When they reached topside, the helicopter blades were already spinning. They were the last on board, and the pilot took off the moment they seated themselves and the door closed.
Riggs addressed them. “This is no drill. Two of our boys have been watching an apartment in West LA. The medical record of the young girl who lives there was downloaded from Children’s Hospital. We suspected that Healers would try to contact her, and it looks like we were right. Our boys watching the apartment said a suspicious character entered the building eight minutes ago.”
“How suspicious?” Carter said.
“A distance scan indicated that the man is carrying the virus on his person. So there’s a hot agent in the open. No screwups. This is our first chance to catch one of these guys, so let’s do it right. Peeps, I want you connected with the team on the ground. The rest of you pay attention.”
A schematic of an apartment building appeared on the wall monitor beside Riggs.
“We’re going to the third floor, apartment 309. The target is seven-year-old Kimberly Turner. Our hope is to get there before the Healer exits the building and engages our boys on the ground. Agent Carter, Dr. Hartman, and I will enter from the front, here. Agent Hernandez, you will come in once we’ve subdued the Healer and help Hartman contain the virus. Agent Shaha, you will take the others and take a position in the back here below the balcony. Any questions?”
No one moved.
“Good. Then snap up and check your gear. We drop in less than two minutes.”
Peeps did a quick radio check and confirmed that everyone’s comlinks were operational just before the pilot announced that they were approaching the drop zone.
Riggs’s voice sounded in Frank’s helmet. “How you feeling?”
“I don’t remember this being in the brochure,” said Frank.
Riggs smiled. “You brought the countervirus?”
Frank tapped the pouch at his hip.
“What is it they tell you in the military?” Riggs said. “Keep your head down?”
“And don’t run away,” said Frank.
“Shoot first and ask questions later?”
“Actually, the military never gets around to asking the questions. We just shoot.”
Riggs smiled. “You’ll be fine. This is old hat for you. Carter and I will incapacitate the Healer. You go in and contain the victim. When the countervirus is in her, give Hernandez the clear. Piece of cake, right?”
The helicopter stopped its forward motion, and the pilot announced that they had reached the drop zone. Everyone stood and moved in a line to the door. Riggs slid it open and dropped the ropes. The helicopter blades were of a design that produced less noise than a car engine, so if they were lucky, they could drop without the Healer hearing them and being alerted to their presence.
Two undercover BHA agents stood on the asphalt below, ready to greet and assist the team as they descended. Peeps was the first man out, and since sliding down the rope was the one field exercise at which he excelled, he reached the bottom smoothly and without incident. The other agents followed quickly. Frank hit the rope after Riggs and slid down a little faster than intended. Luckily, his gloves took most of the heat.
In seconds the ropes were retracted, and the helicopter was pulling up and away.
The apartment building was three stories high and no different from the other overpriced apartments in West LA. Riggs gave the signal, and everyone moved into position. Frank joined Riggs and Carter at the building’s entrance and saw Peeps follow the two undercover agents into a black van parked at a curb nearby.
Riggs pointed up at one of the windows on the third floor. “Plastic.”
Frank looked and saw the sheets of plastic hanging inside the apartment. What Riggs had said was true: Healers had their patients build makeshift containment curtains and used them to quarantine the patient during the gestation period. Frank shuddered at the sight.
Riggs touched his comlink. “Peeps, how we looking?”
“These guys got footage of the suspect entering the building twelve minutes ago.”
A surveillance video appeared on the inside corner of Frank’s visor. He watched as the Healer ducked his head to enter the building, the very spot where Frank now sat. The man was enormous, bigger than Frank had imagined Healers to be.
Peep’s voice said, “Target, again, is Kimberly Turner, seven years old, sickle-cell anemia, only daughter of Roland Turner.” Photographs of a young black girl and her father appeared on Frank’s visor.
“Frank. That’s your girl,” said Riggs.
Frank gave a thumbs up.
“GPS is up and running,” said Peeps. “Team is locked and in position.
The schematic of the apartment appeared, followed by flashing red dots that indicated the position of every member on the team. Kimberly’s apartment glowed yellow.
“Target is set,” said Riggs. “Recording, now.” He reached up and turned on a small camera set in the side of his helmet. Frank and Carter did the same.
Peeps’s voice said, “All right. I’m getting all of your visuals. Cameras are rolling. Riggs’s video should be coming in now.”
On the inside of Frank’s visor above the schematic appeared a small window of video, Riggs’s video feed. Frank and everyone else on the team could see exactly what Riggs, the team leader, saw.
“Whenever you’re ready,” said Peeps.
Riggs took a deep breath, drew his gun, opened the front door without a squeak, and went inside. Frank saw how the red dot representing Riggs moved through the schematic on his visor as the real life Riggs moved through the building. Carter went next. Frank unholstered his sidearm and followed the two toward the staircase.
Seven-year-old Kimberly Turner sat in a chair in her room, clutching her favorite stuffed animal and trying to hear what the giant man was whispering to her father. She wished the man would hurry up and leave. She didn’t want him here, even after Father told her it that was okay and that she would feel much better once he left.
“But he doesn’t smile,” Kimberly had whispered to him. “He looks grumpy, like a mean person.”
Father must have told the man this because now the man smiled constantly. But not a sincere smile, not the kind of smile she got from Ms. Perkins, the school librarian. That was a real smile, one with teeth and happiness behind it. This man had a wide, forced grin that made him look like he needed a restroom and quick.
And though she couldn’t prove it, Kimberly suspected that it was the giant doctor who had made Father hang all this plastic in her room. It was silly. She couldn’t even get to her dresser now.
“But you won’t need to get anything,” Father had told her when he hung it. “I’ll get whatever you need and slide it under the plastic.”
“But why can’t I get it myself?”
“Because you’ll need to stay in bed.”
“For how long?”
“Three days.”
“Three days? How can I go to school if I’m stuck in bed?”
“You don’t have to go to school. We’re taking a little vacation.”
Kimberly wasn’t one to argue with that. “What will I do in bed all day?”
“I’ll bring the TV in here. You can watch it all day if you like.”
This was sounding better by the minute, and finally Kimberly had agreed. But now that the giant doctor was here, she wanted more details. Why was this doctor coming to their house instead of Kimberly and Father going to his clinic? Didn’t he have a clinic? And why come so late at night? Why couldn’t he come during the day? And why was he so big?
The only other doctor who had come to her house had been normal-sized. That had been a week ago. Kimberly had been very still as he wiped a Q-tip inside her mouth to get some sample he needed. DMA, or something.
Father came and knelt beside her. “Dr. Stone is going to give you a shot, Kimberly. You’ll only feel a little prick, and then it will be all over.”
Father said it like she ha
d never had a shot before, like he expected her to cry or refuse. Maybe he wanted her to. Maybe it made Father happy if he thought he was helping. “Can I hold your hand while he gives it to me?” she said.
Father smiled and took her hand. “I’d be crazy to say no to the hand of a princess.”
“An ice princess?” she said.
“With magic skates and a golden dress.”
She smiled. It had been a story Father had made up a long time ago—one he always told her whenever he came and stayed with her in the hospital. Sometimes he forgot some of the details, but Kimberly always filled in the holes and reminded Father which parts he’d missed. It made Father happy to see how much she enjoyed the story. So much so, in fact, that Kimberly began to believe he forgot parts on purpose just so she would open her eyes and participate instead of only listening.
Dr. Stone reached into his briefcase and pulled out a syringe filled with a medicine so bright green that it glowed. Kimberly stared at it.
“It will only hurt for a second, Kimmie,” Father told her.
She looked at him and smiled to show she wasn’t afraid.
“Please wait behind the plastic, Mr. Turner,” Stone said.
“I can’t hold her hand?”
“Behind the plastic, please. It’s for your own protection. A matter of life and death. I will see to it that Kimberly gets into bed.”
“Yes, of course.” Father squeezed her hand tighter. “I’m going to be just over there, Kimmie. Everything is going to be fine. Dr. Stone will see to it that everything is fine.”
She nodded and watched Father reluctantly move behind the plastic.
Stone knelt beside her. Kimberly rolled up her sleeve without being asked. She knew the drill. Stone cleaned a spot on her arm with a swab of cotton, then uncapped the syringe.
There was a bang, and the door flew open. Three men in what looked like space suits charged into the room, holding guns. Kimberly screamed.
Riggs pointed his weapon at Stone. “Federal agents! Put the needle down!”
Frank held a bead on Mr. Turner, his finger off the trigger. The little girl stopped screaming but looked on the verge of tears. Mr. Turner put his hands up. Stone didn’t move.
“I said put the needle down. Now!”
Stone continued to hold his position. Frank almost gasped at the sight of the man. His head nearly touched the ceiling, and his arms were as big around as Frank’s legs. His expression was blank, and he didn’t appear the least bit concerned that three armed men were about to take him into custody.
“I’m going to count to three,” said Riggs, “and if I reach three and that needle is in your hand, it’s going to get very loud and you’re going to get very dead.”
The little girl ran to her father and threw her arms around his waist. The sudden movement spooked Frank, and his finger went to the trigger, not squeezing it.
Relax, he told himself. Get a grip.
“One,” said Riggs.
Stone looked at Kimberly just a few feet away, as if judging the distance from the needle to her arm.
“Two.”
Stone held his hands out, showing he would comply.
“Put it on the bed. Nice and slow.”
“No,” said Turner. “Wait a minute. Who are you people?”
Riggs never took his eyes off the Healer. “We’re federal agents of the Biohazard Agency, Mr. Turner, and you are in great danger.”
Stone lowered the needle to Kimberly’s bed.
“Now step away from it and put your hands behind your head.”
Stone began to obey, but in one fast movement grabbed the briefcase and slung it at Riggs. It spun like a Frisbee through the air and hit Riggs square in the chest, knocking him backward off his feet. Before Frank or Carter even flinched, the Healer backhanded Carter, launching him to the side like a rag doll. Carter smashed through the closet doors and fell hard to the floor. Toys, clothes, and boxes fell from their shelves on top of him.
Riggs was on his back and fired. The bullet ripped into the Healer’s shoulder, the force of it knocking him off balance. To Frank’s surprise, however, the Healer’s face showed no pain. His expression was unflinching, which meant his body had responded to the forward motion of the bullet only, not the pain it inflicted, as if he had merely been shoved unawares.
Before Riggs could fire again, Stone was on him, wrenching the gun from his hand and picking him up, using his wounded arm as much as the healthy one.
Frank aimed to fire, but Stone was faster. Inhumanly fast. He threw Riggs’s body directly at Frank with such force that when they collided, Frank fell back into the hall, the wind knocked out of him. Riggs rolled to the side, unconscious, his helmet visor cracked.
Turner grabbed Kimberly and hovered over her, protecting her.
Frank struggled to his feet, found his gun, and saw Stone lift Turner off Kimberly and toss him aside. Turner crashed into a framed mirror on the wall and fell to the floor, not moving.
Kimberly screamed.
“Don’t move,” said Frank.
Grabbing Kimberly, Stone lifted her in front of him, using her as a human shield. She kicked and cried and winced with fright.
Stone said, “Why must you interfere? What I give this girl will make her whole again.”
“Put her down!” said Frank. He knew he couldn’t fire. Even though Kimberly only covered a portion of Stone, Frank didn’t trust his aim. He might hit the girl.
Again with lightning speed, the Healer moved, grabbed the syringe off the bed, and stuck the needle into the meat of Kimberly’s arm. Again, she screamed, this time from pain.
“Catch,” said Stone, then pitched Kimberly into the air toward Frank.
Instinctively, Frank dropped his weapon and held out his arms. It was an awkward catch and Kimberly was heavier than he had expected, but when they fell to the floor, she seemed unhurt.
Stone, still clutching the syringe, spun around, pushed through the plastic, and jumped through the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. The door exploded outward, raining shards of glass down onto the alley three stories below.
The agents on the ground immediately opened fire, some hitting Stone, but most hitting the building. Stone was too fast. He jumped off the balcony and fell directly toward his attackers. The shooting and sounds of a struggle continued as Frank opened his pouch and produced the countervirus. At the sight of another syringe, Kimberly wailed louder.
“Kimberly, I need you to listen to me. My name is Dr. Hartman. I have to give you this medicine.”
She recoiled from him, looking afraid.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help. This medicine will help you.”
She wouldn’t stop crying. She was too distraught. Nothing he could say would calm her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, then took her arm and, despite her pulling and panicking, gave her the shot. She screamed again, tears streaming out of her eyes.
Frank spoke into his comlink. “Target deactivated. I need a bag in here.”
Carter shook his head, brushed away the debris that had fallen on him from the closet, and got to his feet. “Where is he?”
Frank pointed to the gaping hole where the sliding glass door had been. Carter ran to it and looked over the side, just in time to see Stone clear the back fence and sprint up the alley.
Peeps’s voice sounded in their helmets. “He’s running. Suspect is headed north toward Santa Monica Boulevard. And we have agents down. Repeat, agents down.”
Carter ran out the door, yelling to Frank as he passed him, “I’m going after him.” He disappeared down the hall just as Agent Hernandez arrived with the containment gear.
She knelt beside Kimberly and waved a contaminant rod around her. The rod glowed red. “She’s hot.”
“She will be for a few hours,” said Frank. “It takes a while for the countervirus to take effect.
Hernandez pulled a clear plastic bag from her pack and shook it open. It looked like a long
clear trash bag with arms, legs, and a breathing apparatus at the head. “Kimberly, my name is Agent Hernandez. You’re not going to like this, but you need to put this on.”
“Carter needs backup,” Peeps said. “Repeat, Agent Carter is in solo pursuit.”
Frank looked at Riggs, who lay unconscious on the floor.
“Go!” Hernandez said.
Frank took off at a run, maneuvering through the apartment and down the stairs, taking two, three steps at a time. “Peeps, I need a wider visual.”
“Roger that.”
The schematic of the building inside Frank’s visor disappeared, and a satellite map of a four-block radius took its place. Carter’s blinking red dot was superimposed over the image, showing his position moving fast toward Santa Monica Boulevard.
Peeps said, “They jumped a fence behind the building and are now moving north up an alley.”
Frank ran outside and around the building. The agents who had held a position here below the balcony now lay on the ground, spread over the parking lot. One of them was slowly getting to his feet, but the others were deathly still.
Frank didn’t stop. He jumped the fence behind the Dumpster and took off up the alley. “Give me Carter’s visual.”
“Roger.”
Carter’s video feed appeared as a thumbnail on Frank’s visor. As if looking through Carter’s eyes, Frank could see Stone in front of him, running. Carter was apparently moving fast as well; the video image jostled violently.
Frank reached behind him as he ran and opened the valve further on his air tank, giving himself more oxygen. He was breathing heavily and needed a greater supply. Plus, the visor was fogging, making it difficult to see. Cool air poured in, and the visor cleared.
He killed them, Frank thought. The Healer had killed members of the team: Shaha, Mayo, Kim, and the others. They all lay dead back in the parking lot. Or if they weren’t dead, they were at least hurt very badly. Even Riggs, whom Frank considered indestructible, was down.
And the Healer had done it with his bare hands. No weapon. Just his hands.
Frank heard the screeching of tires ahead as Stone left the alleyway and ran out onto Santa Monica Boulevard, turning west toward the ocean and sprinting down the middle of the road into oncoming traffic. Cars swerved to avoid him.
Invasive Procedures Page 15
