Iceland: An International Thriller (The Flense Book 2)

by Saul Tanpepper

  "Emily, listen to me," Cheong shouted into the phone. "Calm down! Do not let—"

  Even from where Angel was standing on the other side of the room, she could hear the ding of the elevator call button and the swish of the doors closing as the car was called down the hall.

  "Emily!" Cheong screamed. "Don't you dare let anyone down here!"

  But they both knew it was already too late for that.

  Chapter Forty Six

  "How can you not have a video feed?" Angel cried, as they sprinted out of the lab and down the hall to the elevator. "You have no way of knowing what is happening outside from down here?"

  "We do have one," he shouted back, but didn't elaborate. "You need to stay back! Get back in the med lab! Let me deal with this!"

  "You don't even have a gun!"

  He raised his hand, and she saw with surprise that he had his fingers wrapped round the handle of a small pistol.

  The elevator dinged and the doors began to open before they reached it. Cheong raised the gun and pointed it forward, slowing his sprint only enough to keep his arm steady.

  Emily stumbled out first, followed immediately by a man with one hand on her shoulder. In his other hand was a gun, and it was pressed against the back of her head.

  "Norstrom?" Angel cried, skidding to a stop. "Cheong, don't shoot! I know this man! Don't shoot!"

  Norstrom shoved Emily away from him, then swiveled around, pivoting his body to aim the gun at Cheong. "I've got forty-eight people upstairs," he bellowed. "I need to bring them inside, now!"

  But Cheong wasn't backing down. He had stopped in his tracks in a half-crouch, both hands on the pistol. He pointed it at Norstrom's chest and shouted back, ordering him to drop his gun.

  The two men continued to scream, the volume rising precipitously until neither could hear nor be heard by the other. Norstrom's face was beet red and his veins popped out on his temples. He stepped fearlessly toward Cheong, erasing the distance between them in an instant.

  "Norstrom!" Angel shouted, trying to cut through the noise. "Stop it! Norstrom!"

  Emily had fallen to the floor and was cowering against the wall, holding her hands up to her ears and babbling about trying to stop him, but that he had somehow broken through the locked door and forced her to bring him down on the elevator. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," she wailed.

  Angel hurried over and wrapped the girl in her arms and tried to calm her. They both flinched every time the men shouted.

  "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," Emily babbled. "Oh god, please don't kill me! Don't let him—"

  A shot rang out, exploding Angel's eardrums. She spun around with a yelp, fearing what she would find. Images of Norstrom lying in a pool of blood flashed back to her mind. But both men were still standing, still pointing their guns at each other. A strange silence filled the hallway. Smoke rose from the end of Norstrom's barrel, and dust sifted down from a small hole in the ceiling between them.

  Ever so slowly, Norstrom twisted the pistol in his grip until it dangled from his forefinger, no longer a threat. He spread out his arms. "I'm lowering my weapon, Cheong," he growled. "Lower yours. Let's talk."

  "Not until you tell me who you are."

  "My name's Stasey Norstrom. I've been working with Angel since the Baoyang incident in China."

  The words seemed to throw Cheong off for a moment. She saw his eyes flick over to her, but they were filled with betrayal.

  "It is true," Angel said. "He knows everything, Monsieur Cheong! I swear he is telling the truth! He is on our side."

  After a moment's hesitation, the Chinese man relented, straightening his body and lowering the pistol until it pointed to the floor at Norstrom's feet. But he didn't relax his two-fisted grip on it.

  "Good," Norstrom said. "Now, I have four dozen people waiting upstairs. They are in grave danger. I need you to allow me to bring them inside. Please. I don't wish to hurt you or anyone else here."

  "I can't let you," Cheong replied, his own voice quivering only the tiniest bit. "I can't allow you to use this place as a—

  "I'm not asking."

  "And you don't give the orders here." He brought one hand away from the gun and slowly opened his fist. In his palm was a small device that looked like a boxy flip phone. The lid was open, and his thumb rested against the switch it protected. "This is a panic button. It seals the bunker until someone from the outside with a countermeasure releases it. That might take days, maybe weeks. In any case, you're not bringing anyone down here. So, convince me why I shouldn't just press this switch now and lock us down."

  "Norstrom?" Angel said. "Who's outside? Who did you bring here?"

  "Refugees from the Paris encampment," he said, his eyes still locked onto Cheong's. "They're nanite-infected. The last of them."

  "Last?"

  "Forty-eight. We had more, but we lost another seventy this morning. It's not going to take long before they know where we are." He pointed into the air with the index finger of his free hand. "If we're going to have any chance of saving them, then we need to bring those people inside, Cheong."

  "They who?" Angel asked. "Who's looking for them? Is it Kurtz?"

  "Not Kurtz, the terrorists."

  "Why here?" Cheong asked. "Why would you bring anyone here?" He turned to Angel. "Did you tell him to come here?"

  "What? No! I—"

  "It's the only place I know where they might be safe," Norstrom said. "It was my idea that Angel bring Farid al-Haddad here in the first place. It was the only place I could think of to guarantee his safety. But now I have more just like him."

  "Al-Haddad's blood tested negative."

  Norstrom frowned. He turned to Angel. "Negative?"

  "We were checking when you arrived. But we don't know for sure."

  He shook his head, confused. "It doesn't matter. Angel's the only one who can figure out how to stop this."

  "Me?"

  "You know what they are and what they can do. You're a doctor. You know about this kind of thing. I know you can figure out a way to get them out of their bodies!"

  "But—"

  "Who followed you here?" Cheong demanded. "Was it this saboteur?"

  "I don't know," Norstrom replied, "other than it's almost certainly the same person or persons who triggered the killing attack at Nordqvist's. They've been on our tail since we evacuated this morning. I don't think they know yet where we've gone, but it's only a matter of time before they do. Flight plans are easy to obtain, even when the wrong ones are filed. Once they do figure it out, it won't take long to find a way to send the kill order."

  "You've brought the killers to our doorstep?" Cheong yelled. "How could you do that?"

  "Monsieur Cheong," Angel said, stepping over. "Listen to me. Those people up there are just like Farid al-Haddad. They're susceptible to—"

  "Susceptible to what?" he spat, incredulous. "You still insist that these things exist, and yet you have proven nothing to me! How can I believe a thing you say? You've lied to me from the very beginning!"

  "I have not!"

  "You've withheld information! You behave erratically, irrationally."

  "I do not!"

  "The medications then? Tell me you're not being treated with antipsychotics!"

  "How dare you!"

  "Why do you act as if your brother is alive?"

  "J-jacques?" she stammered. "What? I—"

  "Enough!" Norstrom shouted. "We're wasting time! Cheong, listen to me! I need to move those people. All it takes is a cell phone number, a wireless transmitter, anything to transmit a small packet of information into the air! Every minute we waste not getting those people down here is another minute they might turn into killers!"

  "Please!" Angel begged.

  "You told me your Mister al-Haddad had nanites in his blood," Cheong persisted, his voice faltering. "But when you looked, there was nothing there! How can I believe you?"

  "It was from a wound! It took too long to get it to the microscope. They
were already gone!"

  "But the blood itself was intact?" Norstrom asked. He looked troubled. "That's not what we've seen before, Angel. If it's still intact, then the nanites should be, too."

  "It's because—"

  There was a blur of movement and Emily was on her feet in a flash, pushing Angel to the ground and running for the elevator. She was inside and had the button pressed before Angel could jump up again.

  "Stop!" Norstrom cried. "Stop, right now or I will shoot Cheong!"

  The elevator chime sounded, and the doors began to slide shut. Angel managed to get her hand between them before they sealed, and they slid back open again.

  "No!" the girl shrieked. She raked a hand at Angel's face, screaming hysterically. Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the lift. They tumbled to the floor, hands tangled in each other's hair. The back of Angel's head hit hard, and she saw stars for a moment.

  "Don't hurt her!" Cheong yelled. "Please!"

  Before anyone could react Norstrom had Cheong on the ground, one arm bent behind his back and the tiny pistol in his own hand. The panic button slipped out of his grip and tumbled out of reach.

  Emily plucked it up from the floor and held it up. "Let him go!" she shouted at Norstrom. "Let him go or I'll push the button!"

  Norstrom ignored her and instead wrestled Cheong back to his feet. He wrenched his arm even higher up until Cheong cried out. "Go ahead," he grunted at the girl. "Push the damn button."

  "But the refugees—" Angel cried.

  "There is no panic switch, Angel," Norstrom said. "It's a bluff. You were explicit in your instructions— nothing wireless. Cheong agreed."

  Doubt flickered in Emily's eyes.

  "That button would require a wireless network or cellular relays on each level."

  "That's why you have them!" Angel exclaimed. She turned to Norstrom. "They're all off. I checked."

  "Even if I were wrong," Norstrom said, "would you really lock yourself in here with the likes of me?"

  "Yes."

  Norstrom pulled Cheong's arm until he nodded. "Okay okay! It's true. It won't work, Emily." He slowly untangled himself as Norstrom released him. He elbowed himself clear. "He's right. It won't work."

  "Hand it over to Angel," Norstrom said. "Now."

  The girl did as she was ordered, glaring murderously at them both.

  "Good. Now, I've had enough. Angel, go with her to the surface and start bringing those people down."

  "Mister Cheong?" Emily whimpered.

  He bowed his head in defeat. "Do it. Put them in the theater for now."

  "But—"

  "It's all right. We'll deal with it."

  Cheong turned so that he could face Norstrom, and he stepped forward until the gun pressed against his belly. He did not shy away. "I just hope you know what you've done."

  Chapter Forty Seven

  "Kurtz managed to escape Istanbul the night of the explosion," Norstrom said, stepping back into the middle of the hallway after the last of the second group passed them. "He took a boat up the Bosporus and into the Black Sea. I lost him for three days, but then I got lucky and tracked him trying to get into the nuclear fallout zone in Volgodonsk."

  "But he'd be exposed to lethal doses of radiation there," Angel said.

  "Which he knew he'd survive."

  Angel's eyes widened. "Of course! It is because of the nanites in his own blood!"

  "Yes. It's a no-man's land now, a perfect place to hide out. Luckily for us, we got him pinned down in Rostov in the Ukraine. But before we could take him into custody, he activated the kill switch on his cell phone."

  "He told me he was willing to sacrifice himself," Angel said.

  "Then he wasn't lying. We found him still alive, but it was too late to do anything."

  Cheong watched the exchange between the two, the skepticism and anger on his face soon giving way to realization they were telling the truth. He could deny Angel when it was just her, but to have two people tell the same story? "Who the hell are you?" he asked Norstrom. "And who do you work for?"

  "Private insurance company," Norstrom automatically replied. "Risk mitigation."

  "Sure."

  He shrugged. It was all the answer he was going to provide for the time being.

  The three of them were still standing in the hallway. After Angel and Emily brought the first group of refugees in and relocated them into the theater, Cheong instructed Eduard and Tomo to finish the job, freeing Angel up to fill in what she hadn't conveyed in their discussion the previous day. Emily was asked to see to it that the refugees' immediate needs were met until they could all be reassembled, at which point, Angel would begin testing their blood.

  "We met in China," Angel offered. "He had infiltrated the company as a contractor to sterilize the crash site. I didn't tell you about him because—"

  "Because he asked you not to," Cheong said. "Yes, I think I understand now. You work for a private firm. You contract with governments to do the things they won't or can't do themselves. Military intelligence, corporate espionage, security, renditions. People like you operate outside the law. Am I wrong?"

  Norstrom didn't challenge the characterization.

  "And you, Missus de l'Enfantine? Do you work for them, too?"

  Both she and Norstrom said no at the same time.

  The elevator doors opened again and discharged another group of refugees. Because the lift was too small to accommodate more than about fifteen people, they had to be brought down in shifts. It was an evident design shortcoming which Cheong acknowledged, commenting that he would need to speak with his bosses to rectify it.

  Norstrom disagreed. He argued that it was likely intentional. "The designers would want to restrict the movement of large groups of people. You trap hundreds inside a building for a long period of time and you're going to get clashes. This would soon become a microcosm of the world out there with political factions forming, rivalries. Keep people separated, restrict their ability to move about. And keep them distracted. That's how you manage a group of individuals in a limited space for a very long time."

  "Familiarity breeds contempt," Cheong muttered.

  "Exactly."

  As the group shuffled past, ogling their new surroundings, Angel asked Norstrom if they were checked for cell phones.

  "We dumped them as soon as we lost Calais."

  "Calais?"

  "The refugee camp," he said, nodding. "I was in Ireland — I'd stopped in to check on Padraig — when I got the news."

  "He is doing okay?"

  "They've transferred him to a research hospital in Belfast for some experimental procedure. Stem cells, he said. He—"

  "What happened in Calais?" Cheong asked impatiently.

  "Another riot, like the one that happened at Nordqvist's ranch. It didn't take long for us to recognize what was happening or its significance. Whoever these people are, they figured out that not all of the refugees died that day. They somehow found out that some of them had been sent to the Migrant Jungle."

  "The saboteur?"

  "It's way too organized for one person, although I can't rule it out. My bet is it's al Tadmir or some other terrorist group."

  "But I don't understand. Why would you send any of them to the Jungle?" Angel asked. "Why put those poor people in one of the most notorious, most crowded, most violent encampments in Europe? Especially when you were trying to hide them?"

  "We didn't put them there. That group was meant to go to a remote village in Germany, but they never showed up. We're still trying to figure out how it happened. Initially, we thought it must have been a mix up in communication. There was a lot of chaos when my orders were overridden. But when the drivers failed to report in, we knew it couldn't have been accidental. In fact, we think when the third bus broke down on its way to Nordqvist, that was also intentional. Unfortunately, we'll probably never know. As for the other trio of buses, we had no idea where they'd gone until the killings started."

  "How bad was
it?"

  Norstrom's eyes tracked the third guard, Tomo, as he headed back to the surface for the final group. "Is there somewhere close by we can speak privately?"

  "The projection booth in the theater," Cheong said. "It's soundproof, but there's a large window where you can keep an eye on everyone in there."

  "The attack began just after sunrise," Norstrom said, once they had relocated inside the small room. "Within an hour, six hundred people were dead. That's when we figured it out. By the time I reached the site three hours later, the casualty count was up to six thousand, roughly two-thirds of the population in the camp, and the number was growing."

  "How could a hundred fifty people kill so many? Why didn't people just run away?"

  "I can't answer the first question, but if you saw the bloodbath, you would have thought it was done by rabid animals. As to the second question, we know the victims did try to run, but the entire compound is fenced in with barbed wire and concrete barriers. It was . . . ."

  He shuddered.

  "The French have a saying: Comme manque une vache dans un couloir. Like missing a cow in a corridor."

  "We say fish in a barrel," Norstrom quietly said. "Eventually, the fence came down, and many did manage to escape. But so did a lot of the injected refugees. Most of them continued their attacks in the surrounding countryside, striking fleeing migrants and civilians. A few made it into the Chunnel. By evening, the kill radius was six miles."

  "If this happened three days ago," Cheong challenged, "then why haven't we heard about it?"

  "It was covered by the media, but there are several reasons why you may not have recognized it. First, since it mostly impacted the migrant community, and because of the public's antipathy toward them, there has been little public outcry. Second, terrorist attacks have dominated the front pages for weeks now, so this tended to get lost in the noise. And third, the media are blaming the incident on an explosion of street drugs in the encampments. We know, for example, that a certain homemade brew of hallucinogenic drugs has been especially popular among the migrant communities. It's been shown to induce violence."