But had they triggered it or not? Given the attack squad aboveground, it seemed pretty damn likely, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The options still open to them would work only once—if that. If he set off the warnings and Implementation had not begun, the Resistance would be like the boy who cried wolf when it really did happen.
One time. One shot. They had to get it right.
For the last hour, Christina and several other communication officers had been trying to contact Resistance members on the outside who were near one of the shipping containers that had already been identified as suspect. They had reached a few people, and sent them to check out the boxes, but no one had reported back yet.
“Matt,” his sister called from across the room. “Your phone.”
“What?”
“Your cell phone. It’s ringing.”
He walked over to where he’d left it on one of the tables. The name on the display read J. HAYES. Why was Jon calling? Protocol in this situation was that all communication should be severed. Had something happened to Brandon?
He punched the ACCEPT button. “Jon?”
There was a pause. “No.”
Matt froze. “Who is this?”
“You can call me Sims. I assume you’re…Matt?”
“Who are you?”
“I just wanted to let you know that you and your friends can only hide for so long, and we’ll still be here when you come out.”
The assault team. They must have found Jon and Brandon.
Matt paled. “What did you do to them?”
Another pause. “I think we’ve talked enough. Call me back when you’re ready to discuss surrender.”
The line went dead.
“What is it?” Rachel asked.
“That was someone from the assault team. He was using Jon’s cell phone.”
“Jon’s?” Her confusion lasted only a second before it morphed into fear. “What about Brandon?”
“He didn’t say anything about either of them, but we probably should assume—”
“No, no. No assumptions,” she said. She grabbed his arm. “We need to send someone out there to get them back.”
“You know we can’t do that. If we do, we’ll expose our location and get everyone killed.”
“Brandon’s just a boy. You promised Ash you’d watch him!”
“What’s going on?” The voice came from across the room.
They both turned to find Josie Ash standing in the doorway.
“I heard you say Brandon’s name. Did you find him? Did something happen?” she asked.
“We don’t know anything at this point,” Matt told her, but it was hard to sound convincing.
Josie stared at him, her eyes wide. “You said he’d be okay. You said Mr. Hayes would take care of him.”
“Get her out of here,” he whispered to Rachel.
Rachel stepped over to Josie.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go talk.”
The two had barely left the room when Christina looked up from her monitor. “Matt. Dale Porter just called in. He drove by one of the containers in San Francisco. It’s open, and it’s humming.”
The entire room went silent.
So this was it.
The end of the world.
Matt said, “I want a second confirmation from somewhere else. Preferably out of the country. As soon as we have that, don’t wait for me to say anything. Initiate WC.”
WC was not some tricky code. Its meaning was simple and clear.
Worst Case.
It would be another three hours before a second confirmation—this one from Copenhagen, Denmark—came in.
__________
SIMS HUNG UP the cell phone and smiled. The man on the other end of the line had said, “What did you do to them?”
He looked over at Donaldson. “You’ve got yourself a second chance. There’s at least one more person out there. Find whoever it is and bring them back.”
“Yes, sir.” Donaldson turned and headed quickly back to his squad.
Sims stepped over to the doorway of his helicopter. “So?” he asked.
Inside was an impressive array of communications gear. Included among the equipment was a device that could track cell phone calls and pinpoint the location of both the originator and the receiver.
The technician manning the console was named DeFassio. He kept his attention focused on one of the monitors for a few seconds longer, then looked over.
“You were correct, sir. They’re right here.”
9
YANOK ISLAND
12:51 PM CENTRAL STANDARD TIME
AT TIMES THE snow whirling around them became so thick it seemed as if they were walking through a never-ending wall of white.
Several times Ash was sure they were lost, but then they’d reach a landmark Olivia’s man, Kessler, had pointed them toward, and head to the next.
“Which way now?” Ash yelled above the wind.
They had just reached the latest landmark, a small hill with an outcropping of rocks that was quickly becoming covered with snow.
“There’s a little gully up ahead. Should be in that direction about a hundred yards.” Kessler motioned ahead and slightly to the right. “The camp will be right on the other side.”
“You need to rest or can we keep going?”
“Keep going,” Kessler said.
They almost missed the gully, their path having veered a little too much to the right, but Chloe spotted their mistake, and guided them back on track.
As soon as they reached the far end, Kessler pointed to the left. “There. See it?”
A canvas drop that had been anchored to the side of the hill was now flapping in the wind, exposing everything that had been underneath it to the storm.
“I thought you said the others were going to be here,” Chloe said.
Kessler looked confused. “They’re supposed to be. That was the plan.”
“Then where the hell are they?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Ash asked.
“They might have made for the boat.”
“Boat? The island’s iced in.”
“Icebreaker,” Kessler said. “About a mile offshore.”
“You hiked in?”
Kessler nodded.
“So you think they went back there?” Chloe asked.
“It’s the only other place they could have gone.”
“What happens when they reach the boat? Will they wait for you?” Ash asked.
Kessler was silent for a second. “They might think I’m dead.”
Since the three of them had been in the tunnel when the explosions started, Ash was willing to bet that’s exactly what the others thought. They probably decided the sooner they got off the island, the better.
Chloe leaned close to Ash. “We’ve got to get there before they leave.”
“I know,” he said. The plane they had arrived on had crashed upon landing, so it was very likely that the only way they’d be able to get off the island was on that ship. He turned to Kessler. “Do you know where the icebreaker is?”
Another tired nod. “Southeast. Straight out.”
“Then unless you want to die here, we need to keep moving.”
Kessler nodded wearily. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Good.”
“Hold on a second.” Kessler staggered over to the remains of the camp. “There should be a GPS tracker here if it hasn’t blown away. We’ll need that.”
After a minute of rooting around, he came up with the device. He turned it on and studied the screen.
“Okay, that way,” he said, pointing into the storm.
“No,” Ash said. He nodded to his left. “This way first. We have a stop to make.”
__________
RED CHECKED ON the pilot again. Gagnon was still out, his temperature warm, but not too hot. The fever had to be from an infection caused by one of the
wounds the pilot had received when their plane crashed on the ice just off Yanok Island. In addition to the cut on Gagnon’s head, the man had at least two broken ribs and a deep gouge on his leg. Red had done what he could, keeping the pilot’s ribs wrapped, changing the bandages as often as necessary, but his biggest concern was that Gagnon had suffered internal damage. If that was the case, there was absolutely nothing Red could do.
What the man needed was a doctor, but Red was beginning to think they were both going to die right there in the makeshift shelter the Resistance advance scouts had used when they’d first discovered Bluebird’s location.
It had been over eight hours since Ash and Chloe left them there. That in itself might not have been cause for concern, but just over two hours earlier, the ground had shaken violently several times. Not earthquakes, Red thought. Explosions. He only hoped that if Ash was the one who set them off, he’d been able to do it in time to stop the monsters from Project Eden.
Gagnon groaned, turning his head first one way, then the other.
Red grabbed the pot of warm water he’d heated earlier, poured some onto a piece of cloth, and pressed it lightly against Gagnon’s lips. Squeezing, he let some of the water drip into the man’s mouth. This seemed to calm him.
Outside the wind howled past the shelter. Red glanced over at the doorway, making sure nothing had blown away, and nearly jumped when the cover moved to the side and someone stepped in.
Ash. Chloe entered right after him, then a man Red didn’t recognize.
“I wasn’t sure if you guys made it,” Red said as he hopped to his feet.
“We weren’t sure ourselves there for a little while,” Ash said.
“Did you find it?”
“Bluebird? Yeah, we found it.” There was hesitation in Ash’s voice.
“I felt explosions. Tell me you were able to—”
“It didn’t go as planned.”
“You mean—”
“They set it off.”
Red closed his eyes and rolled his head back. “Holy shit.”
“We can worry about it later,” Ash said. “Right now we need to get out of here.”
“In the storm?”
“If we don’t, the only way we have of getting off this island will be gone.”
“What about Gagnon?”
Ash looked past him at the pilot. “We’ll have to take turns carrying him.”
“That might kill him.”
“Staying here will kill him. At least this way we’ll all have a chance.”
__________
IT TOOK THEM forty minutes to reach the small bay where they’d come ashore after the plane crashed. It was the only path Ash knew that had easy access to the frozen ocean. Kessler said that his people had come up another way, but he wasn’t completely sure where it was, so this was better than wasting time hunting around.
Chloe took charge of the GPS tracker once they were on the ice, while Ash and Red traded off carrying Gagnon every ten minutes. Unfortunately, the only way to effectively to do this and not lose time was to put the pilot over their shoulder in a fireman hold. Not exactly the ideal position for someone with broken ribs.
The frozen surface of the ocean, as they’d learned when they landed the plane, was not smooth and level. To make it worse, the new snow hid many of the contours and ridges, resulting in each of them falling or nearly doing so more than once. Luckily it never happened with whoever was carrying Gagnon, but it did slow their progress, making the one mile seem like ten.
An hour and twenty minutes passed before Chloe yelled out, “We should almost be there! Maybe another hundred yards.”
Without saying anything, they all picked up their pace.
“I think I see something,” she said a few minutes later.
As if to answer her, there was a sudden loud crack.
“No!” Kessler yelled, then raced ahead.
“Come on!” Ash said to the others. “They’re leaving!” With Gagnon over his shoulder, Ash could only get up to a slow jog, but he urged the others to keep going. “Get their attention!”
He didn’t see the ship until he almost reached it, its black metal hull suddenly rising up from the ice.
It was moving. Very slowly, but definitely moving.
“Hey!” Kessler yelled from several feet away.
The others joined in, but there was no reaction.
“Red! Come here!” Ash called out.
Red rushed over.
“Take him,” Ash said, handing over Gagnon.
Free of the pilot, Ash backtracked several yards until he could see the dim outline of the deck. His gaze moved back and forth, searching for signs of movement.
There!
It was the shape of a man moving quickly toward a door that led inside. He probably wouldn’t hear Ash yelling, so Ash pulled his gun from his jacket, aimed at a spot near the door, and pulled the trigger.
The shape jerked to a stop.
Ash couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the man turned toward the side, so Ash jumped up and down and waved his arms. The others, seeing what he was doing, started to mimick him and scream at the top of their lungs.
At first, nothing happened. Then the cracking of the ice began to recede as the ship came to a halt.
10
LAS CRUCES, NEW MEXICO
2:21 PM MOUNTAIN STANDARD TIME
THE VIDEO CONFERENCE call Perez wanted set up within the hour took four to organize. There were several factors involved in the delay. Number one—and the most time consuming—was determining who the other four highest-ranking Project members were, and where they were located.
The only one on the list higher than Perez was Dr. Henry Lassiter. Dr. Lassiter’s purview was the health of Project members. Working under him was a team of physicians—general practitioners, surgeons, and specialists—who responded to all medical issues not related to the KV-27a virus. In effect, he was a hospital administrator whose employees were scattered all over the globe. The doctor himself was at NB772 in the south of France near the Spanish border.
The other three on the list in descending order were: Erik Halversen, Regional Director of Technologies for the Northern Hemisphere, located at NB405 outside Hamburg, Germany; Patricia Nakamura, Regional Director of Supplies for North America, located at NB89 near Seattle, Washington; and Dominick Tolliver, Regional Director of Supplies for East Asia, located at NB294 in the outskirts of Osaka, Japan.
“Are we ready?” Perez asked Claudia.
“Just waiting for Nakamura to come online.” There was a pause, then she nodded. “All right. She’s live. I can connect you all now.”
“Do it.”
Perez was pleased with how Claudia had jumped right in and helped without any hesitation. She’d proved herself very useful over the last few hours, something he couldn’t say about Kane. The facility director just didn’t seem to understand he was no longer in charge. Finally, Perez had had him taken to one of the holding cells. That solved the problem, at least in the short term.
Claudia tapped away at her keyboard. “All right. Here we go.”
She hit one more key, and the large screen on the conference room wall came to life. The image was divided into four equal sections: Dr. Lassiter in the upper left, Halversen upper right, Nakamura lower left, and Tolliver lower right.
“Can you all hear me?” Perez asked.
They each responded yes.
“Then we should begin. First, when was the last time any of you was in contact with Bluebird?”
“Hold on a moment,” Nakamura said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something I think we need to clear up first. What exactly is your position with the Project?”
The question was not a surprise. The four on the screen were all managers with fancy titles. Perez was a wild card, the type of Project operative probably none of them had come in contact with before. But while they might have been confused by his inclusion, the Project directorate had known his worth, and had purpo
sely ranked him as high as they did in case something like this happened. He was someone who could make sure things stayed on track and didn’t get tripped up by narrow-minded middle managers.
“I’m Special Operations,” he said.
“And that is what, exactly?” This time the question came from Tolliver.
“Use your imagination.”
Silence.
“We think there might be a mistake with the information we received,” Nakamura said. She raised a piece of paper a few inches off her desk. “According to this, you’re number two?”
“Yes. And?”
A small laugh escaped her lips. “And I guess we don’t understand how that’s possible. You’re not even a director.”
“You mean regional director. You’re right. That’s not a title I hold. I don’t have a specific title, nor do I operate in a specific region. I work everywhere.”
“Then I guess I have to go back to the earlier question. Doing what?”
He stared into the camera. “We’re wasting time. We have a situation which needs to be dealt with, and you want to get into a pissing match over why the directorate saw fit to give me my rank?”
“It’s just that—”
“Ms. Nakamura,” Lassiter said, “Mr. Perez is correct. We need to address more pressing matters. If the directorate thinks so highly of him, then they must have a reason. It is not our position to challenge it.”
Nakamura looked momentarily confused.
Her reaction pretty much confirmed what Perez had already thought, that she’d had an earlier conversation with Lassiter, and someone, perhaps the doctor himself, had come up with a strategy to figure out who Perez was. Chances were, conversations had occurred between all four of his new colleagues.
Time wasters. Space wasters. The Project was in the first few hours of implementation, and here they were—the supposed leaders if Bluebird remained out of contact—not able to pull their heads out of their own asses.
These people were even more of a problem than he thought they would be.
“Thank you, Dr. Lassiter,” he said. “Perhaps we can get back to my question. Unless you’d like to be the one to keep things moving along.”
Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller) Page 5
