The Noise

by James Patterson

  “Destination, sir?” McMichael asked again.

  Martha reluctantly agreed and held the microphone out again, pressing the button.

  Fraser said, “Renton Forty-Nine.”

  The soldier didn’t reply.

  “McMichael?”

  “Renton Forty-Nine. Confirm, sir?”

  “Confirmed. Renton Forty-Nine.”

  “Understood.”

  Fraser licked the blood on his lip again, then said, “McMichael, this mission is your ears only. Tell LaValley he’s flying dark. No radio contact. We’ve got hostiles at the gates of the base and it’s believed several have made their way on base. Watch your six on the way out. We’re transporting the doctor under cloak, understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Fraser looked back up at Martha and Harbin. “I spent time with both of these men in Afghanistan. I trust them explicitly. You can, too. Runway beta is near the hangar you’ve been using, you’ll see it. Take my Jeep. Move fast, don’t hesitate. Don’t give anyone a reason to stop or question you.”

  Martha asked, “What’s Renton Forty-Nine?”

  “It’s a DARPA black site outside of Seattle.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “It’s Frederick Hoover’s last known location.”

  Martha felt the weight of the hard drive in her hand.

  Fraser said, “One other thing.”

  “What?”

  “Untie me.”

  This time, Martha did.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Martha

  Martha and Harbin pushed through the double doors of the building housing the base’s dead room and found themselves at the center of organized chaos. Vehicles and personnel raced purposely through a chilled night air thick with the looming anxiety of what was to come. The roar of engines thundered above with a mix of transports both coming and going. An armored Humvee rolled by on her left, and a confused moment passed as Martha realized the vehicle had no driver but was somehow operating autonomously.

  Fraser’s Jeep was right where they had left it after rushing him inside at gunpoint, and even though all that felt like a lifetime ago, Martha realized it had been less than an hour.

  She drove, ignoring the speed limit signs, as Harbin plugged the hard drive into a laptop he’d taken from the dead room. Several minutes passed before he slumped back in his seat and looked over at her grimly.

  Martha frowned. “What is it?”

  “You’d better pull over for a second.”

  She pulled the Jeep into a narrow alley between two concrete buildings, turned off the headlights, and shifted into Park.

  Harbin turned the screen so Martha could see, then clicked on a file. The familiar image of Frederick Hoover of DARPA filled the screen, and his voice found them through their headphones:

  “I apologize for the short notice, the ways and means necessary to bring each of you to your current location. As you may have already surmised, the nature of the anomaly requires the utmost secrecy, and your cooperation is greatly appreciated. I would be remiss if I failed to point out the NDAs you’ve signed clearly state a violation of the Secrets Protection Act of 2008 carries a minimum of five years in military prison and a maximum penalty of death under the Treason Act as defined in Article III, Section three of the United States Constitution. Should you speak to any unauthorized personnel, those individuals will be subject to the same. At this point, all your communication devices should have been turned in to an appropriate handler. If you’ve retained any form of communication device, you are hereby ordered to relinquish it immediately. Failure to do so will result in immediate charges, imprisonment, and replacement on this team. I ask that your handler pause the video at this point in order to give you the opportunity to turn in any remaining forms of communication.”

  Hoover went still for a moment, but without Holt to press Pause, he continued several seconds later.

  “I imagine you to be curious as to why you are here. Understandably so. And while I would like to offer an explanation, I’m hesitant to do so. I fear sharing of our current theories and/or analysis of the anomaly may prejudice your own opinions and theories, and we’d prefer you approach this situation without such handicaps, at least for your initial exposure. We will reevaluate upon debrief. In a moment, you will be transported to the anomaly. We ask that you do not consult one another until after your individual debrief and return to base. Each of you possesses a particular skill set, and as with sharing current theories, we’d prefer to hear your individual thoughts before you compare notes.”

  The video stopped.

  Martha said, “That’s the video Holt showed us at Zigzag when we all first arrived. I don’t understand. Why would Fraser think it was important? He doesn’t say anything useful.”

  “The content of the video isn’t the real problem.”

  “The real problem?”

  Harbin held the laptop closer to her and pointed at the file name. “Look at the date it was recorded.”

  Martha had to squint, the text was so small. She found herself frowning. “That can’t be right.”

  “It is, though.”

  “…but that’s more than six months ago. It’s only been a few days since—”

  “—we were shown the video a few days ago, but that’s not when he recorded it,” Harbin interrupted. “There’s more. There’s a lot more.”

  Harbin scrolled through the folder, and Martha realized there were several hundred videos there, dating back nearly nine months. “This didn’t just start. It’s been going on. Zigzag, the girls’ village on Mount Hood, that wasn’t the first, only the most recent. Some of these videos are other teams just like ours, brought in to review the aftermath. Other videos capture the effects of the noise as it’s played for animals and other people—”

  “They purposefully exposed people to the noise?”

  Harbin nodded. “Prisoners, mostly. To better understand what it does. If this got out, the implications would be devastating.”

  “How did they keep it quiet? You saw what happened. How fast it spread.”

  Harbin’s face went grim. “I think they killed them before it got a chance to get out of hand. This last one, at Mount Hood, it got away from them.”

  Martha’s chest tightened. “We need to tell someone—get this out in the open.”

  Harbin worked through several screens on the laptop, then let out a frustrated grunt. “This thing is on the military network, but there’s no access to the outside world. No internet or email.”

  “I haven’t been able to reach anyone since we got to Zigzag. Not my ex-husband or my children. Even when I had access to the internet at the base, it was running through some kind of proxy. All the social media sites were blocked.”

  Harbin leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, a look of defeat washing over him. “Why didn’t I see it…”

  “See what?”

  “They’ve been blocking us. Keeping us from reaching the outside world. They have been since we arrived. I thought it was for security reasons, but that’s not it at all.” His shoulders tightened, and a quake entered his voice. “They put our team together to solve problems for which they already possessed the answers. This was never about stopping the anomaly.” He gestured at the hard drive. “All these experiments…this was someone trying to determine how long it would take a group like ours to figure out what was really happening.”

  Martha understood then. “Groups, not group. We’re somebody’s sample. Part of the experiment. An average on a spreadsheet. They’re trying to weaponize this, and they needed to understand how long it would take for us to help organize a response so they could better deploy.”

  Harbin nodded.

  Martha felt her stomach sink.

  She turned the headlights on and pulled back out onto the road.

  Neither of them spoke.

  If the base was organized chaos, the adjoining airfields were a dance of precision. Numerous aircraft lined the runways preparing fo
r takeoff while others came in for a landing, rolled down the tarmac at great speed, slowed with a rush of air, and moved aside to load or unload moments before the next plane approached.

  Runway beta was deserted, and judging by the potholes and weeds growing up through the blacktop, it had been some time since it had been used by a plane. The various hangars and low-lying structures were in serious disrepair, abandoned some time ago. Martha was beginning to think Fraser had led them into some kind of trap when they came around the side of the remains of an old warehouse and the helicopter came into view—an EC135, Martha now recognized. The rotors were spinning, picking up speed.

  She skidded to a stop about twenty feet away and left the motor running.

  Two Humvees rounded the corner of the warehouse from the direction they just came and seemed to pick up speed when the helicopter came into view.

  A soldier came running up and identified himself as McMichael. He had to shout to be heard over all the noise. “Fraser wanted me to go with you, but I can’t!” He gestured toward the two approaching Humvees. “I need to run interference, or you’ll never get out of here! You gotta go!”

  Harbin climbed out the Jeep, favoring his injured arm, the laptop under his other, and turned back to Martha. “Stay safe! Keep the girls safe! I’ll find some way to get back in touch with you!”

  “Sir, now!” McMichael yelled, taking Harbin by the shoulder and quickly leading him to the helicopter. The moment he was on board, McMichael slammed the door, knocked twice on the glass, and the chopper lurched up and vanished.

  The first Humvee pulled right up to McMichael out on the tarmac. The second skidded to a stop next to Martha. Through the open window, a soldier shouted, “Dr. Chan? Ma’am, you need to get back to the hangar!”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Martha

  Martha followed the Humvee back to the hangar and was still rolling to a stop when Tennant rushed out.

  “Doctor, it’s Sophie! Come on!”

  Tennant grabbed Martha from the Jeep and pulled her arm so hard it felt like the girl might yank it out of the socket.

  She led her inside where Sophie stood in the middle cage, still facing south, her eyes closed, her fists balled up. The other cages were empty now. After the incident with the phone, Fraser had insisted they put her back in restraints. Martha wasn’t sure what good that would do, but she had complied anyway. He had also wanted her to put a gag on the girl. She had not done that. None of this mattered because all of her restraints were now lying in a heap near the door.

  Martha turned to Tennant. “Did you take those off?”

  “How could I? Her door’s locked.”

  When Martha looked back, she realized the girl was right. The heavy padlock was right where she’d left it. Her hand rummaged through her front pocket and came out with the key.

  “Forget the restraints,” Tennant said. “Listen.”

  The hum was there, louder in this room than it was next door.

  The air held the same stillness as an open field moments before lightning reached down from the heavens and scorched the earth. A slight tinge of electric ozone.

  Sophie’s lips were moving. Barely perceptible, Martha realized she was whispering. As she stepped closer, she could make out the words.

  “Jayne Bergh, Aja Holmberg, Naomi Pilger, Jaunita Haakenson, Hershel Simonton, Elna Blanco, Darcie Chidester, Lanette Quinn, Forest Balch, Bethel Deakins, Shauna Blizzard, Suzette Marcinek, Fernande Bittner, Yu Jessop, Kimberly Dansereau, Greg Marasco, Paul Wasilewski, Ellie Pizarro, Cedric Lesko, Michaela Vandever, Elia Magrath…”

  “She started about five minutes ago. I recognized a couple of the names, but not most. Do you think they’re all infected?”

  “How could she know that?”

  Tennant shook her head and went over to the bank of computer and video monitors Fraser’s people had been using earlier and began switching everything on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “While you were gone, it started. They’re scrambling fighters and bombers out there. I overheard two of the soldiers talking about what they’d seen on video footage coming back from some of Fraser’s advance teams. I want to see if—”

  One of the video screens came to life with a shaky image of the horde—grainy and tinged in the green glow of infrared. Thousands of people running. A readout in the bottom corner said they were moving at an incredible pace of twenty-one miles per hour. To Martha, it seemed physically impossible they could sustain such momentum, but there they were. Several of the runners jerked and dropped to the ground and because there was no sound, it took Martha a moment to realize what was happening.

  Tennant saw it, too. “They’re shooting at them!”

  As bullets struck, people dropped and fell beneath the feet of others, trampled in moments.

  What could they possibly expect to accomplish by shooting them?

  The footage must have been coming from a vehicle, something racing alongside the horde. Probably a Humvee or an ATV. There was no way to be sure. It was too low and jarring to be from a helicopter.

  Tennant said softly, “I heard a soldier say they modified the noise-canceling equipment and they can get closer now. They’re operating some of the equipment remotely, too.”

  One of the other monitors had a detailed map showing the current location of the horde, all military vehicles and major cities. Martha studied it for a moment. “At this speed, they’ll reach Portland in less than an hour. Closer to forty minutes.”

  Behind them, Sophie continued to whisper, “Elisa Sine, Berry Redding, Cassaundra Pasha, Shakia Kiel, Melinda Visitacion, Millie Rowse, Murray Raymond, Lucila Arms, Hugo Majeed, Gabriel Rollo, Leora Hickel, Estelle Bodin, Alice Mccutcheon, Gwyneth Haverly, Takisha Millender, Donita Kalis, Loria Higgs, Amanda Truluck…”

  Tennant let out a gasp. Her finger rose and pointed at the screen.

  “What is it?”

  “Poppa and Momma…”

  Martha hit several buttons on the attached laptop and froze the image. “Where?”

  Tennant stepped closer and touched the screen. Her index finger left a streak on the plastic. She traced a man and a woman on the outer fringe of the runners. The man was wearing a single boot, his other foot glistened in the hazy green light with what could only be blood. As Martha looked closer, she realized his pants leg was shredded and damp.

  How far were they from Mount Hood? Had he really run all the way like that? At that speed?

  She thought of Rosalin Agar. She had run the same distance. Why not this girl’s parents?

  “We need to help them!”

  Martha’s voice fell soft. “Tennant, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Tell the soldiers to stop!”

  “They won’t listen to me.”

  “They have to!”

  Tears welled up in Martha’s eyes, and she wiped them away. She tried to offer Tennant a hug, but the girl shook her off.

  “All over soon, Tennnnant.”

  The two of them looked over and realized Sophie had moved to the side of her cage closest to them. Although she faced them, her eyes open now, she didn’t appear to be looking at them. It was as if she saw through them to some distant place or object.

  “Over how, Sophie?” Martha asked.

  Her voice dropped low and mimicked Harbin’s accent. “We’re all going to die, Doctor. Is that what you want to hear?” Then, in her own voice, she added, “We’re all going to run.”

  She started on the names again after that, this endless list.

  “Carla Santani, Isaura Corella, Aurelio Sines, Normand Escareno, Marx Welle, Mallory Cargo, Era Vida, Yelena Brin, Kathy Tryon, Danna Germann, Eddy Fleagle…”

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Harbin

  Renton 49 was a square structure about six stories tall sandwiched between half a dozen similar buildings on a street that could have been anywhere. There were no lights on the roof, nothing to indicate a helicopter could set down. Not
hing to indicate the building was even occupied.

  At some point, their pilot had switched off their running lights. They came in fast and dark, and for a moment, Harbin thought they were going to crash.

  At the last moment, the pilot pulled up and set them down with a blast of dust and a soft thud. “You need to hurry. The door is on the east end of the roof, past those air conditioners.” He motioned in that general direction with his left hand. “I pulled my GPS beacon when we left the base, and they’ve been on the radio trying to locate me. I need to get to the Portland staging area before someone figures out where I really went.”

  Harbin yanked up on the door latch and winced before climbing out with the laptop under his arm and gun back under his belt at the small of his back. He had redressed his bullet wound while en route—the bleeding had finally stopped, but without painkillers his entire arm throbbed.

  Harbin leaned back inside and shouted at the pilot, “Good luck, son.”

  The pilot gave him a half wave, and the moment he closed the door, the helicopter lifted off into the night sky and was gone.

  Harbin quickly stared off in the direction the pilot had indicated, rounded the three large air handlers from the building’s HVAC system, and found the door inside a brick portico with a steel-slat roof.

  Metal.

  Painted a dull gray.

  Locked.

  Harbin found no keyhole or latch.

  He beat on it with the back of his hand.

  No keypad, intercom, or visible camera.

  He hit the door again, harder this time, and felt the pain reverberate up the length of his bad arm.

  Nothing.

  No response.

  He could try to get to the ground level and find the front door, but something told him that would be locked, too.

  “Who are you?”

  The voice was female, and Harbin had no idea where it came from. Electronic, though, some kind of speaker.

  “I’m looking for Frederick Hoover. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Fraser sent me.”

  “Who are you?” the voice repeated.