‘Fine,’ Crawford yelled. ‘I’ll come and pull you down.’
Hazo turned and pointed the gun directly at the reactor, the way an executioner might – the way a Saddam loyalist might threaten a Kurdish carpet retailer from Mosul. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘You move, I shoot.’
For ten seconds there was no response.
Then the light beam shifted.
Hazo hesitated.
Still no reply from Crawford.
Hazo called down to him: ‘This is a nuclear reactor, is it not?’
Again, Crawford didn’t answer.
Without warning, something hurled out from the light – glinting in fast bursts as it pinwheeled directly towards Hazo. Before he could react, it struck him in the chest like a fist, pushed him back against the reactor. He crumpled down on to the platform. All feeling to his right hand instantly turned to pins and needles. Involuntarily, his fingers went limp. The gun slipped out from his ruined grip and skittered to a stop, close to the edge of the platform.
This time, Hazo found it impossible to catch his breath. He looked down and saw a black handgrip, buried to the hilt, sticking out beneath his right clavicle, close to the shoulder. When he tried to move towards the gun, bolts of pain shot down his arm and over his chest, making him see pure white. He screamed out in agony.
Then he could hear Crawford’s boots clanging up the ladder rungs.
79
It hadn’t taken much effort for Jason to persuade Crawford’s disenchanted marines to step aside so that he and Meat could get into the tunnel.
After squirming through the opening above the debris pile, they’d progressed quickly through a series of interconnected tunnels. Tight winding passages had widened into a subterranean corridor with a lofty ceiling joined at a point, which in turn, fed them through a tunnel that looked as if it had been dug by a huge gopher. Halfway through the gopher hole, where a sharp bend yielded to a lengthy straightaway, Jason abruptly dropped to one knee with his M-16 directed straight. He immediately signalled to Meat to halt his advance.
With no words exchanged between them, Jason leaned sideways and shone his light low to the ground less than ten metres ahead to emphasize a contorted body in desert camouflage blocking their path. The dead man was on his stomach in a pool of blood that looked purple against the dark limestone. Though the face was turned away from them, a glinting gold crucifix dangling from the corpse’s neck left little doubt as to the marine’s identity.
‘It’s Ramirez,’ Jason whispered softly to Meat.
Meat’s face gnarled with disgust.
Jason eased back to a standing position, listened intently for any activity. He turned to Meat. ‘Hear that?’
Meat nodded. ‘Sounds like rusty wheels.’
Jason proceeded forward and Meat followed close at his heels. As he stepped over the body, he caught a glimpse of the dime-sized red hole drilled through Ramirez’s temple.
Crawford, you bastard. You’re going to pay for this. All of this.
The tunnel curved yet again. After cautiously rounding the bend, Jason saw the slightest trace of light softening the darkness. He also heard screaming over the growing din of tinny squeals. One of the voices belonged to Crawford; the other, tinged with an accent, unmistakably Hazo. The exchange wasn’t pleasant. It sounded as if the two were arguing about something.
Jason looked back at Meat and said in an urgent tone, ‘Let’s do this.’
80
Hazo was amazed how quickly Crawford had made it up to the platform. It seemed like mere seconds had elapsed since the colonel threw the knife into his chest. Not enough time for Hazo to muster the strength to make a play for the gun. But even the slightest movement tweaked the blade against nerves and zapped him like a taser.
Sneering and wild-eyed, Crawford gave the handgun a swift kick and it sailed off into the darkness to disappear below the rats. ‘Nice try, Haji. But your aim was lousy.’
Hazo’s gaze burned with contempt. ‘You are an evil man,’ he said. Wincing, he tried to prop himself up against the reactor.
‘Don’t be such a bad sport. You’re no match for me. None of you Arabs is a match for me.’
‘I am a Kurd,’ Hazo couldn’t help point out.
Crawford shrugged. ‘You all look the same to me – Kurds, Saudis, Egyptians, Palestinians, Kuwaitis, Jordanians, Iranians, Afghanis . . . Call yourselves whatever you want. But you all popped out of the same fucked-up mould.’ He reached out and gave the knife a good twist and Hazo screamed out. ‘Don’t take my word for it, though. That virus inside you knows the difference . . . only likes A-rab DNA. And it looks to me like you’re one dead A-rab.’
Just when Hazo looked ready to pass out, Crawford relinquished his grip on the knife’s hilt. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a foot-long plastic zip-tie. Tugging at the Kurd’s limp arm, he strapped the wrist snugly to the rail.
Hazo screamed in agony, coughed up a wad of mucus and blood.
‘Sounds like you’ve got a hairball in there. Oh, sorry . . . that’s just the plague. Same plague these rats are going to spread to every one of your Arab brothers.’ Crawford stood and eyed the huge generator. ‘You aren’t as stupid as most Arabs, I’ll give you that. You see, this sure is a nuclear reactor. World’s most efficient battery. But a couple of puny bullets won’t do it much harm.’ Then he squatted beside a luggage-sized olive drab box bolted to the base of the reactor, saying, ‘But this baby, here, can pack enough punch to vaporize everything inside this mountain.’ Crawford patted the boxy shell that protected the W54 Special Atomic Demolition Munition, feeling both affection and respect for what was inside it: the plutonium equivalent of twenty-two tons of TNT. ‘Before that happens, I’m going to push these rats out of here, using my little whistle here.’ Crawford tapped his walkie-talkie. ‘That way they can swarm over this godforsaken sandbox you call a country to set things straight once and for all.’
Horrified, Hazo watched the colonel unhinge the bomb’s lid to access a control console. When Crawford inserted a keycard into a slot on the panel, a digital display illuminated.
‘Please, think about what you are doing,’ Hazo pleaded. ‘Destroy the cave . . . me . . . That is fine. You can leave this place and no one will ever know. But you can’t spread this disease. Please. Think of all the innocent people. Even you can’t do such thing.’
‘I can do anything I damn well please,’ Crawford replied coyly, entering an eight-digit code on the console’s number pad to override the remote arming system linked to Stokes’s computer halfway around the world. ‘And don’t you worry about my conscience. After all this is done, I’ll sleep like a baby.’ He pressed a button and a digital display illuminated with numbers: 00:20:00. He looked at Hazo and grinned.
‘Please. Don’t.’
‘Let the games begin.’ Crawford hit another key and the countdown began. ‘You’ve got less than twenty minutes. Plenty of time for some fond memories and a few prayers. Then it’s off to reunite with your papa. In the meantime, I’ve got some work to do.’
‘Crawford!’ a deep voice bellowed out from the darkness.
The colonel’s bravado instantly turned to alarm. He wheeled and drew his M-16 – all in one motion. His light lanced the darkness and found the target near the entrance tunnel: one of those damn mercenaries; the Goliath-sized guy they called ‘Meat’. ‘Don’t you assholes know when to die?’ He opened fire before the man could raise his weapon. But Meat managed to duck for cover into the tunnel. ‘Fucker,’ he grumbled.
Meanwhile, with Crawford’s attention focused on Meat, Jason crept up the ladder leading to the platform. He glanced down at the unbelievably huge brood of rats – all those gleaming red eyes filled with malice staring back at him. Crawford’s tirade filled in many of the blanks as to what Stokes’s master plan entailed, making it perfectly clear that the rats themselves were to be what Flaherty had dubbed the plague’s ‘delivery system’. All this sophisticated equipment Stokes had inst
alled was no doubt designed to increase the rats’ numbers, while pumping them full of virus.
As he’d advanced through the shadows, Jason had seen Crawford tap the device on his belt and refer to it as a ‘whistle’ – the tool he’d be using to drive the rats out from the cave. Judging from the way the rats stayed far away from Crawford’s position, he guessed it was a variant of an ultrasonic transmitter commonly used by the marines to ward off critters and pests from camp provisions. He could see that the rats were trying to break through the invisible barrier that kept them at a distance of ten metres. A wave of rats would spill into the void, cower against the ultrasonic blast and scrabble back in retreat. Then another bunch would test their mettle with the same result. Fortunately, the natural bottleneck at the cave’s centre contained the rats. But they needed to be destroyed – every single one of them.
Near the top of the ladder, Jason peeked up over the edge of the platform. Crawford was facing sideways, using his light to probe the entryway for Meat. Though Crawford was wearing a helmet and a flak jacket, Jason could easily put a bullet through his face. However tempting that might seem, he’d need to try to take him alive. With Roselli and Stokes out of the picture, Crawford was the lone survivor of the twisted cabal who’d masterminded Operation Genesis. And there were plenty of questions still unanswered.
‘You are finished, Crawford,’ Hazo whispered, smiling grimly.
‘Not even close, Haji,’ he said, turning to face Hazo. Glowering, he pressed the M-16’s muzzle against Hazo’s head.
It was exactly what Hazo expected Crawford to do. And it drew all the attention away from Jason, who was now quietly stepping up on to the platform.
At the last instant, however, Crawford was alerted to Jason’s presence by the subtle shift in the metal grating under his feet. By the time Crawford turned, Jason had lunged forward like a linebacker, burying a shoulder into Crawford’s abdomen and thrusting him back against the safety rail that looped in front of the reactor.
Jason drove his elbow up into Crawford’s jaw, then landed a smashing head-butt on the bridge of his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere. Jason grabbed for Crawford’s right forearm and pushed the M-16 away. Shots sprayed wildly into the cave’s vault. Then with all his might, Jason pressed the forearm longways over the metal rail – kept pushing down until he heard bones snap. Dazed, Crawford yelped in pain, thrashing viciously. The M-16 slipped out from his grip, tumbled over the railing and disappeared.
Crawford brought his left elbow down between Jason’s shoulder blades directly on the spine. He followed it up with a knee to Jason’s face.
Jason reeled, stumbled backwards and collapsed on to the platform.
Crawford used his left hand to yank the knife out from Hazo’s shoulder. Hazo screamed in anguish as blood began spilling out from the unplugged wound.
Jason sprang to his feet and squared off with Crawford.
‘Still got some fight left, eh?’ Crawford said, grinning deviously. His misshapen right arm dangled limply at his side, and he clutched the defiled knife in his left hand.
‘Plenty,’ Jason said, wiping blood from a gash over his left eye.
‘You’re gonna need it, boy,’ Crawford warned, with a menacing thrust of the knife. He eyed the spinning numbers on the nuke’s console. ‘You can’t stop this now,’ he said. ‘Even I can’t override the countdown.’
‘I’m not asking you to stop it,’ Jason replied, crouching in a wrestling stance.
‘You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?’ Crawford said. ‘But tell me, Yaeger . . . when you found Al-Zahrani drowned in his own filth, didn’t you just love it?’
Jason didn’t answer.
‘Must have been thrilling to see him go like that.’ Crawford kept low and shifted side to side. ‘All that horrible suffering. After what he did to your brother, it must’ve tickled your dick.’
‘You don’t know shit about my brother.’
Crawford tested Yaeger’s reflexes with another thrust of the knife. Jason pulled back nimbly. ‘But I know plenty about you, Yaeger,’ he said. ‘You want revenge. You want blood. And here I am handing you retribution wrapped in a bow . . . and you’re fighting me? You want this just as bad as me. These rats . . . this plague . . . it’s the answer to all our problems.’
‘A plague won’t stop fanaticism. It’s not a solution. Nothing that can kill so many innocent people is a solution.’
‘That’s not the way I see it,’ replied Crawford.
Jason tipped his head towards the nuke. ‘Time’s fleeting. Best make your move now if you think you might have a chance at saving your pets.’ He could see in Crawford’s frenzied gaze that a bleak realization was taking hold.
Crawford stepped closer, forcing Jason to back-step to the open edge of the platform near the ladder.
Then something popped up over the lip of the platform and a bright light suddenly flashed in Crawford’s eyes, making him raise his left hand to shield them.
Jason sprang at Crawford, grabbed his flak jacket with both hands and planted his right foot in Crawford’s stomach. He tugged the colonel forward while dropping his back on to the platform in a somersault and using the momentum to flip Crawford upwards. He thrust his legs and the colonel launched over the edge of the platform.
Clinging to the ladder with the flashlight in his hand, Meat ducked as Crawford went airborne.
‘No-o-o-o—!’ Crawford yelled as he did a full twist. He landed hard on his back. His head smacked against the rocky ground, but the helmet spared his skull from being split open. The rats immediately retreated from the repeller so that a wide circle opened up around him.
Meat pointed the light down at him. The colonel’s body was contorted into a pretzel shape. The left leg was bent completely sideways; the right arm pinned beneath the torso. With his left arm, however, he was struggling to retrieve the M-16 that had landed just out of reach. There was no movement below the waist. ‘That’s gonna leave a mark.’
‘Thanks,’ Jason said, holding a hand out for Meat.
‘What are friends for?’ Meat said, clasping Jason’s hand and stepping up on to the platform.
‘Aaaaaaah!’ Crawford screamed in frustration, his outstretched left arm still half a metre from the rifle. He glared at his ruined legs, trying to will a response. But there was zero movement. ‘Damn it, Yaeger! You broke my fucking back!’
‘What’s the matter . . . colonel’s got a boo-boo?’ Meat cajoled.
‘We can’t mess around, Meat,’ Jason said. ‘We don’t have much time.’
81
‘Hey, buddy,’ Jason said, kneeling beside Hazo. He used his knife to cut Hazo’s wrist free from the railing. Hazo’s complexion was sickly and trickles of blood were dribbling from his nostrils and ears. ‘Looks like you’ve had a tough time since we’ve been gone.’
‘I do not feel so well, Jason,’ Hazo muttered, his eyes distant and cloudy.
‘We’re going to get you out of here. Are you able to stand?’
‘No. I’m too dizzy.’
‘I’ll carry you.’
‘No . . . no.’
‘Fine,’ Jason said. ‘Meat will carry you.’
Hazo managed a thin smile, waved his hand dismissively. ‘Is it true that Al-Zahrani is dead?’ he asked, looking directly into Jason’s eyes.
Jason couldn’t lie. ‘Yeah, buddy. He’s dead.’
‘This disease killed him? This plague that is inside me?’
Jason hesitated. ‘We didn’t find him in time. We weren’t able to treat him.’
‘Is there a treatment, Jason?’ Hazo asked, his voice weak.
Jason didn’t know what to say. The medic was dead and according to Tommy Flaherty, Stokes had indicated that there was no vaccine. Finally, with his heart in his throat, he shook his head.
‘Can I spread this to others?’
Jason swallowed hard and felt a surge of emotion fill his chest. He could tell that Hazo already knew the answer, but needed him t
o make peace with it. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I must stay here. You know that.’
A feeling of utter helplessness wrenched Jason, made his head numb. He’d already lost two men today.
‘Jason, we’ve got a problem,’ Meat said, monitoring the scene below. ‘The rats. They’re moving closer.’ He also noticed that the tiny yellow light on Crawford’s walkie-talkie that had been blinking in a steady rhythm had now turned to a sporadic pulse. ‘I think Crawford’s gizmo got a good jolt when he hit the ground. Looks like it’s fading out.’
Jason glanced at the nuke’s digital counter. Fifteen minutes, eight seconds. There was no way they could carry Hazo outside in time. And with a broken back, Crawford wouldn’t be making it out either. Unfortunately, there’d also be no time to interrogate the colonel.
‘Hazo’s right,’ Meat said. ‘We don’t have much time. And there’s no way we can allow these rats to get out of here. Let the nuke do its job. It’s the best option we’ve got to stop this thing from spreading.’
Jason nodded and turned his attention back to Hazo. ‘You’re a great man, Hazo. Your family will be very proud when I tell them what you’ve done.’
Meat peered down at Crawford again and his eyes went wide. Though the colonel had given up on the M-16, he was now using his good arm to make a play for the apple-sized grenades clipped to his vest. ‘Oh you fucker,’ Meat hissed, baring his teeth. ‘Don’t even think about it!’ He raised his rifle, took careful aim at Crawford and squeezed off three rounds. One of the rounds split the colonel’s wrist, the other two sank deep into the bulletproof flak jacket.
Crawford bellowed out in pain and spewed a string of obscenities at Meat.
‘And that goes double for you too,’ Meat replied, grinning.
‘Thank you, Jason,’ Hazo said. ‘Thank you for showing me hope when I saw nothing but despair. When I meet my father again, it will be with dignity. Now you must go. Please.’
The Genesis Plague Page 32
