Ejecta

by William C. Dietz

  “Wouldn't it be easier to put a combat team aboard?” Hernandez inquired

  “Yes, it would,” Cooper agreed as he lit a cigarette. “And I suggested it. But the suits are afraid that a raid would cause an international incident, drive around the clock media coverage, and potentially blow the parasite thing wide open.”

  Hernandez made a face, and Lavar said, “Picky, picky.”

  The meeting continued. Fifteen minutes later it was over and Palmer found himself getting into the back of a black SUV with McCall. “So how is this going to work?” he inquired, as they fastened their seat belts.

  “Just do what I tell you,” she replied, while the driver guided the vehicle down Napoleon avenue toward the docks.

  “That's it?” Palmer inquired incredulously. “That's the plan?”

  “That's most of it,” McCall confirmed.

  “If you say so,” Palmer said doubtfully. He might have said more. But McCall had her ear buds in place by then, and was listening to her iPod, as she stared out through darkened glass. Palmer thought about Sara and wondered where she was.

  After the SUV dropped them off Palmer and McCall followed a steady stream of tourists toward the Mississippi river and the ships moored there. As they walked along he caught a glimpse of a sturdy looking tug pushing a barge upstream, a convincing replica of a sternwheeler headed in the other direction, and all manner of small craft zipping back and forth.

  When the Xinglong came into sight McCall launched into what amounted to a briefing. It was clear that she had done her homework. “Xinglong means Star Dragon in Mandarin. The ship was built in Poland during communist rule. She's about five-hundred feet long, sixty-five feet wide, and draws twenty-eight feet of water. The crew consists of about one-hundred and ten people including scientists.

  “Though equipped for oceanographic research, we believe that Xinglong's scientists can carry out a broad range of scientific tasks, including studies in general as well as marine biology. It's worth noting that the Xinglong is equipped with two very powerful engines. Experts estimate her top speed to be around twenty-five knots which is only five knots less that the published speed of an Iroquois-class destroyer. That, plus a range of 18,000 miles, suggests that the Xinglong is an adjunct to the Chinese navy.”

  “I'm impressed,” Palmer said. “How's the food in the cafeteria?”

  “It's said to be quite good,” McCall answered, without the slightest trace of a smile.

  The Xinglong towered above them as the couple joined the line of people waiting to board her. Two uniformed officers were present at the foot of the gangway where they used carefully memorized English phrases to welcome tourists aboard. As McCall walked past, one of them said something in Chinese and the other man laughed. The agent responded with a barely audible, “Screw you asshole.”

  Palmer glanced sideways as they crossed the gangway. “You speak Chinese?”

  “Mandarin, but not Cantonese.”

  “What did that guy say?”

  “He said I look like a freak.”

  “I like the hair.”

  “Thanks, Palmer. Maybe Cooper's wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “You being a jerk.”

  Palmer smiled as a series of signs and waist-high chains funneled them onto a flight of metal stairs that led upwards. “Now what?”

  “Now you do what I say, when I tell you to do it. And if someone tries to stop us then slam them into a wall.”

  “That's why Cooper sent me along?”

  “Are you good for anything else?”

  By the time they emerged on the sun drenched main deck Palmer estimated that they had climbed the equivalent of two stories. The general impression was one of well kept orderliness with none of the amenities Palmer was used to on cruise ships. And that made sense given the Xinglong's purpose.

  A tour group was forming. McCall led Palmer over to it, and after a rather stilted introduction, a young woman in a spotless white cap and jacket led the visitors toward the bow. The next fifteen minutes were spent listening to a description of the types of data that could be gathered by the crew, China's efforts to counter global warming, and the importance of marine life when it came to feeding a huge population.

  Then, as their guide led the group up a series of internal stairways towards the bridge, McCall paused as if to catch her breath. And, if Palmer hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the way the iPod that had been in her hand only moments before suddenly disappeared.

  After that it was onwards and upwards as McCall spoke from the corner of her mouth. “Get ready. When the fire alarm goes off, and people begin to freak out, follow me. We're going to take a different kind of tour.”

  Palmer was about to respond when a klaxon went off and McCall began to yell. “Fire! It's a fire! Follow me.”

  As the rest of the tour group turned to look at her Palmer realized that the missing iPod had been rigged to serve as an incendiary device. Smoke was billowing up through an open hatch by then and crew people were rushing to respond.

  The tour guide was shouting orders. But she had reverted to Chinese. So most of the tourists chose to follow McCall and Palmer. And, judging from the certainty with which McCall led them to the port side of the ship, the agent knew exactly where she wanted to go.

  A couple of white clad crewmen boiled up from somewhere below as McCall led the mob down the staircase. She screamed something in Mandarin which caused them to step aside as a phalanx of scared men, women, and children thundered down the stairs to the deck below.

  There were signs. But all of them were in Chinese so Palmer had no idea where they were headed other than deeper into the ship's sizeable superstructure. Crew people appeared from time-to-time and some tried to bar the way. Palmer body blocked the most aggressive people, and the rest were forced to step aside, or risk bodily injury from the wall-to-wall mob. “This way! This way,” McCall shouted, as she led the tourists through a lab, past a startled looking scientist, and into a space lined with Plexiglas enclosed cages. Each had its own air supply and five of them were empty. Palmer caught a glimpse of an emaciated looking man curled up on the floor of the sixth enclosure. There was a momentary flash of light as McCall took a picture with her cell phone before continuing on.

  Then they were charging through a hatch into a cross corridor. That led them to a flight of stairs which led the group down one level and into another passageway. From there it was a short trip to the starboard side of the ship and the gangway. A sailor stepped out to prevent McCall from leaving but Palmer was there to shoulder the man aside. The crewman hit the steel bulkhead hard and was very nearly trampled as the group streamed out into the sunlight. A red truck had pulled up next to the ship by then and a fireman was locked in a heated exchange with one of the Xinglong's senior officers.

  Once the tourists were off the ship the Chinese crew was powerless to interfere with them. So all Palmer and McCall had to do was stroll away. The agent was clearly on an adrenaline fueled high. “Did you see him?” she demanded. “Did you see the poor bastard in the cage?”

  “Yeah,” Palmer answered. “I sure as hell did. How did you know where to look?”

  “Like I said earlier, the Xinglong was built in Poland. They joined NATO in 1999. So we had relatively easy access to the plans--and updated information from a classified source.”

  “Very slick. So now what? Will Cooper send people to rescue that guy?”

  McCall directed a pitying glance in his direction. “Of course not. There would be international hell to pay if we did something like that. Then the secretary would have to brief leaders in the Senate, the House, and lord knows who else.”

  Palmer thought about Sara. What would happen if Cooper and his team got their hands on her? Would they demonstrate the same cold blooded attitude that McCall had? He knew the answer was “Yes.”

  ***

  The bus had stopped dozens of times before during the long journey across Texas and part of
Louisiana. So Devlin was reluctant to abandon the soothing nowhere of sleep and open her eyes as the vehicle jerked to a halt and the driver made the usual announcement over the PA system. Except this time she was in New Orleans.

  Devlin felt a jolt of adrenaline as the parasite began to reassert itself. Her heart began to race as she sat up and looked around. That was followed by a sudden sense of claustrophobia. She was next to a window on the right side of the bus. That meant she couldn't leave her seat until the woman on her left did so.

  Devlin knew she should be patient. But the parasite was determined to make her speak. She couldn't refuse but she could resist. The result was gibberish. “Igno upa pop soma indorp,” Devlin proclaimed loudly, as she tried to squeeze past her seatmate.

  “Back off, bitch,” the woman said angrily. “What's wrong with you anyway?”

  The harsh words were accompanied by a blow from a beefy arm. The attack provoked a tremendous surge of strength and Devlin knew the parasite was willing to kill the woman in order to get its way. What ensued was a hard fought battle in which Devlin struggled to restrain the organism long enough for the other passengers to exit safely.

  The effort required every bit of her remaining strength, but Devlin won, and it wasn't long before the front half of the bus began to clear out. Then, as the woman next to her rose, it was Devlin's turn. She took her carryall down from the overhead bin and shuffled up the aisle. After that it was a simple matter to follow the people directly in front of her down a couple of steps onto the oil stained pavement.

  Devlin's head felt as if it was spinning. So she was only vaguely aware of the parking area and graceless Intermodal Bus-Train station. It was as if the parasite was reaching out somehow. Looking for something. Then it was there. A clear sense of direction combined with what could only be described as lust.

  With the jerky movements of a marionette Devlin marched through the busy terminal and toward the sunshine beyond. She was exultant and terrified at the same time. Here, all around her, was the place the parasite had struggled to reach. Soon, within a matter of hours the thing that controlled her would be able to reproduce, and she would be free in the same way McCracken was free. And that would be welcome.

  ***

  The Department of Biosecurity was counting on the police to scan the crowded streets for Devlin but had assigned agents to key entry points like the Intermodal station. Melvin Levar was about to take a quick bio break when Sara Devlin shuffled past. Her hair was a mess, and she was wearing sunglasses, but he recognized her right away. His heart began to beat faster and there was a fluttery feeling in his stomach as he made a call to Cooper. Levar heard two rings followed by a connection. “Yeah?”

  “I have her. We're leaving the Intermodal station on foot.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Don 't lose her. I'll rip your guts out if you do.”

  Levar grinned as he followed Devlin across a street. “Roger that. But what if she explodes?”

  Cooper was silent for a moment. “Then we will be well and truly screwed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  The New Orleans airport was always busy and never more so than during the lead up to Mardi Gras when thousands of tourists arrived. But while most of the incoming passengers were looking for a good time some were on more serious errands. That category included business travelers, a woman who was going to attend her father's funeral, and a Chinese spy. A young man who had been born into what his parents sometimes referred to as “the family business.” Because Mr. and Mrs. Woo had been employed by the MSS nearly all of their adult lives, starting before they left China to attend universities in the United States, and continuing until both had retired.

  It was an investment that had paid off for the MSS over the years as both Woos received advanced degrees, became naturalized citizens, and took high level jobs in Fortune 500 companies. Positions in which they were able to access information that helped make the 21st century great leap forward a reality.

  Thanks to the restraint exercised by the men and women in charge of the MSS, the emphasis had always been on quality over quantity. They knew that the more secrets the Woos stole the more likely they'd be discovered. And discovery would not only end the Woos' usefulness, but represent a significant setback for project Second Son, which involved the creation of American born agents like Johnny Woo. A fashionably dressed young man who had been raised in San Jose and educated at UC Berkley.

  So as Woo followed the steady stream of tourists towards baggage claim there was nothing about his friendly frat boy persona to suggest that he was capable of breaking into Wally Brisco's home and slitting the teenager's throat. Just one of the skills that had been honed on annual trips to China with his parents.

  People swirled all about as Woo entered baggage claim and the first bags began to thump on the carousel. As Woo waited for his TUMI to appear a nicely dressed woman materialized out of the crowd. She had shoulder length dark hair, a face that was attractive in a middle aged sort of way, and was dressed in a tasteful sweater-skirt combination.

  Woo had never met her before, but smiled as if he had, and accepted a hug. Because in an age of tight security, ubiquitous surveillance cameras, and behavioral profiling, Woo knew that everything he did was subject to scrutiny. “Good afternoon, and welcome to New Orleans,” the woman said warmly. “I'm Marie Chantal.”

  “Thank you,” Woo replied. “I'm Johnny Woo... But everybody calls me Johnny.”

  Both of them understood the dangers inherent in discussing private matters in a public setting. Even a noisy place like baggage claim. So it wasn't until Woo had recovered his bag, and the agents were seated in the back of a Lincoln Town car, that they began to talk about the task before them. The driver was wearing a bluetooth device so he could stay in touch with the rest of the MSS collection team. “So,” Woo began. “What's the latest?”

  Woo knew Chantal was a sleeper agent who had been recruited more than twenty years earlier while studying in Beijing. The idea had been to keep her on tap in case she came in handy. As such she'd done very little for the money that a Chinese front company paid her each month. So little in fact that the sudden request to participate in a so-called “task” must have come as a shock. “All of the team members have arrived,” Chantal began. “I arranged for them to stay at Le Petit Hôtel. It wasn't cheap, but we were able to get the entire second floor when a corporation cancelled, and that's a miracle. The rooms have been swept for bugs and none were found.”

  “Good,” Woo said encouragingly. “And our equipment?”

  “Each member of the team has a clean cell phone and a radio. The weapons package was unloaded from Xinglong last night and transported to the hotel. An unfortunate incident took place aboard the ship however.”

  Woo frowned. “How unfortunate?”

  “Two American agents came aboard the ship posing as tourists, triggered some sort of incendiary device, and were able to penetrate the Xinglong's holding facility during the ensuing chaos.”

  “And?”

  “And they escaped.”

  “That's too bad,” Woo said thoughtfully. “Fortunately the United States government has been very slow to recognize the alien threat and respond to it. But, while the fool in command of the Xinglong will have to be disciplined, we were lucky.”

  “We were?” Chantal inquired hopefully.

  “Yes, we were. Now we know that the Americans know. So we will behave accordingly.”

  “But won't they double or triple their security?”

  “No,” Woo replied. “I'm sure they would like to—but I doubt they can. At this point it appears as though the Department of Biosecurity is operating on its own. So it can't call for help without a significant amount of blow back. We'll take advantage of that. And Mardi Gras will provide the cover we need.” He grinned. “I came down on break once. You people know how to party.”

  Chantal forced a smile. �
�Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, Johnny.”

  “Sorry. Yes, Johnny.”

  “That brings us to Operation Bird Dog.” “Bird Dog” was the code name that Woo had assigned to Mr. Roy Patterson. A middle-aged long haul truck driver from Omaha, Nebraska. Patterson had first come to the Tenth Bureau's attention when he logged onto a website called Le maudit. An electronic trap Woo had put up as a way to identify individuals who had been infected but were still capable of independent action.

  Other people had responded too. Some had dropped out of sight for reasons unknown. Two hosts had exploded, one had committed suicide in Seattle, and American Biosecurity had taken a child into custody before crashing the site. Repeated efforts to put it back up had failed. “Yes,” Chantal replied. “Bird dog drove his semi to New Orleans and has been here for two days.”

  “What's he doing?”

  “Nothing so far. It's as if he's waiting for something.”

  “The wait will end soon,” Woo predicted. “And when it does we will follow him to the spot where the mating will take place. Then we will snatch a couple of specimens, put them aboard the Xinglong, and disband the team. Who knows? Perhaps you and I will have time for a couple of celebratory Hurricanes.”

  Woo suspected that it wouldn't work out that way. But it was important to appear confident. Especially in front of his subordinates. That was something that both the professors at Berkley and the MSS instructors in China agreed on. The thought pleased him and he smiled.

  ***

  Though unable to control where her body went, Devlin was conscious of the quickly fading light, the swirling crowds, the Sani-Kans stationed on street corners, the litter that lay like snow on the streets, the combined odors of urine and street food, the strident blare of horns as a colorfully costumed band marched by, people shouting from balconies, a woman baring her breasts, ropes of beads flying through air, and the persistent hunger that the parasite felt.