The Anthrax Protocol

by James Thompson

  “Oh, shit!” Mason cried, sitting up and gripping his oar so tight he was afraid he was going to leave gouges in the rough wood.

  Motzi glanced over at him. “When I say left, you paddle fast, when I say right, you dig oar in and hold tight.”

  “What about me? Is there anything I can do?” Lauren shouted, looking over her shoulder at them.

  “Hang on and try not to get thrown out of the boat!” Mason shouted back at her.

  Lauren shook her head and turned back around and grabbed the sides of the boat with death grips, mumbling to herself, “Great advice, I never would have thought of that.”

  * * *

  The Navy SEAL watch on Psycho’s wrist beeped softly twice, signaling him that it was midnight and time for him to relieve Jinx, who was keeping watch on the house in case the doctor and his woman decided to leave early.

  As he rolled out of his sleeping bag, Bear whispered to him, “Hey, Psycho, if you think you can do it without raising an alarm, take a peek in the window of the house and make sure everything is copacetic.”

  “No problem, boss. As hard as those two worked today, I’ll bet I could go in there and shake the bed without waking them up.”

  Bear grinned around a yawn. “That won’t be necessary, just a quick and dirty recon should do the trick.”

  “You got it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, a sleepy-eyed Jinx slipped silently into the camp and over to his sleeping bag. “Hey Bear,” he whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “Psycho wanted me to tell you he peeked in the window and both our targets are sleeping like babies.”

  Bear raised an eyebrow. “In the same bed?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Bear smiled. “If they’re getting friendly, then that might just give us an edge if we have to question the doctor. If he cares about the lady, my guess is he’ll tell us whatever we want to know to keep her from getting hurt.”

  Jinx smiled as he pulled the sleeping bag up over his head. “You’re right. Never hurts to have an edge.”

  Due to extensive combat training, both men were asleep within thirty seconds of laying their heads down.

  * * *

  Blade lay in his sleeping bag unable to sleep. He just lay there, getting more and more furious with Bear for the way he’d been treated.

  “I’ll make that son of a bitch pay if it’s the last thing I ever do,” he told himself.

  As he lay there, he ran various scenarios through his mind, trying to come up with some way to make Bear sorry he’d dissed him, and at the same time to earn his respect again.

  Finally, just before dawn, it came to him. The perfect plan. Bear had objected to Blade’s plan to kill the doctor and the bitch now and take the samples because he said there would be too many witnesses in the village, and they’d have to kill a bunch of people and that would piss off the man who hired them.

  Well, Blade reasoned, what if I sneak into their house before the sun comes up, silently slit their throats, steal the plants and blood samples, and get back here before dawn with none of the villagers the wiser? Hell, Bear can’t object to that. We’d get the goodies, and we’d be on our way before the natives even found the bodies and nobody would ever know who killed the two Americans.

  He chuckled to himself. Sounds like a perfect plan to me, he thought. And since Psycho is the man on guard until sunup, he will probably be willing to go along with my plan, since the only thing Psycho likes better than killing a man is killing a woman.

  Blade eased out of his sleeping bag and crept out of camp and toward where Psycho was standing guard. He made sure to make enough noise so that Psycho wouldn’t think he was trying to sneak up on him.

  When he got to within ten yards of Psycho’s location, he whispered hoarsely, “Hey, Psycho, it’s me, Blade.”

  Suddenly there was a KA-BAR knife pressed against the back of Blade’s neck. “Whatchu want, Blade? Didn’t Bear tell you to stay in camp?”

  Blade swallowed around a lump in his throat. Good thing he hadn’t tried to sneak up on Psycho or he’d be lying on the ground with his spine severed.

  “Well, uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Psycho.”

  “So, go on, talk,” Psycho answered lowering the knife but keeping it in his hand and his hand ready to strike a killing blow if Blade made the wrong move.

  “Okay. You know how Bear practically tore my head off for suggesting we kill those two now and head on back to the plane right away?”

  Psycho laughed low in his throat. “Yeah, thought you was gonna turn white you was so scared.”

  Blade bristled. “I wasn’t . . . oh, never mind. Anyway, I’ve been thinking that maybe we could kill those two now, while everyone in the village is still asleep, get the stuff, and get back on the trail toward home and our paycheck before anyone even discovers the bodies.”

  Psycho pursed his lips and used the blade of his knife to scratch the whiskers on his cheek. “Uh-huh, an’ did you run this brilliant idea by the boss?”

  “Uh, not really. I thought we might surprise him with the goods and the job already done.”

  Psycho laughed again, tapping Blade’s chest with the point of his knife. “You just don’t get it, do you, Blade? That’s why the man is called boss, an’ why he gets the big bucks . . . ’cause he gets to do the thinkin’ for all of us so’s we don’t have to bother.”

  “But I thought . . .”

  The knife dug in just enough to draw a small drop of blood that spread through Blade’s shirt. “That’s yore problem, Blade. You tryin’ to do somethin’ you ain’t bein’ paid to do . . . think!”

  They both heard the click of a pistol being cocked behind them and they turned to see Bear standing there holding his Glock by his side. “Did you really think you could sneak out of camp without me hearing you?” He grunted, “If it wouldn’t wake everyone up within five miles I’d put a bullet in your spine and leave you to die in the dirt,” he said in a mild tone.

  Blade slowly raised his hands. “Bear . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  “You are truly dumber than dog shit, Blade. Do you really think I didn’t consider doing just what you just thought of? The problem with that plan, you ignorant piece of shit, is that as soon as the villagers found the bodies or the blood or even found the doctor and the lady missing, they would eventually tell someone and the shit would hit the fan.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing, just shut the fuck up before I have Psycho make you into a shish kebab. My way, the doc and the lady disappear into the jungle and no one will ever know if it was foul play or if some narco-traffickers or wild animals killed them. All they’ll know is they didn’t make it back to civilization with the samples.”

  Blade nodded slowly. “Oh, I see.”

  Bear looked at Psycho and shook his head. “Now he gets it.” He sighed. “Do you think he’s too dumb to salvage, Psycho, or should we just gut him and forget him?”

  Sweat began to pour off Blade’s head. “Now boss, don’t do nothin’ you’ll regret.”

  Psycho glared at Blade for a minute, and then he smiled. “Well, he is pretty good with a knife, boss. Shame to waste a talent like that, ’specially if you think he’s learned his lesson ’bout not thinkin’ too much.”

  “I have, I have, I promise,” Blade pleaded, sweat running off his forehead to hang in a large drop on his nose.

  Bear shook his head again. “Oh, just get the fuck out of my sight before I change my mind and kill you right now.”

  As Blade jogged silently off into the jungle, Bear released the hammer on his Glock and put it in his shoulder holster.

  “Whattaya think, Psycho?” Bear asked.

  “I think long as yore up anyway, why don’t you take the rest of my watch an’ I’ll get me some shut-eye.”

  Bear laughed. “Go on, you slacker, I’ll take over till dawn, but you got to fix breakfast.”

  “Deal,” Psycho said and he disappeared silently into t
he jungle.

  Chapter 32

  Janus walked by the window into the intensive care unit at the Cytotec lab and marveled at the sight of Eduardo Matos laughing and enjoying his first solid meal in a couple of weeks. It was truly amazing how fast the plants that the Indio boy, Guatemotzi, had given them had cured his infection. Now all they had to do was go back through the records of his treatment to find out which antibiotics had been given at the same time as the plants and they would be halfway home to a cure.

  Jesus, Janus thought, General Blackman is going to cream his pants when I tell him we’ve already got a potential cure for the anthrax plague even without the additional plants and blood samples that his team of mercenaries is going to get for him.

  Janus even thought for a moment of having the general call off the hit team so that there would be no chance of Mason Williams getting seriously hurt or killed. Janus had grown seriously fond of Dr. Williams in the years they’d worked together, and even though their goals in this case were diametrically opposed, Janus did not want the doctor harmed.

  No, Janus realized not for the first time that the general could not be trusted. Even though Janus had warned him in the strongest possible terms not to harm Mason, there was still a better than even chance the son of a bitch would have him killed anyway. Mason’s fate was truly in the hands of the gods now and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  What did trouble Janus almost as much was the fact that now that the Wildfire Team knew about the plants and how they had cured Matos and how valuable they were as a potential cure for the plague, they would all almost certainly have to die.

  Before Matos’s cure, if Mason and Sullivan had “been lost in the jungle,” the team would have probably forgotten all about the plants and figured they were not worth the trouble of risking someone else’s life to obtain them. But that was all changed now . . . they knew the plants were invaluable, not to mention the potential value of the blood samples for a vaccine.

  In an ironic way, Matos’s salvation meant death for the Wildfire Team, for the only way the plants and the blood samples were of any use to General Blackman was if no one else knew about them. He had to have a complete monopoly on the cure for his blackmail of the world to be effective in securing for him what he wanted.

  Janus liked the Wildfire Team and hated to see them all die, but sometimes the few had to be sacrificed for the good of the many. Janus had learned this lesson well from bitter personal experience.

  Stepping outside, Janus once again used the sat-phone the general had provided.

  “Blackman here,” the general answered on the first ring.

  “Janus, General. I have some important news about the plants the Indio boy provided.”

  “What about them?”

  “They were a complete success. The patient Matos was completely cured less than twenty-four hours after the dosages were started.”

  “Goddamn, that’s great news!”

  “Yes, and remember, the boy only gave us a few of the plants that the curandera uses. Presumably there are more plants to be tested that might be even more potent against the infection than these are. Once I have all the data, I will text you the antibiotics that were used in conjunction with the plants so you’ll have all the info you need to begin testing in Fort Detrick’s lab.”

  Janus paused to let that sink in and then added, “And we’re not even talking about the possibilities the blood specimens will give us as far as concocting a possible vaccine against ever becoming infected with the virus in the first place.”

  “Janus, you’ve done great work for me and for your country. I am going to make sure that you get your just rewards for your loyalty when all this is over.”

  “General,” Janus continued, in a low voice, “there is something else you need to consider.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The Wildfire Team here on-site knows of the plants and of their miraculous ability to cure this plague. I’ve managed to temporarily sabotage our communications systems so that no one here can send a report about the plants back to the CDC, but that won’t stop them for long.”

  “Uh-huh, I see.”

  “So, you’ll take care of keeping them from telling anyone of our success?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have Bear’s team make a detour down there as soon as he delivers the specimens to my men who are waiting at the Mexico City airport.”

  “You’ll also have to make sure that none of the Mexican soldiers or doctors are allowed to fly down here before Bear has . . . uh . . . taken care of things on this end.”

  “Don’t worry, Janus, I’ve already given Bear instructions to make sure there are no loose ends down there.”

  Janus disconnected the call and took a few steps before the implications of what the general had said hit home. How had he known to tell Bear to “make sure there are no loose ends” before I told him about the success of the plants? What loose ends were there before we knew we had the cure?

  Son of a bitch, the bastard was talking about me! Janus realized. That asshole is planning to kill me after all I’ve done and all I’ve risked, just to make sure I never talk about what he’s done. That bastard!

  Janus pounded a fist into the side of the lab wall. Well, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve and I intend to use them all before this is over. Two can play at the betrayal game.

  Janus opened the sat-phone and dialed 411. When the operator answered, Janus asked for the office number of a congressman named Michael O’Donnell. He’d been a thorn in Blackman’s side for over a year now and Janus intended to make sure he became even more so in the not too distant future.

  In fact, if Janus had anything to say about it, Blackman just might come down with a fatal dose of the congressman.

  * * *

  Whether it was the stress of the dangerous game he was playing with Blade, or whether it was the long journey through the jungle with very little sleep, he never knew, but Bear did something he’d never before done in all his years in service and as a mercenary—he fell asleep while on guard duty.

  In his dreams, Bear, or Bobby Eddleman as he was known back in the real world, was standing before the casket containing his older brother, Virgil Eddleman, called Virg by his friends. Bobby had his arm around his nephew, Virgil’s son, who was named Victor.

  His brother, a veteran of Vietnam as well as Afghanistan, had been killed in a firefight with rebels in the mountains on the Pakistani border. For his heroism, he’d been awarded the Silver and Bronze Stars but they’d done little to lessen the grief felt by Virgil’s wife, Patricia, and his son Johnny.

  God, Bobby thought in his dream, is there anything more sad than a military funeral?

  After the funeral, he walked with Pat and Victor to the long, black Cadillac limousine for the ride back to the funeral home.

  Pat ushered Victor into the backseat and then stepped back, saying, “I’ve got to talk to Uncle Bobby for a minute, sweetie. I’ll just be a second.”

  She shut the door and turned to face Bobby. “I heard from your commanding officer about the dishonorable discharge, Bobby.”

  Bobby felt his face flare red. How the hell had she found out so soon? The discharge papers had come through less than a week ago. “Uh, I can explain that, Pat . . .”

  She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Bob, don’t bother.” She took a deep breath and continued, her eyes cast down at the pavement at her feet. “I know you loved Virgil more than life itself, and I suspect you feel the same way about little Victor . . .”

  He nodded his head, his throat too choked up to talk, for he feared he knew what was coming.

  “But, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you not to see or contact Victor again. I won’t have a man with a dishonorable discharge in his life, not after the sacrifice his father made for all of us.”

  “But . . .”

  “I’m sorry, Bob, but maybe when he’s older . . . when he can better understand the circumstances . . .”

>   Bobby didn’t let her finish. He just turned on his heel and walked away, toward the setting sun . . .

  “Agghhh!” Bear cried, waking up from the dream to the steamy humidity of a southern Mexico dawn.

  Though Bear hadn’t seen or talked to his nephew Victor or his sister-in-law Patricia since that day, one third of everything he’d earned as a mercenary had gone into a trust account to be used for Victor’s education or for whatever the boy wanted when he came of age.

  Sometimes, when the going got rough, he gauged his actions on what he thought would make his brother Virgil or his nephew Victor proud of him, trying to do right in a world where the principles of right and wrong were subjective at best.

  He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and peered down at the house through his binoculars. That’s strange, he thought. It’s almost dawn and there are no lights in the house and no sign of anyone moving around. Up to now, the two doctors had always been up just before dawn and on the trail at first light.

  He doubted they’d been able to get up and get packed and not wake him up, because his years of combat had taught him to sleep very lightly and to awaken at the least sound out of the ordinary.

  Still, his gut was telling him something about this just wasn’t right. He eased to his feet, drew his Glock, and made his way through the lightening sky down the hill to the house.

  He moved around the corner to the rear and peeked in the window, seeing the same two sleeping forms in the bed that Jinx had.

  He eased the door open and tiptoed over to the bed and put the barrel against one of the rounded lumps under the covers.

  “Goddammit,” he exclaimed, throwing the covers back and revealing the two rolled-up blankets that had been used to trick them.

  He whirled around and ran at full speed back up the trail to his camp. While shouting at the team to get their asses up, he rummaged in his pack until he found the GPS tracker and turned it on. He’d made another serious mistake, gotten complacent, and turned the damn thing off when they tracked the couple to the village.

  While the tracker warmed up, he told the men how he’d gotten suspicious when the couple didn’t show up at dawn and how he’d discovered they weren’t in their house.