by Matthew Rief
Alejandra stayed on their quarry, ignoring a receptionist and heading through the entryway and into an open space with leather chairs, potted plants, and platters of food and drinks. Fast and agile, the criminal bounded across the room, knocking over a table to try and slow Alejandra’s pursuit. He shouldered through an emergency exit and made a break for a staircase leading back down to the second level.
Scott cut him off, appearing from around a corner and blocking his escape. With no choice but to improvise, the nimble terrorist turned left and jumped onto the railing. Planting his foot on the handrail, he launched himself over the side, soaring ten feet before landing on top of a massage pavilion. A smooth roll and a slide, and the man dropped to the floor, staying in stride and chugging around a fountain in a circular dining area.
“Who the hell is this guy?” Alejandra said as the two ran for the stairs.
Just as they reached the bottom step, they looked up in time to see their escaping adversary duck behind a counter at a fish and chips restaurant. They reached the local joint seconds later, shouldering through a back door and hearing shouts from the kitchen. A big man wearing an apron was blocking the terrorist from escaping via the back door. With a swift uppercut, the man sent the cook flying backward and slamming onto the floor. The aggressor peeked back just as Alejandra and Scott appeared.
Grabbing a knife magnetized to a board, the man spun and hurled the blade in their direction. Alejandra in front, she dropped back, and the knife pinged against the cabinet beside her. As she recovered, the man gripped the edge of a metal cart and shoved it toward them. The front right wheel caught the inner part of Alejandra’s leg, and she had to spin to avoid the brunt of the blow.
Recomposing herself, she grabbed the Walther wedged into her belt, and Scott grabbed his Glock. She took aim and fired as the criminal slipped out the back door, her round sparking against the metal. Keeping their weapons raised, they dashed across the kitchen and burst out the back that opened to a long, narrow hallway. Hearing a sharp chime and shuffling feet, they moved right and reached an elevator just as its doors shut.
The elevator was old and designed for use by airport staff only. It wasn’t the nice bells-and-whistles variety you found near the main passenger areas of airports. Scott knew that there were three main levels, and that they were on the middle one. Above them were lounges for the international terminal, and below was the exit to baggage claim.
“We have to split,” Scott said, heading for the stairwell at their back. “I’ll head up.”
The two broke apart, flying in opposite directions through the stairwell and hoping to catch a glimpse of their man before it was too late.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Jason kept his Glock raised as he crossed over into the adjoining car with Charlotte right at his back. His sights were lined up and trained forward—his trigger finger partially flexed. Passengers huddled along the outer edges of the railcar, ducking and whimpering as the two moved past. The train shook as it roared into a turn.
Peering through the window ahead and into the next car, Jason saw no sign of Haan. Expecting the terrorist to pop out at any second, he moved just slow enough to scan everybody before proceeding forward. The overhead lights buzzed and then went out, casting the train into near total darkness. Only the faint exterior track lights shed a glow through the windows.
Jason picked up his pace as he pushed forward into the next car. He needed to move and take Haan down before he released the virus, but if the murderer caught him off guard and shot him first, the whole chase would be for nothing.
Up ahead through the darkness was a commotion coming from the front of the car. It was the end of the line—the conductor’s car.
“He’s in there,” said a bald man with a focused expression.
Jason nodded to the guy as he and Charlotte closed in on the forward door and looked through the window. The conductor was lying facedown on the floor, and above the body and to the right was an open window. The row of cars was just passing the platform at the next station, and though they were moving at over forty miles per hour, Jason knew the jump would be more than possible for a man of Haan’s athleticism.
Jason needed to stop the train, but the door into the cockpit wouldn’t budge. He fired two shots into the glass and kicked out the window to access the inside latch. The second he stepped inside the cockpit, he heard a rapid shuffle coming from his left.
Excruciating pain radiated from Jason’s back after Haan slammed him between the shoulder blades with a fire extinguisher. The blow was nearly incapacitating, sending Jason to the floor like a bag of wet sand. He fought to regain control, but the pain overcame him, and he tried in vain to fight back as Haan struck him again and then kicked the pistol from his grasp.
Still clutching the extinguisher, Haan spun and hurled the heavy canister toward the doorway as Charlotte appeared. The nimble archeologist tried to dodge the attack, but the cylinder struck her arms, knocking her to the floor and sending her pistol rattling down the aisle.
With Charlotte in a daze, Haan turned and grabbed a fistful of Jason’s shirt and manhandled him headfirst into the side of the train.
“You just don’t learn, do you?” the killer shouted, landing one more blow before letting Jason collapse in a corner.
He was on the verge of losing consciousness, and the world was closing in around him. He could only watch as Haan reached into his bag.
“I don’t know how in the hell you got away from those hired criminals in the Azores, but you made this whole thing a hell of a lot worse for yourself. They were gonna end you easy. A quick hammer to the temple and a toss out to sea. But now . . . now you will suffer.” He struck Jason again, this time across the right leg.
With Jason on the floor, Haan finished opening the secure compartment and removed the vial of crimson liquid. Jason could barely keep his eyes open as he tried to focus on the virus-containing blood that had wiped out the Viking settlement hundreds of years earlier.
Haan held up the vial fitted with a spray nozzle—quick, simple, and a wide deployment—then eyed the rest of the cars. “Not the moment of release I’d planned, but this will have to work.”
Jason watched, willing himself to a knee as his nemesis marched out the door. Haan held up the vial, his finger on the trigger cap. The moment he stepped through, the terrorist was greeted by Charlotte hurtling the fire extinguisher like a battering ram. The attack was so abrupt, so unexpected, and so powerful that it sent Haan tumbling backward onto the control panel, his left arm sliding the throttle forward as he stopped himself.
The train jolted forward, causing Haan to ragdoll the opposite direction, and he was barely able to stop himself in the doorframe. Charlotte held on as the train accelerated, then she drove forward for another attack. As she struck Haan with a front kick, Jason eyed the vial that had slipped from Haan’s grasp and fell on the motionless train conductor. There was a crack in the glass, but the vial remained intact and the liquid inside secure.
Through the chaos of the darkness, the wind whipping through the open window, and the train flying full speed, Jason crawled across the cockpit. He reached for the vial tucked in the crook of the conductor’s arm, grabbing hold of the sample just as Haan threw Charlotte to the ground.
Haan, dazed from his back-to-back fights, focused his attention back on Jason and the sample clutched in his right hand. Jason struggled to his feet, then Haan stormed toward him. Jason crouched, then threw the strongest side kick he could muster. His foot smashed into Haan’s gut, launching the man toward the windshield. The back of Hann’s mid-section struck the glass, and as he fought his way out of the shards, blood began to seep through his shredded clothing.
“No, Haan,” Jason spat. “It’s you who’s going to suffer.”
Blocking a weak punch, Jason seized a handful of Haan’s hair and yanked back, causing his injured opponent’s mouth to snap open
. Still grasping the sample in his right hand, Jason palmed the vial into Haan’s mouth, then pressed it down the man’s throat with his fingertips, driving the container into the upper part of his chest cavity.
As Haan gagged for air, his face displayed utter disbelief.
Jason stared deep into the man’s eyes. “You have failed, you son of a bitch.”
Jason reared back and drove a fist into the upper part of his chest. Haan’s body contracted from the blow, and Jason felt the vial shatter against his knuckles. With bulging eyes, Haan trembled, reaching for Jason as he tried to retaliate.
As blood and saliva began to spill out from Haan’s mouth, Jason shifted left and grabbed the man’s waist and a fistful of his shirt. As if reading what Jason was about to do, Charlotte gathered herself and grabbed the murderer from the opposite side.
Jason and the tough archeologist exchanged a quick look and then launched Haan into the windshield. His body struck so hard that jagged pieces of glass slashed his neck, and the battered man went motionless, bleeding and hunched over the dashboard.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The instant the elevator doors parted, Pak Sung-won burst out, sprinting through a door at the end of the hall, and was greeted by the groaning of machinery. He had spent the entire flight refreshing his knowledge of the airport and knew every inch of the international terminal by heart. And though he’d planned on reaching the bowels of the structure at a more leisurely pace, he’d managed to reach his destination, regardless.
He waited in the shadows behind a massive backup generator, just in case one of the people chasing him had managed to spot him as he’d rushed across the hall. After ten seconds, he smiled, straightened up, flattened his clothes, and adjusted the straps of his bag.
Better luck next time . . . Whoever you are.
Turning around, he fast-walked across the dimly lit space, crawled under a cluster of horizontal piping, then came to a stop under a humming motor rotating a conveyor belt. Hearing a noise, he turned right and saw a man dressed in a maintenance uniform. The two stood still for a moment, staring at each other.
The stranger slid up his shirtsleeve and checked the time. “You’re late.”
“I got a little sidetracked.”
“The sample?”
Pak nodded, and he calmed his breathing. He’d twisted his ankle on the landing from the upper deck, but it wasn’t enough to put him down. With his adrenaline wearing off, his ankle burned, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
He opened the main compartment of his bag and retrieved a soft-shell cooler. Crackling apart the Velcro, he pulled out a hardcase, then removed a vial filled with the virus sample. The man grinned confidently as he held it up to the light. He gazed away from the sample and at the thin rubber conveyer belt rolling smoothly beside him.
There was nothing random about the locations or the methods they’d chosen to release the virus on the world. General Kang and his team in the biological weapons division spent years conducting studies. Airports were an obvious candidate, and London Heathrow saw an average of over thirteen hundred planes a day land and take off from its runways.
The division’s study delved deep into what passengers touch from the moment they arrive at the airport until they board their prospective aircrafts. Because airports have grown more digital and hands-free, the list was surprisingly small. Most flyers utilize the self-check-in kiosks, so the touchscreens were an option. But those were spread out, closely monitored by airline staff, and routinely wiped down. Restrooms were also an option, but the most commonly touched areas like faucets and dryer buttons had been replaced by sensors, also ruling them out.
Pak took another look at the belt, then prepped the virus. He was standing under the bowels of the two escalators that connect the airport train on level one with the international terminal on level two.
Based on their findings, over ninety percent of people at Heathrow were traveling to or from international destinations, and the vast majority of international travelers used those two escalators to reach the terminal. A confidential undercover study at major airports around the world, including Heathrow, revealed that the majority of travelers utilized the handrails on escalators for balance.
The man smiled again as he finished getting the virus ready for dispersal.
Even if he was found out and the escalators were closed off, he’d only need a few minutes to spread the virus to thousands of international travelers. And though the two agents who’d chased him proved someone was on to their plan, a total lockdown would take too much time to prevent the virus from spreading.
“Watch my back,” he said to the man in the uniform.
The disguised insurgent patted a pistol lodged into his belt. “We’re all alone down here. But I borrowed this from a security guard just in case.”
Pak wasted no time, quickly donning his mask and gloves before holding out the virus to the nearest escalator handrail. Pressing on the top, he sprayed a fine mist, coating the glossy black rubber with a thin layer of the substance. He repeated the process, covering the railing as it motored past. He watched with eager anticipation as the belt reached the end of the subsystem, disappearing and heading up to the main level.
THIRTY-NINE
Alejandra pushed out of the stairwell on the first floor just in time to see the elevator doors slide shut. Scanning left and right and not seeing any movement in either direction, she sprang for the elevator and pressed the button. The doors instantly opened, revealing that it was empty.
“Dammit!” she said, spinning around and focusing down the hall a second time.
Three doors were within twenty yards of the elevator, and the hallway wrapped around beside her, leading to another stretch. As fast as the man they were chasing was, she knew he could’ve shut any of the doors behind him before she’d made it down. A second later, the stairwell door slammed open and Scott rushed out. He was about to ask if she’d seen any sign of the terrorist, but the look on Alejandra’s face told him everything. Their operation’s leader cursed, then lunged toward the door closest to the elevator. It was locked. He tried another, but it led to a cramped janitorial closet.
As Alejandra tried to put herself into the mind of their target, guessing what course of action would’ve been best for his escape, she homed in on a security camera perched in the corner of the hallway.
Scott followed the Latina’s line of sight and reached for his earpiece. “Murph, you still online?”
The hacker was providing backup for both them and Jason—the two operations taking place at the same time in different parts of the world. But the genius never had trouble multi-tasking.
“What do you need?” Murph fired back.
“We need to see the feed for a security camera.” He gave Murph their location. “Play it back from a minute ago.” Scott waited impatiently, knowing that every second increased the gap between them and the terrorist.
“Got it,” Murph said. “He ran into the door across from the elevator.”
Scott cut back toward the door and squared up to it. He wished Jason was there so he could utilize a younger set of legs, but he could still get the job done. Balancing on his left foot, he leaned back and bashed his right heel beside the knob. It was a tough door, but the force broke it partially free.
Ignoring the pain shooting up his leg, Scott threw his shoulder into the door to finish it off, pounding the door aside and revealing a cramped, dark room beyond. He grabbed his pistol and headed inside with Alejandra right on his heels.
The underbelly of the fine-tuned system designed to shuttle passengers in the most efficient way possible was quiet compared to the busy main sections of the airport. Scanning side to side, the two pushed across the space, looking for their man or any sign of the direction he’d gone. Having lost him, they’d also lost the advantage. He could be anywhere by then, and Scott knew it was time to ma
ke the call to have the entire airport placed on lockdown.
Navigating to the other side of the room, he was just about to place the call when he spotted their adversary. Alejandra froze beside Scott, both of them fixating on their quarry as the mystery man held a vile of red liquid and began spraying it over an escalator handrail.
As the two closed in quietly, Scott spotted a second guy wearing coveralls and standing in the corner, then he eyed an emergency shutoff button for the escalator. Alejandra nodded and moved toward the control station while Scott snuck up behind the criminal. Just as the first section of the virus-coated rail vanished around the corner, Alejandra reached the station and pressed the red shutoff button.
The terrorist froze, then spun around with the vial still clutched in his hand. “You!”
Scott pounced from behind, wrapping his arms around the man and putting him in a rear choke. The guy in the maintenance uniform whipped out a compact pistol and raised it toward Alejandra. As he put her in her sights, Scott raised his gun and buried two rounds in the guy’s back. He fell forward and scrambled to a knee as Alejandra rushed across the room. She kicked the gun from his hand, grabbed him forcefully by the arm, then jerked back. She didn’t give the man a moment to give up or make his case for mercy. Forcing the arm back, she cracked his elbow, then climbed on top of him and bashed the grip of her pistol across his head.
Snapping her head up just as Scott finished off his guy, she homed in on the man’s left hand as the virus sample slipped through his fingers. Diving across the smooth floor, Alejandra reached as far as she could with the tips of her fingers pressed into each other. She caught the glass vial just inches above the floor, her body sliding and striking the base of the wall while cradling the sample in her hands.
