by David Spell
Johnson pushed another button and the picture changed. “This is their house. They live about an hour and a half north of here, off of I-85, just outside of Commerce.”
It was a simple one-story house sitting about fifty yards off the road. It had a chain link fence running around the entire property. They could see a second house or building behind the first. The property was located in a rural area of northeast Georgia where the houses were spread apart and not stacked on top of each other like they were in neighborhoods closer to the city. There were several photos of the location taken from different angles.
“What’s that building in the back?” Garcia asked.
“We think that’s Alamouti’s lab.”
“You said that this intel just came in last night. When were these pictures taken?” Chuck asked.
“I believe there's been some interest in Alamouti for a while. The FBI or the Department of Homeland Security probably shot these. I don’t know how old they are,” Johnson said.
“Do we need to wear hazmat suits?” Scotty asked.
“Our intelligence indicates that this chemical is only activated when it's ingested or if the victim gets bitten by one of the infected ones. Contact with infected blood could also lead to infection. There is no evidence that the virus is airborne.”
“Bitten, like in biting?” said Smith. “Like zombie stuff?”
“All I can tell you,” said Johnson, “is that there are cases from the Middle East where that’s exactly what it sounds like. Maybe it’s an exaggeration. Maybe the intel is bad. But until we know better, let’s operate under the assumption that someone can be infected through ingestion or through saliva to blood, like a bite.”
What she couldn’t say was that she had seen these things firsthand on the Afghan/Iranian border, just a year before. The Iranians had infected a number of people in remote Afghanistan. Fortunately, the virus was still a work in progress. It had created some zombies, in one case an entire village, but mostly, it had just brought a painful death to the person who was infected. She and the special forces soldiers who had helped her were able to keep the infection from spreading on a large scale.
The infected people whom she did encounter, though, were like nothing she had ever seen before. She had witnessed an entire village of people who had been turned into monsters. Rebecca had seen them literally rip an unsuspecting person’s throat out. She had seen several of them take multiple gunshots to the chest and just keep coming. Shots to the head had finally put them down for good. Now, there was a very real danger of seeing some of those same things in America.
Rebecca turned the lights back on. She handed Chuck a folder. It contained the warrants, photos of the suspects and other pertinent information.
“I know you guys want to talk about how to handle this, but time is of the essence. I want you on the road in the next hour or so.
“And just so you know,” Rebecca continued, “Team Two is handling a similar situation. Another Iranian scientist appears to be doing the exact same thing, just south of Atlanta. I briefed them this morning.”
She started to open the door to leave. “Do we have any other assets or can we use local law enforcement if we need them?” Fleming asked her.
Rebecca said, “The Clean Up Team will be stationed nearby. When the scene is secure, they’ll come in, conduct the search, and process everything. Like we mentioned earlier, we need to keep a lid on this. I don’t want any locals involved unless it becomes the worst-case scenario. They don't have the need to know and I'd rather keep this under the radar.”
She stopped in the doorway and made eye contact with each man. It looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she said, “Be careful and I'll see you when you bring this lovely couple in. The FBI will help us with the interviews when you get them back here.”
CHAPTER TWO
A New Kind of War
Interstate 85 Northbound, Wednesday, 1500 hours
The two black Suburbans had made their way slowly out of Atlanta in the already heavy, rush hour traffic. This was probably going to be a late night. McCain and Smith were in the lead vehicle with García and Fleming following. Andy was driving and he let his mind wander.
The last six months had been interesting but not particularly exciting. He remembered it had all started one morning when he was sitting at his desk testing software. The company that hired him when he got out of the Marine Corps had treated him very well. The owner of the company was a vet himself and he and Andy had quickly become friends.
The phone on his desk had rung. He saved what he was doing on his computer and grabbed the receiver. “Fleming,” he said into the phone.
“Staff Sergeant Andy Fleming?” a female voice asked.
The addition of “staff sergeant” to his name caught him off guard. He had not heard that in almost a year. “Yes, ma’am, that was me. How can I help you?”
“Sergeant Fleming, my name is Rebecca Johnson. I’d like to talk to you about a job. We’re hiring federal police officers and believe that you are exactly the kind of person that we’re looking for.”
Surprised, Fleming did not answer. He was not looking for a job. He did have the paperwork to enlist in the Georgia National Guard laying on his desk but he hadn’t finished filling it out.
“Sergeant Fleming, are you still there?”
Andy snapped out of his trance. “Yes, ma’am, I’m here. What agency are you with?”
“The Centers for Disease Control is creating an enforcement branch for their agency. We’re hiring people who will become police officers working for the CDC.”
“Ma’am, I'm not sure how you got my name but I’m not a police officer. I was a Marine for many years but now I’m a software tester.”
“You weren’t just a Marine, Sergeant Fleming. You were a Special Operations Marine. Would it possible for you to meet with me? I think you’d be very interested to hear my offer.”
How does she know so much about me? he wondered.
“I’m pretty busy right now. I don’t think I can get away.” Fleming looked at the code that filled the computer screen on his desk. The female voice had aroused his curiosity but he wasn’t going to drive across town for a meeting that was sure to leave him disappointed.
“Could you come downstairs for a cup of coffee? I’m in the coffee shop in the lobby of your building.”
Andy waited a moment before he answered. Nice move, he thought. She had cornered him. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll come down. I can give you fifteen minutes, but that's all the time I have."
“Thanks, Sergeant. I think you'll be glad that you did.”
Fleming hung up the phone and stared at it. What was that all about? He had been out of the Marines for almost a year now. Every single day he got out of bed missing his beloved Corps. Being a Marine was all he had ever wanted. Passing the selection and becoming a Special Operations Marine was an even bigger accomplishment. It was his dream job.
Those fourteen years in the Corps were some of the best of his life. He had known that he was on the list to make Gunnery Sergeant. He had been a Staff Sergeant for four years and making Gunnery Sergeant at this point in his career was unusual. Being a part of the Marine Corps Special Operations Command (MARSOC) probably helped. MARSOC was the Marine answer to the Army Special Forces. These Marines are the best of the best.
And then that other phone call had come. This one was from a female as well, his wife, Amy. She had let Andy know that their thirteen-year-old son had been arrested and charged with painting graffiti on the walls of his school the night before.
They had been having problems with Tyler, and Andy’s training schedule and deployments did not lend themselves to being the father that Tyler needed. Amy was a model Marine wife. She had never complained about his career. Until now.
And as much as Fleming loved his job and his Marine Corps, he loved his family even more. After talking with his wife, Andy turned in the paperwork to get discharged. His gunnery sergeant told him h
e was crazy. His first sergeant told him he was crazy. His lieutenant and his captain told him he was crazy. Andy knew what it looked like to give up his career in MARSOC but he also knew that he needed to be there for his wife and his son. It wasn’t that hard a decision to make.
After working at his present company for close to a year, things were much better at home. His son had received probation and a sentence of community service. Having his dad home at night seemed to be paying off. He and Tyler went for a run every evening. After that, they did some push-ups and some pull-ups on the bar he had installed in his backyard.
Fleming enjoyed his job and he was making good money, but he had become restless enough to download the paperwork to join the Georgia National Guard. It would be much less exciting than working with the elite operators with whom he had been serving. It would, however, let him serve again in a part-time role and it would allow him to pass on his training and knowledge in a new setting.
He got up from his desk, told the receptionist that he would be back in twenty minutes, and headed for the elevator. When he walked into the coffee shop, Rebecca Johnson was seated near the door. She stood as Andy walked in and introduced herself. As they sat down, a waitress came and took their orders for coffee.
“Thanks so much for meeting with me,” she said.
As they talked, Andy had to admit that Rebecca was very convincing. Beautiful women could be convincing when they wanted to be, but there was something else about her that appealed to Fleming. She was passionate about what she was doing. Rebecca outlined the job and told him that it would start in three weeks.
While the job sounded interesting, Andy raised his hand as Johnson tried to get an answer out of him. “Ms. Johnson…”
“Please call me Rebecca.”
“Rebecca, I loved the Marine Corps. I had my dream job in special operations, but I had to get out to deal with some family problems. And even though I miss it, for the first time in my life, I'm earning a good salary. My wife doesn’t have to shop at thrift stores any more. I can take my family on a vacation once or twice a year. I don’t think I want to go back to a poverty lifestyle like I had in the Marines.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rebecca. “That must have been tough on your wife and family. But, if you accept our offer and come work for us, we’ll start you at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. You’ll get a raise every year and you’ll have a nice benefits package.”
“One hundred and fifty thousand a year?” Andy confirmed. He sat back in his chair. That was twice what he was making at the software company.
“I probably should talk this over with my wife,” Andy said.
Johnson nodded. “I understand. Here’s my card. If you could let me know something soon, I'd really appreciate it. Like I said, the training will start in three weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am, I'll get back with you today.”
When Fleming returned to his office, he stared at the card Rebecca Johnson, Security Specialist for the Centers for Disease Control, had given him. He looked at the phone. He looked at his computer screen, still full of code. He looked at the paperwork for the National Guard. He looked at the picture of his wife and son on his desk. Andy picked up the phone and dialed Rebecca Johnson’s number.
Outside of Commerce, Georgia, Wednesday, 1635 hours
The team covered the two hundred yards to the target house on foot. It would have been easier to just drive up and jump out but the high fence was a legitimate barrier that would slow them down if it was locked. Approaching on foot would, hopefully, give them a small element of surprise. That is, unless the suspect happened to be looking out the front window.
They were almost to the gate when McCain saw movement in one of the front windows. “Somebody at the window,” he told the team. McCain was behind Smith who had the point with his M4. García was next and Fleming was bringing up the rear. Fleming swung his rifle towards the house to deal with any threat. The team’s pace went from a brisk walk to a run. Smith pulled out the bolt cutters but when they got to the gate, they saw that it was unlocked.
As they were entering the property, they heard a door slam in the back of the main house and then another door open and close where Alamouti had his lab. Their initial plan had been to have two men go to the front door while the other two covered the rear. That way they could watch the rear doors of the front house and the front entrance of the lab.
McCain quickly changed the plan as they started up the driveway. “Everybody to the rear. We'll hit the lab first. “
The lawn crew’s pickup truck was just in front of them. The passenger door was standing open. The team visually cleared it as they went by. There was no one inside.
“Blood on the driveway and in the truck,” said Smith. “A bunch of bloody paper towels in the floorboard.”
They still had not seen anyone with the lawn crew. As they started around the left side of the main house, Scotty stopped abruptly and held up his hand. As the rest of the team came around the side of the house, they saw what he saw. A body was sprawled in the yard, lying on its back.
Chuck and Scotty approached carefully, covering it with Smith’s rifle and McCain's pistol. As they got closer, they realized this was probably one of the lawn guys. A closer look confirmed that. He was wearing a green t-shirt with “Jose’s Landscaping” printed on it. He looked to be a Hispanic male in his early twenties. It was hard to get a good look at him because his throat had been ripped out and he was covered in blood. There were no weapons laying near him and the wounds on his neck were jagged and uneven. As the team’s medic, Smith started for him to check for signs of life, but McCain motioned him off.
“We need to go secure the bad guys. I don’t think there's anything we can do for him.”
“Man, that looks rough,” said Scotty. “What would it take to rip somebody’s throat out like that?”
Before anyone could answer, a gunshot rang out from the direction of the rear building. The team reacted immediately by moving to cover at the side of the main house. By staying next to the wall of the front house, they were out of the line of sight from the lab door and, hopefully, out of the line of fire of whoever was shooting.
“Sounded like it came from the back building,” Fleming observed.
McCain did a quick peek around the wall. There were no windows that he could see on the building. There was the one door about twenty-five yards from where they were.
“Fleming and García, go back around to the other side of this house. Be careful of the windows but get around there and let’s get eyes on the lab from two angles. When you get there, Andy, call me.”
The two men were in motion immediately. A minute and a half later, Chuck’s phone vibrated. He tapped the talk app.
"Team One Bravo to Team One Alpha."
“Team One Alpha. What do you see?” he answered in a whisper.
“I think we have somebody in the main house. We didn’t see anything but we both heard what sounded like something banging into the wall,” Fleming whispered. “We’ve also got eyes on the lab. There are no windows on our side, either.”
“Ok, this sucks. That shot came from the back building so let’s get in there and secure whoever is inside. As we make our approach, let’s cover the rear of the front house as best we can. I think Scotty can kick this door in easy. I’ll throw in a flash bang and then we get in. Scotty, after we’re inside, the entrance is yours. Don’t let anybody get in behind us.”
“No problem,” Smith shrugged. He had a huge smile on his face. “Just say when and away we go. This is turning into a pretty good day.”
Chuck nodded and started smiling too. He felt the adrenaline pumping through his body. He realized that they were still just a few yards away from a guy who’d had his head nearly severed from his body. What were they going to encounter in the lab? He pushed the transmit button on his phone.
“Team One Alpha to Team One Bravo. You guys ready?”
“Ready,” Fleming answered.
“Ok, when you see us come around the corner, come running.”
“Roger that.”
McCain put his phone back in its holder on his belt. He reached into his left cargo pocket and pulled out a flash bang grenade. He straightened the pin so he could pull it easily and held the grenade in his right hand. As a southpaw, his pistol was in his left hand. He nodded at Smith and said, “After you.”
Smith started running with McCain right behind him. When they got to the lab door, they paused just long enough to let the other two men get there and get in position. García and Fleming did a quick scan of the back windows of the front house. Everything looked clear.
The door was locked so Chuck pulled the pin on the grenade but held the lever down. He nodded at Scotty. The big man took a step back from the door and then drove his right foot into it, next to the doorknob. The frame shattered and the door flew open. Smith ducked to the right side of the open entrance and McCain tossed the grenade into the room. The four men turned their faces away from the doorway to avoid the bright flash and noise of the explosion.
The grenade would be deafening and blinding to anyone inside the room and the men were through the entryway immediately. Dust and smoke filled the air. McCain went right and García went left. Fleming followed, stopping against the back wall so that he could cover both García and McCain with his rifle. All three of their guns were scanning the room, looking for threats. Smith came in last and turned around about ten feet inside the room to cover the doorway.
The laboratory was illuminated by fluorescent lights so they did not need their flashlights. It was a single, large room that had probably been a garage in a previous life. There were two long, high tables in the room. Chuck noticed the cardboard boxes on top of them. It looked like Alamouti was packing up his operation.
“I’ve got a body on the floor,” García called from the left side of the room.
