The problem’s buried deep.
It’s the black sheep of the family.
Treat the unknown with care. Watch your back. Not everything is as it seems.
When there is no one else to call for help, the man in the tower can drop the hammer.
Clear it first with those who speak to the storm.
She stared at the message, her stomach a mass of knots. Then she grabbed a piece of paper and copied it down. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that she’d have to puzzle it out later. Right now, she just had enough time to shower, pack, and meet Blaine for her flight at Dulles.
Austen switched off the computer and headed off to crank up the hot water in her bathroom. Behind her, the moonlight vanished as the clouds closed in. The mist turned to a freezing drizzle that pattered against the glass.
Chapter Seven
Breakaway Region of Ozrabek
Central Asia
Two people in tinfoil-colored hazmat suits walked around the now-silent hamlet. It was slow going. They had to take care not to step upon the bodies that carpeted the ground.
The dead villagers had called this cluster of red-daubed wood and earth huts home. But now, very little moved atop the little hillock. Even the sounds of habitation had faded away. No dogs barked, no fires crackled in the rough stone hearths. A light breeze rippled through the tall strands of hillside grass.
The only sound was the grumble floating up from idling diesel engines from far below. Military jeeps and trucks formed a ring about the base of the hill. These vehicles were in turn surrounded by brown-clad soldiers patiently awaiting orders.
The two wearing the silver suits carefully studied the inhabitants where they’d fallen or been placed. Their red tribal shawls and wolf fur trimmed jackets lay bright against the moist earth.
Even with the breeze, the entire hilltop held the smell of drying, slowly rotting flesh.
One woman had been carried out of her hut by hazmat-suited soldiers. She’d died while sitting at a table, and she remained in a strangely crouched pose, her eyes blank and terrified, staring into nothingness. An elderly man lay next to her sprawled in the dirt, hand pressed to his chest as if trying to still something that had gotten trapped inside. The children were mostly in relaxed, even fetal poses, as if they’d perished in their sleep.
The two silver-clad people stopped by a young man’s body. His head bent back, mouth agape as if trying to scream. One knelt for a moment to peer down the corpse’s throat. Way at the back lay a puddle of blue or green phlegm.
The puddle quivered like solidifying aspic. Likely that came from the breeze, or vibrations through the ground.
A man’s voice cut the silence as he got back up. “No doubt remains. This strain is much deadlier than the last. In fact, I’ve never seen something kill so fast before. Much too fast.”
The second figure replied in a woman’s voice. She sounded surprised.
“It’s rare that I hear that complaint from one of your soldiers, Commander. Men like things that kill well, and quickly.”
“I don’t. Not if it fails to advance towards my goal. If it kills too quickly, it cannot spread effectively.”
They turned and began walking down the hill. Around them, the grass swayed and bent in the stiffening breeze. The woman noticed the wind now.
“Perhaps,” she murmured, “that was a blessing in disguise.”
If the Commander heard the woman’s words, he didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, he let out a string of Ozrabek curses.
“This damned thing didn’t even spread to the birds and lizards this time! I need something that knows what it wants. Meat. Of any and all kinds. It is all just meat, fuel for its fire.”
“We picked the wrong strain, obviously.”
“Obviously. This is maddening! We can release our demon from its bottle, but we cannot truly control it yet. A sword is worthless if it cannot be firmly held in one’s grip!”
“We simply need the time to test and refine.”
“Time is no longer infinite, my dear. The Westerners have picked up our scent. Even now they are following the track back to our den.”
“I can handle them. They have helped us thus far, you know.”
The man clenched his fist. He stopped speaking for a moment, waiting until he had firmly leashed his emotions. “You said that you could handle Captain Baurzhan when he decided to desert. It was his report that got the WHO involved, I am sure of it.”
“We shall turn it to our advantage in the end. I doubt that Baurzhan told them anything truly damaging.”
“True, it is unlikely. My people got to him just as he reached the capital. I doubt that any man missing half his skull will spill any secrets.”
“At that point, the only thing spilled is his brain, so you are right.”
The two reached the base of the hill, where soldiers wearing heavy red and black protective suits filed out of the trucks. Straps held bright cylindrical tanks on their backs. Nozzles and tubes ran from the tanks and into a set of grips held in both hands.
“You have your orders,” the man said, gesturing towards the ruined hamlet. “Burn it all down to the ground. Burn it in the name of Daichin Tengri. Do not let a single blade of grass escape you. Turn wood and cloth and flesh to ash!”
As one, the men walked up the hill, making sure to keep a neat, equally spaced line. Those downwind shifted their positions away from the danger zone. The men paused as they flipped switches where the grips extended into a gun-shaped nozzle.
A cough as small motors came to life, followed by an incendiary whoosh as the nozzles gushed forth torrents of flame. The soldiers carefully played their streams of flame back and forth as they advanced.
The flamethrower wielding men inflicted horrific black scars upon the landscape. Bodies leapt into flame like greasy torches as they were bathed in fire. Huts guttered as the damp wood dried and finally caught in a flare of petroleum products.
A second team of soldiers hosed off the silver-clad man and woman with decon fluid before they finally removed their hazmat outfits. The woman shrugged off the last of the gear, showing off a shapely figure before brushing back her lustrous black hair.
“The organism has some other unique effects on its natural environment,” she noted. “Commander, did you read the report I gave you? There are some…interesting possibilities.”
“I did,” the man said, dismissively. “But I need this little demon for only two reasons: to purify man and bring the outsiders to their knees. Speak to me no more of anything else!”
He stepped out of the suit as if glad to be free of its embrace. Then he stalked off among the trucks, booming orders to the men. The woman paused, watching him until he disappeared. Then she slipped off in another direction on her own, a predatory look gleaming in her eyes.
In the distance, the men with the incendiary weapons completed their work. The last of the hamlet’s buildings collapsed with a roar. A plume of red flame reached hungrily towards the sky, as if to consume the entire world.
Chapter Eight
Frankfurt International Airport
Federal Republic of Germany
The setting sun greeted Austen as she and Blaine deplaned at the Frankfurt terminal. They walked across a concourse crowded with tourists and into the Anschlussflüge – Connecting Flights area. Blaine surprised her by leading the way out a side door and down a walkway to a waiting vehicle parked below.
The automobile was a plump looking CLS-class Mercedes-Benz, attended by an even plumper driver who held the doors for them. In a few moments, the car whisked them across an open space of tarmac and past a massive iron gate protected by a set of tire-shredding traffic spikes. Austen cast a glance behind them as the main terminal fell away into the distance.
“We’ll be switching to a private carrier for the rest of the way,” Blaine explained. “That’s why we’re heading for the cargo freight section of the airport. Don’t worry, our luggage will be along shortly.”
“We’re leaving on a cargo flight? This is going to be one long, cold haul.” Austen rubbed her hands together as if already chilled.
“Not exactly. Look over there.”
The Mercedes pulled up to a loading area near two aircraft. One was a stubby-nosed cargo plane with a gaping rear ramp and bulbous jet engines mounted above and over each wing. A group of men wearing gray-camo military fatigues loaded supplies that included a bunch of dull green ammunition boxes.
But if the cargo aircraft resembled an ungainly plow horse, the other looked a good deal more like Secretariat. The second plane was a sleek corporate tri-jet. Between the raked profile and an arrow-shaped set of gold paint stripes, it seemed as if it were going supersonic even while parked on the tarmac.
“The sharp looking plane is a slightly used Dassault Falcon,” Blaine said. “It’s not fully appointed, but the cabin is heated. And we won’t have to wear earplugs for the trip.”
A cell phone rang before he could continue. Blaine fished his from a pocket and checked the screen. He frowned as he opened his door to step out.
“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” he said. “It’s the WHO again. Someone in Geneva wants to chew my butt about something new.”
With that, Blaine strode away from the car and headed towards one of the Customs buildings, phone held to his ear. Austen decided to get out and survey the scene. The faint tang of aviation fuel and a mix of asphalt and burnt tire treads tickled her nose. A trio of men stood by the Dassault Falcon. She spotted Navarro among them.
The whirr of an electric motor signaled the approach of an airport cargo tug. She decided to wave it down. Austen smiled disarmingly at the startled driver, who removed one of his protective earmuffs as she dredged up what she remembered of her college German.
“Du gehst…zum Flugzeug?” she asked, pointing towards the corporate jet.
The man nodded. This model had an open-air cab, so she simply hopped into the passenger side and motioned ‘forward’. He stepped on the accelerator pedal and brought them up to the plane’s side, where both fore and aft cabin doors had been thrown open for loading.
“Danke schön,” Austen said, and he gave her a wave as she stepped down.
Navarro and his two companions were busy looking through a set of open cargo cases. The big man’s face broke out in a toothy grin as he saw her. His teeth weren’t piano-key white like Blaine’s, and the front two had a slight gap. But at least the smile was genuine.
“I bet you’re surprised to see me,” she said, as he came up to her. Navarro had swapped out the sports coat for a set of charcoal fatigues and a military-style field jacket. The new look suited him much better.
“Not at all, Doctor Austen,” he replied. “In fact, I expected you to show up.”
“You’re going to make me feel like an old lady if you keep calling me Doctor Austen. Really, ‘Leigh’ is fine.”
“Then you can call me ‘Nick’ along with the rest of the fine gentlemen here.”
“That’s a done deal, then. Why were you expecting me to show up? I remember ordering you and Blaine to get out of my office, and I didn’t particularly sugar-coat things.”
Navarro shrugged. “I figured you were coming from the moment you looked at and made changes to Blaine’s personnel roster. I’m a fair hand at reading people. It’s just something I do.”
She glanced at him, surprised. “What else do you ‘read’ about me?”
“You’re smart as a whip-crack. You’re book-savvy. Fast on the draw when it comes to decisions, which is good. You own those decisions, which is a damn sight better. Stubborn as hell, which I’d say is a fine thing on the whole. And then there’s…”
“Yes?”
He pursed his lips as if deciding how to say something awkward.
“You’ve got what my Dad would’ve called a ‘spot of night’ in your past. I don’t know what it is, but you deal with it when you wake up every day. My apologies if that’s too personal a take for your taste, Leigh.”
She weighed his words and decided that she was okay with them. There was a solidity to Navarro which she liked and trusted.
And that made her stop for a second.
She thought of one DiCaprio’s sentences in his last message.
You’re only safe with the man whom you trust without question.
“I’m fine with anything you tell me, Nick. Whether I like it or not, so long as it’s honest.”
“We’re going to get along fine, then.”
Austen considered. Her gut told her that, if she could trust Navarro, she could use his advice as soon as possible. She glanced around, noting casually that no one was within easy hearing distance.
“I sure hope we do,” she said. Austen reached into her jacket pocket. She pulled out the note containing the words she’d jotted down off her computer screen. “There’s something I need to show you. Something that I’m not sure how to read properly. I want it kept confidential between you and me.”
“My lips are sealed with baling wire,” he promised.
She handed over the message. Navarro’s eyes scanned the words twice. His expression was controlled, but she noted that his brows rose a jot in surprise. His voice turned breathless and harsh as he spoke.
“Where the hell did you get this?
“It’s not important,” she said, without thinking. “I don’t know what it means.”
“You don’t–” Navarro caught himself, took a breath, and started again. “We need to talk, Leigh. There’s some very sensitive information in here. And that means only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That this mission’s been compromised from the very start,” he said grimly. “And whoever’s playing games here is willing to do it with our lives.”
Chapter Nine
“Compromised?” Austen took the paper back, shaken. “I couldn’t even decipher this, and you go over it one time and conclude that we’ve been–”
Navarro looked up as he heard his name called. “I’ll explain in a minute. It seems like I’m needed right now. Be a good a time as any to introduce you to my seconds.”
Austen pocketed her note and followed him, hurrying to keep up with the man’s long strides. He stopped in front of a waist-high pile of supply crates. Sitting atop the crates were seven open metal cases, each with a black cushioned interior and a bronze-colored device inside.
Nick stepped to one side as he gestured between her and a veritable mountain of a man. “Leigh, whenever you think you’ve bumped into a wall with a Russian accent, that’s really October Shtormovoy. October, this is Doctor Leigh Austen.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. Where Navarro looked strong enough to take apart a small truck, October looked as if he was the truck. The man had a massive barrel chest, blocky head, and a set of bushy cocoa-brown eyebrows. The man’s dark eyes peeked out from just below those brows, and they radiated a playful dangerousness.
“Wow…it’s good to meet you,” Austen extended a hand. October’s big mitt completely engulfed hers. The man’s grip was warm and solid as an oak bannister.
“You’re in luck,” Nick added. “He’s already been fed today, so you should get your hand back.”
“Ha!” October let out a baritone laugh. He let her hand go and then stage-whispered in slightly fractured English. “Do not worry. Nicholas thinks he is funny man. Lucky for us he is better at leading than being comedian.”
“Good to know,” Austen said, flustered. She groped for something else to add. “That’s an interesting name you have. Did your parents, um, like Halloween?”
“Nyet! Was named after month of glorious Russian revolution!” he declared. October reconsidered after a moment. He held two fingers about an inch apart. “But Halloween is good too. I am liking the little candied corns.”
“October is my Ground Perimeter Security Specialist,” Navarro said. “And my go-to linguist this time around. We’re lucky that in addition to Russian and English, he speaks Kazakh,
Tajiki, and Uzbek. And to top it off, he knows how to fix, fly, or drive anything short of a Vespa scooter.”
“Why a Vespa scooter?” she asked.
October sighed. “Scooter make crunch when I sit on it.”
“I’d also like to introduce you to the quiet, sensitive member of our group,” Navarro said, as the final member of the trio stepped up. “This is John Redhawk, of the Salt River Apaches.”
Redhawk was slightly built in comparison to his two companions, more wiry than brawny. The man’s complexion was florid to the point of looking sunburned, and his face had a grim, stolid cast.
“Hello, Doctor Austen,” he said. Redhawk turned to Navarro and grumbled under his breath. “Quiet and sensitive, my ass.”
“Just ‘Leigh’ is fine,” Austen said. “If October takes care of security on the ground, I guess you handle what’s above it?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I take care of drone surveillance and communications. Got into it after my job on the Rez. I used to spend all day travelling over the ass-end of the place on horseback, keeping an eye out for trespassers.”
“So how did you go from riding horses to flying drones?”
The edges of Redhawk’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “We’ve got a saying out at Salt River. The Hopi make dolls, the Zuni make jewelry, and we Apache make money. As soon as I ditched my horse, I started running the security cameras at the tribal casino.”
“Nowadays, he runs Red Hawks – our latest model of camera drones,” Navarro added. “I’d need a lot more than a dozen soldiers to do our job without him.”
The cargo tug that Austen had hitched a ride upon pulled up nearby with a whirr. The driver held up a clipboard with forms to sign and shook it meaningfully.
“Ich brauche diese ausgefüllt,” he called over.
“Einen moment,” Navarro called back. “Hold on, they need my expertise with a pen. John, you need to show her your minions.”
The Devil’s Noose Page 4
