly heading. Riley pulled out his map as they moved. Another klick and they'd hit Lake Barkley. Nowhere for the monkeys to go then. He glanced around, making sure that his men were spread out and alert. Suddenly the left dog halted and started yipping furiously, straining backward on its leash. Riley slid the selector lever on his M16 to semiautomatic and signaled for the rest of the team to stay in place. He moved over to Douglas. "What's the matter?" Now the other dog joined in the same shrill barking. It made the hairs stand up on the back of Riley's neck. Douglas was pulling on the leash. "Don't know. They're smelling something they don't like." He yanked the dog forward. It slinked along, hackles raised. Riley scanned the bushes and trees in the immediate area. He gestured for Caruso and Philips to keep their eyes up in the trees as he moved with Douglas. The lead dog stopped, its nose pointed at something dark on the ground. Riley knelt next to it. It took a second for his brain to register what the object was: A few pieces of fur and a skull with tatters of flesh on it identified the carcass as that of a rabbit. A few feet away lay some dark lumps. Riley recognized them and signaled for Trovinsky to come forward. "That look the same as the last pile you found?" Trovinsky knelt down next to the feces. "Yeah. Same color and texture." He stood up and tapped them with his boot. "About two to four hours old, I'd say." "What do you make of the carcass?" Trovinsky reached forward to poke it with his finger. "I wouldn't do that," Riley advised. "Remember that if those monkeys ate this thing and they're carrying the virus, their saliva might be on the body." Trovinsky quickly pulled away his hand. He slid out his knife and poked with it. "Guess around two to four hours, like I said. Maybe more. Hard to tell. The body -- what's left of it -- looks cold. The blood is pretty dry." Riley looked around. Lewis, Freeman, and Ward, along with the other DIA agent, were clustered behind the team's skirmish line. The three DIA men had their weapons drawn and were looking around a little nervously. Seemed a bit of an overreaction to Riley. He noticed that Lewis had a massive .44 magnum revolver for his personal weapon; the new DIA man had the MP-5 in the ready position. Hell of a lot of firepower for a few monkeys. Riley turned his attention back to Douglas and nodded toward the dogs. "They always get like this over a dead rabbit?" Douglas shook his head and looked at his partner, Sheriff Lamb. "Pete, you ever seen these dogs act this way? They acted funny when they first got the scent." Lamb spit out a wad of tobacco. "Only time I seen Jake get stupid like this is when we ran across some panther tracks up in the Smokies last summer." Riley considered it. "Think it's just like you said earlier -- they've never smelled a monkey before?" Douglas shrugged. "Could be. Don't know." He jerked the chain. "Come on, Caesar. Let's get going." Lamb shook his head. Riley overheard him mutter to himself, "I'd say it's cause they're scared shitless." The sheriff forced his dog forward. Riley walked back to Ward. "We've got more feces and the body of a rabbit that looks like it's been stripped clean of almost all the meat. I didn't know monkeys ate meat." Ward glanced about nervously. "Monkeys are omnivorous. They eat whatever they can get." "You all probably want to scoop up that body to make sure that none of your virus is in it," suggested Riley. "Wouldn't do to have some other animal feed on it." Ward and Freeman put on surgical gloves and delicately placed the remains in a large freezer bag, then put the bag into Freeman's backpack. Once they were done, Riley gave the signal to move out again. They crossed an old dirt road and started heading downhill. According to the map, Riley could see that they were within a hundred meters of the lake. Through the trees he could make out small patches of sparkling light as the sun briefly broke through the heavy clouds and reflected off the water. He signaled for his team to tighten up the formation. With a final plunge, the dogs were out of the tree line and standing on the thin grass strip that bordered the lake. Both dogs were poised in the same position: nose up, leaning forward, pointing straight at the lake. The men assembled on the bank and collectively looked at Doctor Ward. Knutz voiced the thought they all seemed to have: "I thought you said they couldn't swim." Ward seemed preoccupied, staring across the dark water at the far bank, almost a kilometer and a half away. "They can't. At least I didn't think so. We never tested them on swimming. There's no way they could have made it over there by themselves, though." "Well, where are they then?" Lewis demanded. Riley went into his slow and steady thought mode. He wondered what Ward meant by never having "tested" the monkeys on swimming. "All right," Riley announced. "Everyone just back up off the shoreline. Trovinsky, I want you to take a look along the bank and see if you can find where they went in the water. If the dogs are smelling them across the water from here, they must have gone in either here or maybe somewhere upstream." Riley eyed the shimmering surface of the water. Lake Barkley was actually a dammed-up portion of the Cumberland River. The water didn't appear to be flowing in either direction, but from looking at the map, he could see that the Cumberland ran into the Tennessee River, which meant that the water in the lake was flowing from left to right. Riley gestured at Seay. "Doc, you and Caruso head down that way along the bank and see if you spot anything." As Riley waited for Trovinsky and the others to finish their search, he noticed the DIA men having another heated discussion with Doctor Ward. This is getting more and more curious, Riley thought. His reverie was interrupted by Doc Seay's call. Riley jogged the thirty meters to where Seay and Caruso were standing. "Check this out, chief." Riley followed Doc's finger. Someone or something had pulled a log off the bank into the water. The indent where the log had laid was clear, as were the drag marks leading down into the water. Tracks identical to the ones they had followed up to the tree were clearly impressed in the mud. "Pretty fucking smart monkeys," Caruso muttered. "You know what they say," Doc Seay offered. "Lock fifty monkeys in a room with fifty typewriters for fifty years and sooner or later one of them will write a play by Shakespeare." Riley shook his head. First the collars and now this. "Yeah, well it's been only twelve hours and we have only four monkeys. Let's see what the brain trust over there has to suggest now." Little goodwill was evident between Colonel Lewis and Doctor Ward. The two stood, separated from the others, staring out over the water. Lewis's radio beeped and he removed it from his belt. "Search Six. Over." "This is Search One. We've recovered the guard's body. We've also got a survivor from the attack at the lab. Kentucky State Police found them both in a van south of our location about three hours ago. A captain from the state police showed up here a half hour ago wanting to know what's going on. I took over both the woman and the body but they're plenty pissed at the secrecy. Over." Lewis gripped the radio tightly. "Do the locals have any idea what happened? Over." "Negative. The woman's in shock and out of it. Hasn't said a word. I told them she must have been with the escaped convicts and that they ransacked the lab here and must have taken the guard's body with them. I suggested that the guard getting killed in front of her is what put her into shock. I also told them we had nothing more here that could help them and that the facility was classified so they couldn't enter. I think they're satisfied that the convicts have moved on and left the woman behind. Over." Lewis relaxed slightly. "All right. Find out from the woman what happened. You know how to do that. I'll get back to you when I figure out what's going on out here. Call me immediately if any more locals show up. Out." Lewis slipped the radio back into his belt and looked at Ward. "Our cover is barely holding. If the Synbats are in this area, they're relatively isolated. We need to get back to the lab and get reorganized."
