by A. G. Riddle
He turned to Avery. “Is there any navigational data from ships that docked?”
She worked the laptop. “It looks like the nav data downloads automatically when the ships make contact—but warehouse staff delete the records after review.” She raised her eyebrows. “Hold on. They haven’t deleted the records from the most recent ship, the MV Ascension.” Her eyes scanned the screen. “It’s still docked here.”
Desmond felt a rush of hope. “Read the ports of call.”
“Hong Kong. Singapore. Port Klang. Shenzen. Ho Chi Minh City. Kaohsiung.” Avery looked up. “This doesn’t make sense. The ship’s always full when it makes port, but it never takes on containers.”
William stepped closer. “We’re looking for a recurring location. It will occur after every port.”
Avery worked the laptop. “There’s nothing. Just an entry for Speculum.”
“That’s it.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Desmond said.
“It’s a Latin word. It translates to looking glass. On the Beagle, it was our code word for the Isle.” William paused. “Yes, it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” Peyton asked.
“I think they created the virus at Aralsk-7,” William said. He turned to Desmond. “You saw the subjects in the testing wing. But I don’t think they manufactured the cure there.”
“Why?”
“Simple logistics. Think about it. The virus is highly contagious. They wouldn’t need a large amount to spread it. Maybe a few hundred or thousand doses strategically placed around the world. Aralsk-7 could easily manufacture and transport enough viral material to seed the outbreak. But manufacturing the cure, and shipping it around the world… that’s a task on a completely different scale. We’re talking about billions of doses. Sea freight is the only thing that makes sense. It’s the cheapest way to transport bulk goods, and it allows them to reach any port in the world within a short amount of time.” He nodded. “It’s the Isle. This is their manufacturing center, I’m sure of it. It might even be their HQ.”
“Wait,” Charlotte said. “Why did they make all the shipments over the years to SARA? No one is sick there.”
William shook his head. “I don’t know. I still don’t understand how you and SARA fit in. It’s almost like the shipments were unrelated to the pandemic. Maybe we obtained the wrong file at Aralsk-7. I’m sorry we involved you in this, Charlotte.”
“I’m not. If SARA is somehow connected to the Citium—if they used us somehow—I want to know why. And what they did to my people.”
“I don’t blame you.” William turned to the group. “Look, we need to move quickly. I believe we should assume that somewhere on the Isle is a list of the warehouse locations.”
“Okay,” Desmond said. “But you said this place would be very well guarded. So what are you thinking? Can we contact the US military somehow and get them to send in Special Forces to raid the island?”
“We’ll need to go with them.” William motioned to Avery. “At least, Avery and I will need to. I know the island layout, and she has familiarity with the computer systems. We’ll go in covertly; a head-on assault would be doomed.”
Desmond spoke quickly. “No way I’m sitting this one out.”
“That goes for me too,” Peyton said.
“No, Peyton. You’re too sick. I know you’ve been trying to hide it.”
She stared into his eyes. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m close enough. They killed a lot of my people, and they’re killing a lot more people I’ve dedicated my life to protecting.”
William focused on Peyton. “It’s simply too dangerous—”
“Dad, going into dangerous situations is part of my job. I’m all grown up now, and I make my own decisions.” She glanced back and forth between Desmond and her father. “I’m going.”
“And I’m going as well,” Charlotte said.
Desmond shook his head. “Charlotte—”
“These… terrorists funded my work for some reason. Sent potentially dangerous material to my camp for years. I have to know why. And I might know something that we don’t even realize—something that could help when we get there. If there’s even a remote chance that I could help, I have to try. Billions of lives are at stake. I’m going. I know the risks. I accept them.”
Desmond looked to William for help, but the older man just shrugged. Apparently he, too, sensed that they were fighting a losing battle. They weren’t going to keep Peyton and Charlotte off the team, no matter how much they wanted to.
“Fine,” Desmond said. “Let’s assume that this island is our best shot at finding where the shipments of cure have been sent.” He looked around, watching the silent nods from the group. “So how do we even get there? We can’t exactly fly there—landing on the island would end our little adventure pretty quickly. And by the time we get there by sea, the world as we know it will be over.”
“I think I can help with that,” Avery said. She drew a cell phone from her pocket and affixed a satellite sleeve. Desmond watched her activate an app called North Star. She shot him a sly smile. “It turns out I didn’t trust you either.”
The app beeped once, a long drone. Then a man’s voice came over the speaker. “Ops.”
Avery smiled. “We’ve found it.”
Chapter 108
Desmond was pushing the twenty-foot box truck’s engine to its limits, trying to keep up with Avery’s truck ahead. She was barreling down the deserted streets of Port Adelaide with reckless abandon. They hadn’t seen a soul, but Desmond was still concerned that they might hit a pedestrian. Peyton sat in the passenger seat, gripping the handle on the ceiling. She apparently was concerned too.
“I wish she’d slow down,” Peyton yelled over the roaring engine.
Desmond nodded, but he had to admit: time was not on their side. Every minute that passed, people lost their lives.
William sat behind the wheel of the truck behind them, keeping up as best he could. In the rearview, Desmond saw Charlotte in the passenger seat with an expression of terror similar to Peyton’s.
At the Citium warehouse, Avery’s NorthStar app had connected her to the Rubicon command center, who had quickly gotten in touch with the US and Australian militaries to coordinate the plan. They had directed Avery and the team to take as many doses of the cure as possible to the Royal Australian Air Force Base at Edinburgh, South Australia, and to expect details of additional arrangements by the time they got there.
At the base, the gates stood open. Planes sat on the runways with their glass canopies open. Avery was talking on the phone when she stepped down from her truck. As soon as she signed off, she walked over to the other four and said, “Okay, the US Navy has an aircraft carrier in range. We’ll fly there, and get further orders. They’re trying to organize a strike force now.”
They ventured inside the barracks, which had been converted to a hospital of sorts. Nearly half the staff were caring for the other half. They seemed to all be sick.
A man with a captain’s insignia, who introduced himself only as Mullins, was in charge. “My CO said to give you any plane you want and our best pilot.”
After some discussion, they selected a small cargo transport with the range they needed. They loaded it with as many doses of the cure as it would hold and took off immediately. From a window on the plane, Desmond watched the Australian Air Force men unloading the box trucks, carrying the boxes of jet injectors and vials of the cure into the barracks.
We saved those lives.
And if they were successful, they would save many more.
Peyton slept on the plane. Or at least, she tried. Her nerves wouldn’t settle. Her mind raced with feelings and thoughts she could barely sort out. Desmond Hughes was someone she had written off—had forced herself to forget about. Now he was back, and she knew her feelings for him were, too. They had never truly gone away after he left.
The same was true of her father. Knowing he had been alive all those
years, unable to contact her, tore her apart.
And then there was the island. If her father was right, it held the key to stopping the pandemic. She wanted that more than anything—even more than her own happiness. She wondered if she would have to choose; if in the tangled web the Citium had spun, she would have to choose between saving many lives—or saving her father, or Desmond.
In the cockpit, William stared down at the massive aircraft carrier. The USS Nimitz was America’s oldest aircraft carrier in service, but the ship was still extremely formidable: over three football fields long and two hundred and fifty feet wide, with over four acres of flight deck and nearly five thousand crew on board. The sun was setting behind the RAAF cargo plane when the massive city on the sea came into view.
William activated the internal speaker. “On approach. Prepare for landing.”
The Australian pilot nodded, activated the radio, and called to the carrier’s tower. “Old Salt, this is Rescue Bird, request permission to land.”
The scene on the USS Nimitz resembled the airbase at Edinburgh, though on a much larger scale. A tall man stood on the flight deck, roughly twenty feet in front of about two hundred men and women in US Navy khakis standing at attention. The officer met Peyton and the other three as they were disembarking the plane, and informed them that the assembled group were members of the ship’s crew who had volunteered for this mission. Each was either immune to the virus or wasn’t incapacitated yet. They were ready to fight.
Minutes later, a fleet of helicopters lifted off, carrying Avery, Peyton, Desmond, William, Charlotte, and the two hundred US Navy volunteers. As they rose into the sky, Peyton looked down and saw crews moving the boxes of the cure out of the transport plane. They had brought five thousand doses—enough to save the entire crew of the Nimitz.
They landed on the USS Boxer, which Peyton thought looked like a smaller version of the Nimitz. She soon learned that the Boxer was part of a US Navy Expeditionary Strike Group—a collection of ships capable of deploying quick reaction forces via land, sea, and air.
In a conference room just off the bridge, Colonel Nathan Jamison, the commander of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, briefed the five of them on the reconnaissance his crew had gathered during the five hours since Avery’s contact had begun coordinating with the United States Department of Defense.
An image of a harbor appeared on the screen. Massive canopies hung overhead.
Jamison’s voice came out like a growl. “We haven’t observed any vessels departing or arriving.”
William stood beside him at the whiteboard. “You likely won’t.”
Through the windows, Peyton saw more helicopters arriving, unloading troops. The Boxer was gathering all able-bodied Marines and Navy personnel from ships scattered throughout the Pacific. The colonel had told them that his unit typically had twenty-two hundred active duty personnel, but the X1-Mandera virus had decimated their ranks. Peyton wondered how the Citium had gotten the virus onto so many ships. Had they used the water, packing tape, and boxes the team had discovered at Aralsk-7? Or was there another delivery method for the armed services and other isolated populations?
On the whiteboard, her father sketched a map of the island’s buildings and roads. “This is how the island looked in the mid-sixties. That’s the last time I was there.” He paused for a moment. Peyton thought he was remembering something; she wondered what it was.
He pointed at a building far inland, away from the main road. “This is the administrative building. It’s the primary office complex on the island. I think the Citium leadership will be there. If so, the main server farm will be too. We get in there, get Avery logged in, and she’ll be able to get direct access to the Citium’s files including, hopefully, the list of warehouses around the world where the cure is stored.”
Colonel Jamison began describing his plan, which involved paratroopers landing at the administrative building and amphibious vessels making landfall on a deserted beach a few miles from the harbor and immediately sweeping through with thousands of troops. Air support would begin as soon as the paratroopers hit the ground. Peyton and the other four of them would follow once the site was secure.
When Colonel Jamison had finished, William said, “It’s a good plan. An attack with overwhelming force is the correct approach under normal circumstances.”
Jamison stared at him.
“However, we have an advantage.”
“Which is?” Jamison growled.
“Surprise. Knowledge of the terrain. And working against us, we have an enemy that is sublimely clever. They may well be prepared for a head-on assault—in ways we can’t anticipate. Casualties will likely be high.”
“The cost of failure is even higher,” Jamison said.
“True enough. But I believe we should consider an amendment to your plan. A precursor, if you will. I suggest that the five of us land at your identified insertion point, reconnoiter the target zone, and make our way to the administrative building, where we will attempt to gain entry and obtain the objective.”
Jamison shook his head. “Too risky. If you’re discovered, we lose the element of surprise.”
“I rate your plan as even more risky, Colonel. Landing in the harbor and on the beaches in force gives the Citium time to delete the very files we’re after. No, it simply won’t work.”
The two men argued at length, with no one else able to get a word in. Finally, William raised his voice. “I’m not a civilian. I was previously in the employ of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service. And we were very, very good at exactly this type of operation.”
The assertion didn’t dissuade Jamison; in fact, it enraged him. The two men did, however, come to a compromise: the five of them would land at the beach with a smaller strike force of Navy SEALs and Marine Force Recon. The main assault force and air support would be on standby, ready for rapid deployment.
Outside the briefing room, Peyton’s father whispered in her ear, “I need to speak with you.”
When they were alone, he said, “On the island, I want you to stay close to me.”
“Okay.”
“And keep Charlotte close.”
“Is she…”
“Trust me, Peyton, okay?”
“All right.”
“You may learn things that will… disturb you.”
“Dad, what are you telling me?”
“I’m only telling you to be ready. And to stay focused on the objective: finding the list of sites holding the cure.”
Desmond stood on the flight deck, the wind blowing on his face. Helicopters continued to land. Troops were massing for the assault. The sun was setting now; they would be wheels up within an hour.
Avery walked over, stood beside him silently for a few minutes.
“We need to talk about what you remembered at your childhood home,” she said.
He spoke without looking at her. “No we don’t.”
“Des, at least tell me what you’re going to do about it.”
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 109
Desmond found Peyton in one of the mess halls, sitting alone, a plate of untouched food on the table in front of her. He picked up a tray, loaded up on beef stew and cornbread, and sat down across from her.
“Not hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“I’m nervous too.”
She pushed some green beans around her plate. “I’m used to going into dangerous situations. High stakes.”
“But this is different.”
She nodded. “And… there’s something else.”
“Such as?”
He wondered if she was talking about him. About them.
“Charlotte,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
“She’s connected to you. And me. Don’t you think that’s strange? And I can’t think of a reason why someone was sending her supplies. It’s just… Too many coincidences. We’re missing something. A very big piece.
”
Desmond sat silently for a moment. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. But it was intriguing. She was right, as usual.
“I don’t know what it means, but I’ve figured something else out. It’s taken me a very long time.”
Peyton sat silently, searching his face.
“Fifteen years ago, when I left you in Palo Alto, I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us. I thought you would have a better life without me. Kids. Happiness. A normal husband.”
She began to speak, but Desmond stopped her. “Just give me a minute. What I’m trying to say is that I thought time would heal me. It didn’t. I wasn’t better off alone. I wanted you to know because you were right. I wish I had never left.”
“It’s in the past, Des.”
“I wanted to say it just in case…”
“In case we don’t come back.”
“Yeah.”
“I tell you what. Let’s make a deal. If we do make it back, we won’t talk about the past. Only the future. And the present.”
“Deal.”
Day 14
6,100,000,000 infected
18,000,000 dead
Chapter 110
Elim was sewing up a cut on a young girl’s arm when the speaker in the exam room called out, “Dr. Kibet, dial the operator, you have an urgent call from the MOH.”
The MOH was the Ministry of Health, or what was left of it.
The nurse assisting him glanced at him, but he continued sewing up the girl’s arm.
“You’re being very brave,” he whispered to the young girl.
That made her smile. He didn’t ask how she had gotten the cut, but he had instructed the nurse to ensure she had a safe place to stay before discharging her.
