“Our esteemed colleague was in the process of leaving us already,” Preble said, as he found his cane and leaned heavily upon it. “The soldiers he came across were cut off from the C&C and under fire. So they were easily persuaded to join him aboard the corporate jet that brought you here.”
Navarro shook his head. “Damned fools. The first thing any competent commander would do is figure out a way to seal off the airfield. Chelovik’s crazy, but he’s not stupid. What happened to them?”
Redhawk simply gestured to his monitor. Grumpy’s camera showed the wreck of the trijet at the end of the runway. Half the fuselage was in flames, while the rest lay still and crumpled.
Navarro was silent another moment. “Looks like Blaine’s debts just got canceled. But why? What was he leaving for?”
“Apparently,” Preble informed him, “he felt that the mineral-dissolving properties of the organism discovered here were worth a considerable sum to the right industrial concerns. He was planning to leave and sell samples of Nostocales to the highest bidder.”
“I hate to say it, but that’s better than the schemes Chelovik has for the bug. He and the Ozrabek are part of the Mongol death cult. They wanted to learn how to grow and use Nostocales as part of a bioterror threat. So that they can reclaim their homeland.”
“Unfortunately, they could do just that. We saw the Colonel loading a hundred-gallon brood tank onto a truck. Doubtless he has cultures of the pathogen to go along with it.”
“He must be supervising its transport,” Navarro said darkly. “That’s the key part of his game. If I was in his shoes, I’d send in my soldiers to kill all of you and then remove the brood tank to some hidey-hole. Someplace that would be hard to find.”
“Hard to find?” October exclaimed, with a pained cough. “Will be impossible to find! North and west are four hundred thousand square kilometers of mountains. He won’t come out until he is ready!”
Navarro flexed his hands as if wanting to throttle something.
“Chelovik said that the WHO and CDC already ‘gave him the keys to the castle’. But the only people who arrived at the Karakul early were Zhao, Preble, and Lelache.”
“I doubt he’d have left me behind if I were part of the plot,” Preble pointed out. “And you said he did in Amy Zhao. That leaves Helen Lelache.”
“Who must have also known something about the bug already. Otherwise, why would she have called in a paleobiologist like Zhao?” Navarro looked up, startled. “Hellfire. Where’s Austen and Lelache?”
Preble went pale. “Why, they must still be down in the mine.”
“Then that’s where I’m heading.”
“I go with you,” October cracked his knuckles ominously. “It is fun crushing snake in the grass.”
Navarro shook his head. “Not this time. They just don’t make hardsuits in your size.”
“We can hold the fort up here,” Redhawk reassured him. “It’s gotten quiet all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, but keep those drones flying. Chelovik’s probably got a couple more of his cultist friends hiding in the rubble, waiting to see if anyone sticks their nose up.”
“I won’t bet against that. I’ll have all my remaining scouts on patrol.”
He checked the Makarov pistol he’d taken off the turncoat Colonel. It still held five rounds. Not a lot, but it would have to do. He turned and moved as quickly as he could through the doors separating the lab’s sections.
B and C-module had been peppered from floor to ceiling with shell fragments. D-module lay blackened and still. It smelled like the remains of a campfire, if someone had been barbequing plastic paneling.
He ignored the scent as he shrugged into gloves and a protective gown. Modules E and F had escaped unscathed, at least. A quartet of burgundy-colored Chiron hardsuits hung from their protective hooks. Navarro shrugged on the closest one. He then slid into the helmet and extended-wear pack with a pair of metallic clicks.
Unlike before, no rush of noise filled his ears. Communication from the C&C’s smashed wiring was nonexistent. No help would be coming if he called for it. He put that out of mind as he grabbed another of the lab’s single-strap packs and slung it across the hardsuit’s shoulder. It wasn’t a holster by any means, but it would give him a place to store the pistol if needed.
Navarro’s breath echoed in his ears as the hardsuit’s boots crunched down the gravel-strewn road leading to the elevator. He passed the phone booth sized shed marked EMERGENCY. Just beyond the booth, the road ended in the mine’s sharp drop-off.
He paused for a moment, thinking about the last time he’d entered the Karakul.
Then he went over to the shed and yanked the door open, hunting for what he figured would come in handy.
Chapter Forty-Three
A deep clank echoed through the caverns as Lelache closed the pressure door behind her. She tried to run, but the best she was able to manage was a limping lope. Her side burned like an angry sun.
Austen’s kick hadn’t broken a rib, though she’d thought that at first. Instead, the blow had dented the hardsuit plate so that it pressed into her side, digging in whenever she tried to take a breath. Already, it was wearing her skin raw and throwing her stride off center.
She swore under her breath. Chelovik hadn’t told her exactly what the ‘signal’ might be, but she hadn’t expected the man to start blowing up everything! Based on the sounds she heard, some kind of artillery was at work.
Work that was too deadly to do around a pathogen able to kill almost one-hundred percent of the humans who were exposed to it.
Lelache blinked as she exited the tunnel, shielding her face from the brighter light outside. She made her way across the floor of the mine and over to the elevator. When she got to the top, she’d stay inside the hardsuit as long as possible. If Preble’s samples had been compromised, that alone might be enough to infect a person without safety gear on the surface.
And of course, she had to consider the possibility where Chelovik lost control of the situation topside. It was unlikely, but what if the Motte and Bailey men were as capable as Navarro looked? After all, anything was possible.
In any case, she was getting tired of catering to Aleksey Chelovik’s demands. His strange addiction to the Daichin Tengri. His rash way of deciding things without her input.
Quel idiot, quand même, she thought. Yes, it’s time that I take the option I had in reserve for myself.
She limped up to the elevator, side burning. But her hand froze even as she put it out to press the ‘Call Car’ button.
The car was already on its way down. It clanked to a stop at the bottom in a cloud of dust. The front bars of the elevator cage rolled up with a rattle that echoed off the surrounding walls.
Inside stood a man in a gleaming, wine-colored hardsuit. He had a fully stocked, single-strap pack hanging over one shoulder and a Makarov pistol in his hand.
Nick Navarro’s face glared out from behind the suit’s transparent faceplate. His eyes had a murderous gleam.
“Merde,” she spat.
* * *
“I’ve got movement!” Redhawk called out from behind the battle-scarred desk in the remains of the C&C.
“From which drone?” Preble asked, as he and October gathered around. The big Russian had taken off his body armor so that the older scientist could tape up two of his ribs.
“Awful. And Grumpy, now that I’m looking at it.”
Preble and October traded surprised glances. Awful was one of two remaining drones keeping tabs on the rubble-strewn interior of the military encampment. The last drone, Grumpy, had remained back at the airstrip to spot anyone trying to steal or damage the as-yet untouched Antonov An-74 cargo jet.
October asked, “Where is movement in base?”
At the same time, Preble said, “Did someone survive the Falcon’s crash?”
“Yes, and yes,” Redhawk replied, as he fiddled with the controls. “It looks like the Colonel might’ve left a couple people b
ehind to scout out the rubble and pick off survivors. As for the wreck of our Dassault Falcon…I’m not seeing it, but Grumpy says that there’s movement.”
“That is a problem,” October said. “You go check plane. I go stomp more Ozrabek rats.”
Redhawk shook his head. “The computer running the automated routines got trashed. If I’m not at the controls, the drones aren’t going to stay on patrol. They’ll crash, and then we’ve lost our eyes in the sky.”
“If you needed me to go,” Preble huffed, “you only needed to ask.”
“I meant, what if someone actually survived that crash? They’ll be badly injured, that’s for sure. Can you carry someone back all the way here? Or even drag them?”
“Point taken,” the older man sighed. “I’d be kidding myself if I said I could do that, at least with my condition.”
“Right. October, if any bad hombres come this way, I can hold them off. You need to get to that trijet.”
“Is settled, then.” October picked up his assault rifle, stopping to rest a hand on Preble’s shoulder. “Chest feels better. Not so much like angry mule kick it. Spasiba.”
“You’re welcome. Wish you would wear your armor over it.”
“Too much pain. Also too heavy for running.” October removed his hand and threw a salute to Redhawk. “I return soon. Then you can pay me.”
“Like hell I’ll pay you,” Redhawk shot back. “For what, you crazy Russkie?”
“I hear what Nicholas said. About his scar.”
Redhawk let out a low whistle. “You got powerful magic if you were able to pry it out of him. All right, the beer’s on me.”
October shrugged. “Is better if vodka.”
Before his friend could object, October lumbered out the door at a jog. Preble chuckled as he watched over Redhawk’s shoulder. With an experienced hand, Redhawk forced the damaged electronics to obey his commands.
He kept Grumpy focused on the trijet’s wreckage while Tipsy circled the compound, looking for any new movement. The coverage was spotty at best, but it was better than nothing. Awful stayed on the last of Chelovik’s troopers, though they slunk through the base’s wreckage and made the best of their cover.
“At least you’re nowhere near my friend,” Redhawk murmured, as he kept one eye on the rebel soldiers, another on October’s progress.
Even with a couple of bruised ribs, October pushed on through a pain-filled haze. Each step jounced his torso and sent stinging shards up through his body. The body armor he’d worn had stopped the rifle bullets, but the raw kinetic energy had still done a number on his muscles.
Finally, eyes watering, he arrived at the airstrip. He stopped a moment to survey the scene while trying to keep his injured chest from heaving. One of M&B’s assault rifles lay on the tarmac at his feet. To his immediate left, the Antonov’s ugly-duckling frame looked in decent shape. However, the swanlike trijet lay smoking and flaming in an ungainly heap.
Wearily, he jogged the rest of the way down the runway.
He slowed to a wary walk as he approached the wreckage of the fuselage. October’s nose filled with the smells of spilled aviation fuel, red-hot metal, and burning tires as he approached the wreck. His eyes roamed over the mass of crumpled steel and plastic until he spotted it.
A single arm, jutting from under a panel. It had a USMC tattoo on it he recognized as belonging to the squad leader. He ran over and began moving chunks of half-melted cabin panels out of the way.
“Gorecki!” October cried. “I will free you!”
He shifted the biggest panel, grabbed Gorecki’s hand, and pulled.
The arm came loose from where it had been pinned in the wreckage. It ended abruptly at the shoulder in a mass of torn and crushed flesh. The rest of the body was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey…” came a barely audible voice. “Help.”
October turned, picking his way a few steps further up the remains of the fuselage. Just beyond this point, the fires from the ruptured fuel tanks were slowly making their way down the massive pile of debris. He tossed aside a set of torn-up seats before he stared at the person that had been caught underneath.
Ian Blaine lay on his back, his blonde hair a blackened and singed nightmare. Spot burns marred his expensively tailored suit, going all the way down to the skin in places. The ring and pinky fingers on his left hand dangled limp and broken.
But these were small things compared to his main wound. His right leg below the knee was completely gone. The stump lay half-charred and oozing blood.
October wasn’t impressed. Even in his injured state, Blaine could sense the big man considering whether to turn away.
“Wait,” he croaked. “You need me. I have something you need.”
October turned and spat into the wreckage. Something sizzled for a moment.
“Otva’li!” he cursed. “We all know what you did in trying to flee. You are nothing. You have nothing. I do not take rubles from a beggar!”
Blaine let out a pained laugh. He raised his right hand, which still held his black attaché case in a death grip.
“Who said anything about rubles?” he asked. “I have something that Navarro and Austen are going to want a hell of a lot more. More than all the money in the world.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Leigh Austen eyes grew wide as something moved towards her again.
This time, the movement was big.
The bodies heaped at the rear of the pile humped up, as if caught by an incoming wave. Then they sank back down, allowing whatever it was to pass. All Austen heard was the hammer-trip whamming of her heart and the frantic pace of her breath. She fought down the urge to panic as she recalled what they’d learned about colonies of this organism.
Ian had called it cytoplasmic streaming, she thought. And the pathogen is able to channel the movement in a single narrow burst.
A phosphorescent glimmer appeared underneath the carpet of body parts and debris. The friendly azure color reminded her of glow-in-the-dark stickers or a snapped chemical stick. It grew stronger, until she could see it clearly in the flicker of her dying shoulder light.
Fear blossomed within her as the colony’s tendrils began to emerge. They snaked out from under the edges, ghostly blue or green fingers groping their way forward.
Fear turned to terror as the tendrils writhed her way en masse, dragging pieces of bodies and debris with them.
She could do nothing but stare as a nightmare came to life before her.
A half-shattered skull, caught in the undertow of the cytoplasm, shifted and turned to face her. A dried-up hand turned and flexed as the mat of slime that made up the colony flowed about it, making it wave grotesquely. Gorge rose in her throat as the tendrils pried a withered, shrunken heart from an open torso and carried it forward on waves of swarming tendrils before tearing it to shreds.
Suddenly, a steel spanner balanced on a nearby pile of debris fell with a clatter. The tendrils swarmed over it. They snatched at anything they encountered, forming the iron-hard loops they’d used before to snare and pull.
Austen forced herself out of the panicked freeze she’d been stuck in.
She recalled what they knew for sure: that the colony reacted to stimuli. Lights. Noise. Vibration through the rock.
Austen thought about how she might turn off the remaining automatic lamp in her suit.
Then she discarded the idea. Horrible as it might be, she couldn’t face up to the idea of letting that thing out there slither towards her in the dark. And it was coming.
She’d been unsuccessful in pulling free from the crowbar Lelache had jammed through her pack. So with a last surge of adrenaline, she braced her feet and gave a shove up against the wall. Pain jarred its way along her vertebrae as she forced her spine to take the load.
Sweat burst out in little droplets on her forehead as she continued to strain. The bar seemed to shift an inch, but that was all. She slumped once again, heart pounding as if to burst.
Her
pack had stopped its half-broken whirring. Now, as two damaged mechanical bits tried to keep running, it let out a keening whine.
She finally looked at the little red indicators on the side of her faceplate. They blinked like reassuring Christmas lights, stacking up on top of one another as if competing for her attention.
HIGHLY ELEVATED BATTERY USE.
DAMAGE DETECTED TO EXTENDED WEAR BACKPACK.
DAMAGE DETECTED TO LIGHTING SYSTEM.
DAMAGE DETECTED TO THERMOSTAT.
DAMAGE DETECTED TO FACEPLATE.
The tendrils of Nostocales oozed closer, tapping and rippling around her feet now. She pulled back as much as she could, but there was no more room.
Her hand closed around the chunk of concrete she’d grabbed to protect herself from Lelache’s attacks.
A few tendrils shifted that way, but it wasn’t enough. Her pack simply made too much noise now. To the colony, it shone out like a lighthouse beacon on a cloudless night.
With one final push, it surged over her legs as high as her knees. Reflexively, Austen kicked out, only to have her ankles snared. An iron grip tugged at her legs even as the tendrils climbed higher.
Waist high, they sent out little feelers, much like the tender shoots of a growing plant. They wrapped around the hardsuit’s plates, pressing and probing at the soft flexible portions in between.
Another surge carried the colony chest high. A single tentacle of slime wrapped itself around her left wrist, bending it back. She let out a croaking, terrified gasp as she felt the lower half of her body engulfed by a creeping clamminess.
It’s eating me alive! I’m halfway down its throat!
What remained of her sanity beat against its cage of bone and brain as the slime layer that made up Nostocales reached her faceplate. She clawed at it, but there was nothing to grasp onto. The blue-green flowed over the spiderwebbed portion, blocking half her vision.
It may have only been in her mind. But she thought she heard a soft grinding sound as the thing tried to force its way in through the weakened plate.
The Devil’s Noose Page 19
