by Nick Thacker
“There’s another one just like it after your trip,” the man said.
“For what?” He knew that everyone had their price, but he wasn’t about to kill someone.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal. The Company deals in information, and we’ve set up similar deals with plenty of other digs and research projects around the world.”
“And what company is that?” Gareth asked.
“I told you — the Company.” Gareth nodded once, still consumed by the amount of money on the check. He interpreted the answer to mean he wasn’t supposed to ask about it again.
“Okay, that’s fine. I can live with a mysterious benefactor. But why not just go to the university? Or the expedition lead, Dr. Fischer?”
“We can’t have a legal battle if there’s anything of value found. You understand that. Plus, we need the expedition to run as smoothly as possible, without any hiccups along the way. Follow?”
“I do. You don’t want anyone jealous that I’m making this kind of money on some low-profile dig.”
The man nodded. “Good. You understand. As I said, the Company is prepared to write another check in this amount if you successfully report any findings during your excursion.” He made sure Gareth was looking at him as he finished. “You have a few days before you depart. I would suggest cashing the check so you know we’re not messing around, and then you’ll be given instructions.”
Gareth’s hand had been shaking the entire conversation, but as the man finished speaking, he suddenly found a boost of confidence. “You got it. I’m in.”
That was over a week ago, and Gareth was still riding the high of knowing what would be in his bank account one week from now. He thought through the list of instructions he’d been given after he cashed the check, to make sure he wouldn’t mess anything up.
It was a short list:
1. Participate in the expedition and do nothing to raise suspicion.
2. If any profitable or seemingly conspicuous items are found, email details to the address below.
The rest of the letter was a simple liability waiver, “that by accepting and depositing the check the Company was hereby removed from any liability yada yada…”
He’d sent the email after reading the journal for Dr. Fischer, using his laptop and satellite connection. Gareth mentioned briefly that they’d found “some sort of powdery substance that supposedly led to the demise of the entire Russian expedition…” and “we believe there to be more of the substance available in a nearby cave…” He sent it, and almost immediately there was a response. It was simple:
“We are converging on your general location. As the included battery will not hold much power, use the device only when you believe we are close to help us find your exact position.”
Wow, Gareth thought. These guys are on the ball.
Now, as the helicopter’s rotor wash grew, he knew they’d be on them in minutes. Do I need to do anything to prepare?
He placed the tracking device back under the seat of the truck and slammed the door. As he turned back to the campfire, he noticed the students and Dr. Fischer standing and looking around the sky, trying to figure out where the helicopter was coming from.
“There it is!” the Korean guy yelled out. Gareth hadn’t bothered to learn any of their names — he knew they’d go home empty-handed, so there was no reason to become part of the team.
They all looked to where he was pointing. Southwest, hanging low over the tree line. If it weren’t for the slowly receding hill they were on, they wouldn’t have been able to see the bird at all.
Gareth examined the growing shape in the dusky sky. It looked dark, almost black, but that could be due to the lack of light at this time of day. It seemed to be sleek, too, not like the commercial helicopters he’d seen flying around cities. It was flatter, more military-looking.
Stealthier.
The copter finally drew near. It slid gently over the trees, slowing to their location, and began to descend. Where the hell is it going to land? Gareth thought. He looked around at their small clearing. The trucks, tents, and campfire were spread out almost evenly over the area, and he couldn’t see where a helicopter that size would fit.
But the pilot had a different impression of the clearing. Gareth watched as the pilot masterfully guided the machine to a spot less than twenty yards from the campfire and then straight down to the grassy platform. He watched the skids land gracefully on the blades of grass, finally coming to a rest without the slightest bump or hop.
Before the copter had even hit the ground, though, three men jumped from its interior. Dressed in black and silver body armor and flight gear, they immediately began walking toward the group of students as the pilot finalized his landing.
It was hard to hear over the rotor noise, but the first man yelled over it anyway. “Gareth Winslow!” he paused and looked at each student and the professor, waiting for a response.
“R— right here,” Gareth yelled.
The three men turned to him and met him halfway between the trucks and the campfire.
“Gareth Winslow?” the man said again. Gareth nodded. “Good. Take me to the location of the discovery.”
“What is this?” Dr. Fischer yelled. “What’s going on here?”
“It does not concern you,” one of the men said. “Gareth, take us to the location.”
Gareth snapped to attention, remembering his duty. “Right. Okay, come on. We’re about a quarter mile away, through these trees.”
He led the way, the three men and the rest of the group following behind. As they neared the cave, one of the men held up a hand and grabbed Gareth’s shoulder. “Wait,” he said.
Gareth watched him enter the small cave and return a minute later. He nodded to the two other men from the helicopter and began walking back toward them. He addressed the entire group of confused students and professor. “Who is leading this expedition?”
Dr. Fischer raised a hand. “I am. And do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
The man eyed Dr. Fischer. “I see. And you have an idea of what might be inside that cave?”
“I — I guess. We found it earlier today, on accident. I believe whatever was in there killed the Russian expedition we came here to find.”
“I understand that much, Dr. Fischer. But I’m asking if you have any idea what, exactly, killed them?”
Dr. Fischer though a moment, then replied. “I have some ideas, but none that I’m entirely confident about just yet.”
“I see.” The man marched back through the group, the two other men following behind. He delivered orders without turning back. “Mark the location. Get me the coordinates saved and ready to go.” The two men nodded and peeled off from the group, heading back toward the cave.
Gareth was now at the back of the line, watching as the lead man entered the helicopter once again. He heard him address the professor from the inside of the vehicle. “Dr. Fischer, would you care to join us? I would like to discuss your knowledge and experience with the items found within the cave.”
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable —”
The man cut him off as he drew a pistol from a hip holster and pointed it directly into Dr. Fischer’s face. “Let me rephrase the question, professor, so that it doesn’t seem so… optional.”
Dr. Fischer swallowed, then starting climbing into the helicopter. “What about the others? The students?” he asked.
The two men reappeared, apparently having finished marking the coordinates, and jumped onto the helicopter. Gareth looked around at the frightened students, and a growing wave of nausea filled him.
What have I done? he thought. The helicopter, filled with the pilot, the three men, and their professor, lifted a few feet off the ground. The students, wide-eyed and confused, began yelling.
“You can’t do this!”
One of the men appeared in the open door of the helicopter and made eye contact with Gareth, just as he lifted something off the floor. It swiveled, held by so
me support mechanism, and swung out and stopped just outside the helicopter.
Gareth felt his blood run cold.
It was a gun. A huge gun. Gareth recognized the gigantic bullets, strapped together in a shiny gold chain of death. He took a staggering step back, trying to form words. We need to leave, he tried to say.
The words didn’t escape his mouth. Instead, he felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown backwards, hard, just as he heard a new noise. It was a chug, chug, chug sort of sound, but fast. He saw the gun’s fiery tip burning as each round left the barrel and flew into one of the students. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t need to.
Everything went black.
Chapter Fifteen
AS HE WALKED PAST THE newsstand just inside the door of the gas station, Ben noticed the tiny black and white television sitting on the shelf above it. It was programmed to a news channel, most likely only syndicated throughout the small region of southern Montana they were in.
They’d stopped just past Red Lodge, on a stretch of highway that looked like it had been abandoned for a century. When they came to the service station, Julie had opted to stay in the truck while Ben ran in for some snacks and to go to the restroom.
He turned up the television’s volume knob and watched the station’s reporter on location outside the Yellowstone gates. The information wasn’t anything new; Julie’s second-in-command and assistant had been keeping her in the loop, and she passed on relevant information to Ben as he drove.
The explosion was, in fact, a bomb, based on air sample analysis done on site and in a radius around the park. It was a type of thermobaric bomb, combining heat and pressure into a 5-kiloton explosion. Initial estimates postulated that the Yellowstone detonation was contained mostly underground, due to the vast amount of crust that had turned up around the site, as well as the relatively mild explosion. But it wasn’t just the immediate effects of the bomb’s blast that had the CDC and this news station worried: the thin layer of crust beneath Yellowstone had been rattled, causing the cracks and earthquake-like effects Ben had experienced.
Ben turned away from the television and placed a candy bar and a bag of chips on the counter. Julie had told him she didn’t want anything, but he’d grabbed the chips just in case. He paid and headed back to the truck.
“Got you some chips,” he said through Julie’s open window. “Want to drive?”
“No,” she said. “I’m actually enjoying being a passenger.” She smiled.
“You should be,” Ben said. “Getting all that work done, catching up on your reading…”
“Just get in. We need to get to my office before tonight. Did you hear anything from your boss, Randolph, yet?” she asked.
“I got a text from him before I walked in the store. I’ll call him back now.” Ben swung into the lifted truck and started the engine. He slid his phone out of the cup holder in the center console and dialed the number for his headquarters at Yellowstone.
The phone rang three times before Randolph picked up. The man sounded exhausted; breathing heavily, his voice raspy. “Ben — that you?”
Ben acknowledged and asked if everything was okay.
“No. No, it’s not, Ben. There’s — well, there’s been…”
“Slow down, George, just tell me what happened.”
“The disease. The thing that got Fuller. He’s — he’s dead.”
Ben frowned, then whispered the news to Julie. Her eyes widened.
“I’m sorry to hear that, boss,” Ben said. “He was a good man.”
“That’s not it, Ben. Whatever got to him, it’s spreading.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s spreading. Jumping, almost. We can’t figure it out. It’s fast. Much faster that we would have thought. Those of us who helped Fuller are covered in the rash, and our skin is starting to burn.”
“Wait a minute, Randolph,” Ben said. “You mean you’re infected?”
“Me, Matheson, Frank, Clemens, everyone who was in that room. We’ve got it, and we’re quarantined inside the main building. Matheson passed out not too long ago, but I don’t know if it was related to the rash at all.”
Ben thought for a moment, then spoke. “Listen, Randolph, you’re going to be fine. You just —”
“Ben, listen. I didn’t call just to keep you in the loop. We’re in over our heads here. Two of my guys are already starting to hyperventilate, and there’s a doctor in here that’s checking everyone out. He pulled me aside an hour ago and told me it’s pretty grave. It’s some sort of viral infection, he thinks, and there’s nothing he can do for us without quarantine facilities and better supplies.
“I wanted to see how you were doing. I don’t know where you were when we brought Fuller in, but you might be safe from it. Did you get out of the park?”
“We did.”
“We?”
“I’m with Julie. Juliette Richardson, from the CDC.”
“Oh.” Randolph paused, taking a deep, raspy breath. “Okay, good. Well, stay away from the park, Ben. I’m not sure what’s going to come of this, but if we can keep the contagion isolated long enough, we might be able to get a jump on it and figure out what it is before anyone else…”
“Right. I’m headed to her office now. We’re outside of Red Lodge, Montana.” Ben stopped for a second, catching himself. “Randolph — George. I — I’m sorry…”
“Stop. Don’t worry about it. Stay with that CDC gal and help her do what she can to stop it. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Fuller — Burt was his name. Fuller was at the lake when that bomb went off. He said he was close enough to feel the heat, and the pressure blast knocked him on his ass. But he wasn’t hurt badly, and started walking back to his cabin when he felt the itching start.
“All I’m saying is, I don’t know about that bomb, but I think it might have, uh, dispersed something into the air.”
“You mean the bomb released the virus?”
“He was the closest person to the explosion that we’ve talked to, and he’s the first person who’s died from that virus thing that we know about. It could be coincidence, but it still doesn’t explain where the virus came from.”
“Thanks, George,” Ben said. He considered apologizing again, but hesitated. What’s the point? he thought. They were already dead. He hoped they’d taken the time to call their families, wherever they may be.
He hung up the phone and turned to Julie.
“You might be out here to study that explosion, but I think this case of yours just got a lot more relevant to your line of work.”
He hammered on the gas pedal and aimed the truck down the long highway.
Chapter Sixteen
FRANCIS VALÈRE POKED AT THE food in front him. One of Quebec’s finest restaurants, and he couldn’t get himself to eat.
Did killing Josh really have that much of an effect on him?
Of course. It needed to be done.
He wondered — again — if he needed to vomit. The nervousness had come immediately after his encounter on the golf course with his former employee. He forced his mind to push the thought away and looked down at the plate in front of him.
Lobster, filet mignon, and the most decadent-looking chocolate mousse he’d ever seen stared back up at him. Not a bite had been taken from the dishes. He used his fork to poke around the plate, pushing the meat to one side. He used another utensil to pile the lobster on the steak, forming a wall. It was a castle; a sanctuary now. If only he was small enough to fit inside…
“Are you alright, Valère?”
The voice snapped Valère back to the real world.
“Valère? Are you okay?” A second voice asked.
He was fine, but he needed them to assume he was struggling with his earlier decision. He had to hide the… nervousness. The nervousness that had plagued him since he was young.
Yes, I am okay, but I will play the role for as lo
ng as it is needed.
He looked up at his dinner guests sitting across from him. Roland and Emilio. He’d called the meeting on his drive back from the private golf course, suggesting this location for its world-renowned American cuisine, and for its semi-private rooms. One of his partners, Emilio Vasquez, the man now sitting across the table from him on his right, had called ahead and reserved the banquet room.
Even so, they’d chosen the table in the far back corner of the room. The waitress, a young blond woman in her thirties, had been instructed to enter the room only once every fifteen minutes. So far she’d performed well, never interrupting the men as they discussed the day’s events.
The man to Valère’s left didn’t wait for him to respond. “Everything is taken care of?”
Valère nodded and finally spoke. “Oui, everything was accomplished. I do apologize, gentlemen, I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Emilio smiled. “It is nothing, Francis. I remember the first time I, well, had to remove a component from a plan. It is never an easy task.”
Valère nodded once, accepting his friend’s gesture. “Nevertheless, it is time to move to the next phase of our plan. We need to inform the media channels of our intention, and what is at stake.”
The first man, Roland, swallowed loudly, trying to vie for their attention. While Valère hadn’t touched his meal, Roland was on his second plate of dessert. Rotund, with rosy-red cheeks and jowls that hung nearly to his chest, the man was loud, invasive, rude, and liked by his peers for one thing, and one thing alone: his money.
They looked toward him. “We will wait.”
Valère waited for him to explain. Never one to deny himself an opportunity to heighten the drama, Roland instead took a bite of a roll of bread that had somehow escaped earlier destruction. He chewed it no fewer than five times before speaking again. “We will wait to tell the media. We need to let the Yellowstone incident take center stage for a little longer. The news down there — hell, even here — is eating it up, and they’re not letting go of it soon.” His southern accent grew in strength, no doubt egged on by the three glasses of wine he’d already consumed, and he continued. “The more pressure that builds around this story in the States, the better off we’ll be.”
