by Dakota Banks
Maliha had drawn a basic Ouija board. Yanmeng, viewing her from above, would be able to see it. She moved her hand lightly over the “talking board” and spelled out the first question.
R u safe
For a minute nothing happened, and Maliha worried that her friend wasn’t strong enough to move her hand. Her hand began to wobble and then moved in a smoother way, about an inch above the board, to one of the circles she’d drawn.
Yes
She spelled out another question.
where
Her hand, moving under his control, spelled out 3481. She memorized it. It had to be a room number. Then Yanmeng asked a question of his own.
coma
She pointed at the “yes” circle. She knew he’d been in a coma.
eliu ok we get u
Her hand trembled with the relief he felt as he watched her spell out that message. It was his turn.
danger
In his desperate circumstances, he was worried about the danger involved in rescuing him. Maliha suppressed a groan.
get u
Her hand moved after he read the message, but it dragged slowly across the leather. He was at the limit of his strength.
go now
love u
lov
His touch moved to caress her cheek, and she leaned into it. Then it was gone.
The cut on Maliha’s arm had stopped bleeding. She could see that the edges were smooth and would heal well. She wrapped her arm with strips torn from a T-shirt from her duffel bag.
She couldn’t wait to share the good news. She phoned Amaro and told him. There was relief in his voice, and she wondered if all of them had been worried about the same thing—that it wasn’t going to turn out well.
“We have a location and we’re going in. Be sure to tell Eliu the good news. I’m going to get to an airport and fly home. This is going to take some planning.”
“Hound told me the place has major security.”
“Yanmeng implied as much. Then we need a major plan.”
“Hey, what are you going to do with your new car if you fly home?”
“Long-term parking.”
“What makes you think it’ll still be there when you go back to pick it up?”
“The Zonda protects herself. She slaps the hand that tries any funny stuff.”
“Oh, come on—you think an alarm is going to stop anyone?”
“No. I meant the flamethrowers and the electric shocks. I guess it would be safer to lock the beastie up. I’ll rent a storage unit.”
Back in her Chicago home, Maliha convened a planning session. She escorted Eliu from the secure haven to her public condo to join in and to learn the latest about her husband. Maliha had called her from the airplane and told her about the remote viewing contact. She’d been worried that Eliu would feel slighted because Yanmeng hadn’t had time to view Eliu in the brief period that he was alert. She needn’t have worried. Yanmeng had sent a message to his wife first. It was Maliha who came second.
Not practical as far as his rescue, but I would have done the same thing if I were him—go for my spouse. I like the sound of that.
Amaro rolled a large dry-erase board out from his bedroom. What he did with it, Maliha never knew, but he’d requested it and that was good enough for her. Now it came in handy. Hound displayed the pictures he’d taken of Qixotic Labs on a large monitor, and then drew a diagram on the board. Eliu reacted with shock.
“I can’t believe he’s locked away in there. You’ll never get him out,” she said.
“We will. I told him so. There are no limits on this operation. We’ll do whatever it takes.” Maliha said it firmly. Eliu nodded, but hesitantly. Maliha didn’t blame her. The woman didn’t follow their activities closely, and she had no idea what they were capable of doing.
“Amaro, are there aerial photos available?”
“Only from military satellites. I know someone who has access,” Amaro said.
“There’s something the great Amaro can’t do?” Hound said.
“I’d rather call in a specialist and not waste time. Lady Gray already has experience with milsat.”
“I didn’t think you hackers made nice with each other,” Hound said.
Amaro glared at him. “I’ll go set that up. Photos in ten.”
“What’s this Lady Gray like? Is she hot?”
“Cut it out, Hound. We have a lot of work to do,” Maliha said.
“Just playing with the kid.”
“Not helpful.” Maliha looked over the drawing on the board. “Forget about going in the front, past those checkpoints. We don’t have time to set up IDs, and we’d have to make it through the retinal scanner before even entering the building.”
“Makes you wonder what the DOD is doing in there,” Amaro said. He’d come back after making contact with his hacker friend.
“How about we blow the whole place up on the principle of ‘There be Evil’? That is, after Yanmeng’s out,” Hound said.
Explosives. Good.
“We want to minimize casualties. Not everyone in the building is evil,” Maliha said.
Tranquilizer guns.
“Matter of opinion,” Hound said. “Blow holes in the fences and go in with an armed force. I can have a team of mercs there in a few hours.”
Holes in the fence—distraction.
“Automatic weapons in the guard towers would take out a ground-based assault,” Maliha said. “Unless . . . unless we knock out the towers first. But if we do that on the way in, we’re going to have an army of guards after us when we get into the building.”
“Stealth entry, big-bang exit,” Amaro said.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Hound said. He slapped his fist into his palm.
“How will Yanmeng be safe during this exit?” Eliu said. “Don’t get carried away with the logistics of it. You’re there to get him out safely. Somebody has to carry him because he’ll still be in a coma. Badly injured and needing special care, too. He won’t be able to do his part in a firefight.”
Get him out by air?
Amaro got a text message. “The aerial shots are ready.” He brought in a computer and put them up on the monitor in a slide show. They all sat staring at the screen.
“I’ve got some ideas. Hound, call your mercenaries. We need support for the big bang. They won’t be going into the building, just raising hell to help us get out. They have to be able to, um, exercise restraint in not blowing everybody away. Make it clear their mission is diversion.”
“Got it. Equipment?” Hound said.
“A lot, and I have a source if you don’t. We’ll talk about that in a few minutes. I have something to get rolling, too. We’re going to need air support.”
“Damn. I wish Glass was here.” Hound’s fiancée was a helicopter pilot. “She’s experienced under fire. Rock steady.”
“No time for that,” Maliha said. “I know of a rescue team with plenty of short-haul experience and sealed lips. They do extractions from hostiles.”
Hound nodded.
“Who’s going into the building?” Amaro asked.
Maliha noticed that Hound stiffened at the question. His mouth narrowed to a line.
What?
“Hound and I,” she said. “Hound, you’ll carry Yanmeng and I’ll have your back.”
The corners of Hound’s mouth turned up almost imperceptibly.
Oh. He thought I was going to suggest Jake.
“What about Jake?” Amaro said. “He . . .”
“He’s busy tracking down Dr. Bakkum’s son. There’s no one who could do a better job of protecting him, and we owe that to the doctor.”
She walked over to the monitor and pointed at a fenced area separated from the main compound. There were several small buildings, some circular tanks, and a large rectangle of water-reflecting sunlight. “This is how we’re getting in.”
“What’s that?” Amaro said.
“It’s a water treatment plant fo
r Qixotic. They must have a need for specialized treatment and they don’t use regular sewers. The end of the road for the water is a constructed wetland—see those trees and tall grasses with what looks like streams running through them? That spot that’s reflecting sunlight is a sewage settlement lagoon,” Maliha said.
“Specialized treatment, like chemical removal?” Amaro said.
Maliha nodded. “In addition to the usual blackwater processing. The settlement lagoon is the first step. Raw sewage goes in there, scum like oil rises to the top and heavier wastes sink to the bottom as sludge. The water that’s left in the middle is drained off and ready for further treatment. When you consider what kind of stuff Qixotic dumps down the drain, that lagoon should be toxic as hell. That’s why the only security there would be a fence to keep the public from stumbling in and coming out as mutant superheroes.”
“Seriously? We’re going into that?” Hound said. “Shit.”
“In twenty-four hours, if we can put it all together by then,” Maliha said.
There was a knock on the door. Maliha dashed there and yanked open the door, expecting to see Dr. Bakkum depositing another box out in the hallway. There was no one in sight, but there was a box.
The doctor couldn’t get away that fast. I was here in a couple of seconds. The messenger had to be Elizabeth.
Maliha had a sinking feeling. The box was fairly large and heavy.
Big enough to hold a head. Not now. Not when we’re so close.
Maliha cut open the box. Eliu picked up on Maliha’s sharply elevated level of worry and buried her face in Amaro’s shoulder.
Inside the box was Yanmeng’s severed foot, a note, and a picture. The picture showed Dr. Bakkum hanging upside down over a tub, her throat slit and blood drained.
Sickening. Damn Elizabeth.
Hound came over to look. “That’s one nasty woman.”
“We knew that already,” Maliha said. “I hope Jake is successful in locating Dr. Bakkum’s son, if he’s still alive. He’ll need a new identity.”
“I’ll work on that,” Amaro said.
The note reminded Maliha that President Millhouse planned to leave for his Pacific Rim travel in five days, and warned her not to screw up again. The implication was clear. There was no need for a surgeon’s skill anymore to keep Yanmeng alive. If another amputation was needed, it would be with Elizabeth’s sword, and Yanmeng wouldn’t survive it.
As with all the other body parts, Yanmeng’s foot was carefully wrapped and placed on ice. The window of opportunity for replantation, roughly ten to twelve hours, had slipped by in all cases except for the new arrival.
There could be a chance.
She glanced at the time on the wall clock that used to grace a train station in Salzburg. It was almost 5 P.M. “Our timetable’s been moved up. We go in eight hours,” Maliha said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was 1 A.M. Maliha and Hound were at the fence around the lagoon. The water’s surface wasn’t frozen, even though there was no aeration and the outdoor temperature was 15 degrees.
“What do you suppose is in there that keeps ice from forming?” Hound said.
“I’d rather not know. Ever use a drysuit?”
“Nope. But I look damn good in a wetsuit.”
“These drysuits are made for hazardous diving and they’ll keep us warm, too,” Maliha said. “The free-flow helmets keep a positive pressure inside the suit, just like in level-four labs where they have weaponized anthrax. Feeling any better about toxicity?”
“No. How the fuck do you get into these things?”
“First you pee. I didn’t bring any diapers or condoms with catheters with me.”
“Damn straight. I’m not wearing any of that shit.” Hound wandered off a little and emptied his bladder. “How about you?” he said before he turned around.
“Done. You did wear that thermal underwear?”
“Thinsulate as requested. Wanna see?”
“I’ll see soon enough. Take off your clothes and stuff them in the dry pack, then stick your feet in these boots.”
After some tugging and swearing under his breath, Hound was in the suit. Maliha zipped the space-suit zipper and settled the attached helmet on his head.
A few minutes later, she had donned her suit and checked the contents of her dry pack. Everything they needed for the rest of the mission was crammed into two waterproof bags, one carried by each of them. She linked herself to Hound with a cable. Poor visibility was going to be a problem, as was working using the heavy gloves. Finally, she pressurized both of their suits.
There had been no patrols near the treatment plant. They had the place to themselves. The main building held the attention of the guards in the towers, not the dark surrounding fields. Maliha had already cut a hole in the chain-link fence around the lagoon. Inside, ready to take the risk of exposure in the water, she looked up at the sky for a last clear view. A waning gibbous moon rode high over a few clouds, reminding her that December was counting down to the new year.
Submerged in about eight feet of water, Maliha found that the view was even murkier than she’d anticipated. Her helmet light helped a little, but she had something much better to use. She touched a button at her waist. A green laser pointer beam shot out in front of her, programmed in advance to guide her to the inlet pipe for the lagoon. If she strayed from the correct direction, the beam changed to red, and then returned to green when she reoriented. Hound shuffled his feet, stirring up the sludge and making a thick cloud around them. She could only see the beam about a foot in front of her, and when she took a couple of steps, it turned red.
“Quit that,” Maliha said into her helmet mike. “Raise your feet and set them down carefully. Besides not being able to see, think about what you’re stirring up. You’re putting us in a big swirling toilet.”
“Can I vomit in this helmet?”
Maliha didn’t answer. His flip attitude was starting to get to her, but she knew it was his way of dealing with stress on a mission. The next sound she heard was of him throwing up. He hadn’t been kidding.
This man can plow his way through dead and dying bodies without flinching—a medic even—and a little excrement does him in.
“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have been so explicit.”
“It’s okay. I’m just up to my chin in my own puke.”
Maliha continued forward, correcting her path as needed, until her outstretched hands touched a wall. Halfway up was the inflow pipe that brought sewage from the compound. The water was turbulent in front of the pipe as a controlled flow entered the lagoon. There were also a filter, mechanical slats to control the flow, and a grill to prevent entry.
I hope this hazard suit is working.
“Torch man, you’re on,” Maliha said.
Hound came up, stepping with exaggerated care. He removed an insulated portable oxyacetylene cutter from his pack. It took up most of the room inside, but without it, their mission would come to an abrupt end. It was a two-tank machine, one tank holding the fuel, acetylene, and the other one holding the oxygen supply that permitted burning underwater. Hound put a shield over his helmet and started the burner. The cutting torch melted the iron grill, blowing away liquid iron that was trapped in globs on the metal slats, burning holes in them.
The intense light suffused the water, and from above, Maliha knew, a portion of the lagoon would be glowing. If the glow attracted attention, it would be checked out by security and they would be caught. She hoped the greenish-brown glow wouldn’t compete with the floodlights in the compound.
Hound was done. He put the cutting machine back into his pack, leaving the hot torch hanging out in the water. A section of the grill lifted off in his hands. The slats that kept all the sewage from flowing in at once swung out on hinges for maintenance. The filter, a multilayered contraption filled with different media like sand and crushed glass, was removable. Water started pouring into the lagoon at a high rate, released under pressure fro
m a deep septic tank that was their next destination.
Fighting against the current, they both went into the pipe. Maliha tried to brace her hands and feet on the tunnel sides, but they were too slippery. At the end of the cable that connected them, Hound spun in the current and banged into the side of the pipe. When they were about to be flushed back out to the lagoon, she noticed overhead handholds in the pipe, probably for emergency use. They were slippery too, but better than nothing. Grabbing on, she pulled Hound into position behind her. He swung the slats closed and the water flow dropped to a point they could navigate.
Moving upward in the slanted pipe hand-over-hand on the emergency grab bars, Maliha didn’t take long to arrive at the septic tank outflow. There was no security grill this time, but there were flow-control slats. The tank was a deep holding area for raw sewage, to make sure the waste released into the lagoon stayed there long enough to have time to settle out instead of being rushed through the system.
“Hang on, this is going to be a rough entrance.”
“What, the other one was a joyride? You should have tried it from back here.”
Maliha swung the control slats out of the way. Water under pressure from the forty-foot-deep tank flooded in on her. She gripped the sides of the pipe and struggled to push her body into the opening. As she’d hoped, there were more emergency grab bars, running vertically up the side of the tank. She pulled up on them and, when Hound slipped into the tank behind her, he closed the slats.
They couldn’t see anything. The current had stirred the sewage into a thick brown liquid, as though they were swimming through mud. Maliha was startled when pieces of a dead pig came into view suddenly and smacked into her helmet.
Hey! That’s supposed to be incinerated. They better not have dumped sharps in here too.
Sharps were needles and broken glass, which could cut the drysuits. Maliha was getting nervous about how long they’d been submerged, with unknown toxins in the water. She accelerated her climb, bumping Hound along behind her, until they both reached the surface.
