by Carr, Jack
John unlocked a nearby door and descended the metal grated staircase. The next step was to prepare the sedative and tranquilizer guns for their mission.
The baboons were housed in single stainless-steel cages to help prevent the spread of disease. Referred to as NHPs, or nonhuman primates, in the scientific community, the facility received ten of them a month, which was far fewer than most of the research facilities around the country. It was John’s job to care for the animals before they were sent to their deaths. It gave him no pleasure; instead he took pride in keeping the facility clean, the animals healthy, and being skilled in administering the anesthesia to sedate them for transport. As he prepared the long stick that would allow him to inject the animal through the bars of its cage, Walter and Chris removed the tranquilizer guns that acted as backup in case the animal somehow awoke from the sedation and attacked. Carl had seen it early in his career. A baboon had been given an ineffective dose of ketamine and sprung to life on the way to the incinerator, almost killing a female animal handler and disfiguring her face for life. He thought about that day every time he approached a cage to do his job.
“You guys all set?” he asked.
“Ready,” Chris said.
“Good to go,” Walter confirmed. “Let’s do this and get home. It’s my three-year-old’s birthday today. My wife put together a little playdate for this afternoon. If I know what’s good for me, I better be there.”
“Ha! Smart man,” John agreed. “One sedation and transport and we will get you out of here. Keep those tranq guns out of sight. You know how the other animals hate seeing them.”
“We know. You tell us that every time we do this,” Chris reminded the senior technician.
“Just habit.”
John visually inspected his technicians before exiting the prep station and approaching specimen 8462 to begin the process that would end its life.
* * *
“Tom, what are you doing?” Major Burke asked, her digitized voice cutting through the silence of the Bat Cave.
Colonel Garrett was manipulating the controls of the mechanical arm that allowed him to access the pathogens behind the thick Plexiglas barrier. He had opened a plastic composite freezer and extracted a vial labled MVU874.
“Colonel, that’s Marburg,” Courtney said, her pen hovering over the stainless-steel clipboard.
“I know, Major. There was a slight change today. General Keating wants this done.”
“Colonel, today’s experiment was for Ebola.”
“We need a comparison to the inconclusive Ebola results. I’ve got a hunch about this.”
“A hunch? Colonel, what’s going on?” his confused partner asked.
“We will get the paperwork sorted out,” he said, trying to buy time as he extracted the Marburg Variant U and maneuvered the mechanical arm toward the sedated baboon.
“Sir, we can’t do this.”
Perspiring profusely inside his suit, Garrett wished he could wipe the sweat from his brow. He hadn’t felt claustrophobic in a suit in years. His hand shook as he tried to focus on the injection.
“Tom, come on. This is not right. What are you doing?”
With no cameras or recording devices in the Bat Cave, Major Burke’s options were limited. The protocols and security measures were based around two-person integrity, clearances, and background checks. They were specifically designed to get an extremely limited number of people into a small space to conduct experiments not officially condoned by the U.S. government, experiments that were in direct violation of the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention.
“Sir!” Courtney said more forcefully.
Colonel Garrett’s next action caused Courtney to drop the clipboard and pen and step toward the exit.
Instead of using the arm to move the baboon to the observation cage, Colonel Garrett left him lying on the delivery tray. He moved to a separate control panel and hit a series of override switches designed for testing the incinerator. Major Burke watched in horror as her superior officer returned their test subject to the anteroom without initiating the cremation cycle.
“What in God’s name have you done?”
* * *
John confirmed that the primate had successfully been transported to its destination. The only communication John’s facility had with the lab was through the machine that delivered and then incinerated the test subjects. This experiment was scheduled to take two hours. John and his two subordinates would clean areas around the other cages and then wait in the break room until the tray returned. They would then visually confirm that it was disinfected and ready for experiments next week, before signing the paperwork confirming that NHP subject 8462 had been successfully incinerated.
As John and his crew turned to tend to the cages a red light began to blink on the wall next to the incinerator.
“What the hell?” John said.
“What’s goin’ on?” Walter asked. “They done already?”
John studied the display on the terminal in front of him.
This can’t be.
“We’re not scheduled to do an incineration test inspection, are we?” Chris asked from over his boss’s shoulder.
“No,” John said, looking down at his paperwork in confusion.
“Then what’s happening?”
“The tray is coming back, but it shouldn’t for another two hours.”
“Maybe the paperwork got messed up,” Walter offered.
“No, we don’t do override tests with an animal in the lab.”
“Could they have hit the wrong button on the other side?” Chris asked.
“I guess it’s possible. The animal will be on the other side for a couple hours. Let’s get back to the control room and figure this out.”
As they turned to go, the control room door opened. A man and a woman in workout gear rushed down the short flight of stairs.
John looked at them in disbelief. This was a first.
The ramifications of what was happening didn’t become clear until the bearded man hit the landing and approached, a 1911 pistol in his outstretched hand.
When Reece and Haley exited the building less than ten minutes later, five men were zip tied and duct taped in the facility break room, the infected baboon had been sent back into the crematorium for incineration, and Haley had a capped, triple-bagged syringe filled with five milliliters of blood, blood that was infected with the original Soviet strain of Marburg Variant U.
CHAPTER 66
Centers for Disease Control Laboratory
Washington, D.C.
“REECE, WE ARE ON the clock.”
“I know, let’s do this.”
“There is no way you can come in with me,” Haley responded. “I’m going into a biohazard level-four containment lab. You need badges, clearances, and approvals, which you obviously don’t have. I am going in with this sample of Marburg Variant U and will compare it with our samples from Richardson and Aurora. If the virus samples match Variant U, then we know it’s not a respiratory-spread infection.”
“And if it doesn’t match?”
“If it doesn’t match, the president only has one option.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. Reece, to my knowledge, no one has ever stolen a bioweapon from Fort Detrick,” Haley said. “My husband is probably in an interrogation room right now. Someone is going to start putting the pieces together. If we are wrong, we are going to jail for a long time.”
“And if we are right, two cities will still be standing this afternoon.”
“We will know soon, if I can get in there and pull this off.”
“So, I just wait in the car?”
“Yes. I will do this as fast as I can. If the weaponized Marburg Variant U is a genomic match to the samples from Texas and Colorado, we can get that information to the president and he can rescind the eradication order.”
As Haley exited the vehicle, Reece leaned across the seat.
“Haley?”
&nbs
p; “Yes?”
“Good luck.”
“I thought you had a thing about luck,” she said, smiling to break the tension.
“I do. But in this case, I’ll take it.”
* * *
“What the hell were they doing at Fort Detrick?” Thwaite yelled into the phone.
“We don’t know, Senator. My surveillance team did not have access to the base.”
“And where are they now?”
“The CDC offices in Virginia.”
“Have they made any calls?”
“Not since this morning.”
“Fuck! Sawyer, you find out what they are up to. For all we know they are terrorists and have released the virus themselves.”
“That seems unlikely, Senator.”
“Listen to me. Reece meets with the president, is at the site of a suspicious death in Chicago, murders a Muslim man in Atlanta and kidnaps his girlfriend, where now, by the way, we have infected patients. He then executes two Muslim men on the side of the road in Maryland, flies to Denver, where your team is unable to follow him, flies back to D.C., and is now sneaking around at Fort Detrick and the CDC labs? He’s involved somehow.”
“What if this disease is not airborne?”
“It is airborne, Sawyer! All the experts agree. The deadline is upon us. The only chance to save the country, possibly the world, is here. It might be too late already. If the patients in Atlanta were not locked down in time, we are done for; it’s all over. Think of your family, Erik! Dead, all dead!”
“And, if the virus is eradicated, no one will ever know if it was airborne. Your path is paved into the White House.”
“This is not about that, Erik, and you know it. This is about saving the republic!”
“How patriotic.”
“Something is not adding up here, Erik. Find out what Reece and his doctor friend are up to and find out now!”
* * *
Two excruciating hours later, Haley emerged from the CDC building. Reece half-expected her to be in handcuffs, escorted by federal agents in dark blue windbreakers. He looked around the parking lot for signs that he was being set up. He scanned the windows in the floors above that would give snipers a clear shot, looking for anything that might indicate a hastily established urban hide site.
Nothing. But, if they are good, you’ll never see them coming. An HRT sniper could have you in his sights right now.
Haley rounded the front of the vehicle and slid in across from Reece. Even though it was cool, he saw the beads of sweat on her temples. She clasped her hands together to steady her nerves.
“Are you all right?” Reece asked.
“It’s Marburg. It’s Variant U.”
“Jesus,” Reece whispered. “Where is it now?”
“It’s in the lab. It’s locked in a safe. I sent all the documentation to Vic via email. I want this sample destroyed but, for now, we need to keep it as evidence.”
“Just so I have it straight: this confirms that the virus in Colorado and Texas is a weapon. We have that weapon in our arsenal and can prove that it spreads only through direct aerosol droplets from a pressure source.”
“That’s right, Reece. It only spreads via an aerosolized cloud—a man-made cloud. After the intentional release it spreads the same way as any standard hemorrhagic virus.”
“Through direct blood-to-mucous-membrane contact, correct?”
“Correct. It’s incapable of human aerosolization like COVID-19. That’s why it’s the perfect bioweapon under lock and key at Fort Detrick. It strikes with incredible efficiency but only against a targeted population center. That way it doesn’t infect the planet.”
“And you sent everything to Vic?”
“I did. I followed up with a call from my desk. He said the director is assembling a team for an emergency meeting at the White House and he wants me there to brief the president.”
“Well, let’s go.”
“He also said something else.”
“Oh?” Reece asked.
“He said we have a problem. That secure phone you’ve been using—it’s compromised.”
CHAPTER 67
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU agreed to this.”
“It was actually my idea,” Haley said, as Reece drove toward the off-site CIA building in Chantilly, Virginia. “It wouldn’t work if you left the CDC without me. I just asked myself: What would James Reece do?”
“That’s a dangerous question. I think we’ve been spending too much time together,” Reece said with a smile.
“Look, we pull into the parking lot. They are expecting us. I’m going to sprint inside. Vic will have a team ready to pounce. He said it was the same team I met at the Annapolis house plus some guy named ‘beast’ or something.”
“Ox.”
“That’s it: Ox,” Haley confirmed.
“I still don’t like it. They could hit us between here and Chantilly,” Reece said, his eyes in constant motion.
“Just a few more minutes, Reece. Almost there and we are home free.”
“You know, Haley. You would have made a good Team guy.”
Haley couldn’t help but laugh.
* * *
“Senator, we intercepted a call between our subject, James Reece, and the director of the CIA’s Special Activities Center, Vic Rodriguez.”
“Well, what did they say?” Thwaite asked, through his KryptAll phone.
“Reece said they have proof that this outbreak is a bio-attack, something that infects via an aerosolized spray that can not be secondarily spread,” Sawyer reported.
“What kind of idiocy is that? It’s in three different cities. People who never came into physical contact are dying of it. That means it is airborne! We are getting cases in Atlanta, for Christ’s sake.”
“I can only report what we’ve heard.”
“Where are they going now?” the clearly agitated senator asked.
“They are bringing their evidence to an office park in Chantilly, Virginia.”
“Sawyer, they are obviously involved in this plot. They are terrorists themselves. Hell, James Reece was labeled a domestic terrorist by the FBI. He’s clearly finishing what he started all those years ago. He wants to bring down the country he blames for the deaths of his family and his SEAL Troop. It is your job to prevent that from happening.”
“He’s in a new vehicle, so we don’t have him under electronic surveillance, but we know where he’s going.”
“Well, take him out. Save the country!”
“The office park is a CIA processing facility.”
“Fucking CIA is involved, too, then. Sawyer, you take them out. Save the country. I will not let two hundred years of blood, sweat, and tears be destroyed by a domestic terrorist. Kill Reece and the doctor. Help me save the world!”
* * *
“Holy shit! Did I hear that right? We get to kill James Fucking Reece?” Woody asked.
“That’s the order. And the doctor,” Crimmins confirmed.
“Well, fuck me. How illegal is this?”
“It’s a national emergency. Apparently they are involved with the shit in Texas and Colorado.”
“The virus?”
“Yeah.”
“We are going to take down a terrorist SEAL. Oh shit. Think they’ll put me on the cover of Recoil?”
“Probably, if you pay them enough. You ready to finally be a hero, Worthless?”
“I’m already a fuckin’ hero, brah. Now I get to add killer of James Reece to my resume,” Woody said, press-checking the AR from the back of the minivan.
“Just be ready. And don’t fucking miss.”
“I don’t miss, bro.”
“I hope not.”
* * *
“It’s just up ahead,” Reece said, looking in his rearview mirror and noting the dark minivan that changed lanes a few cars back. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready,” Haley said.
“Okay then. Vic has cleared the parking lot except for a few ve
hicles to make it look occupied. The building is locked down, so no one is coming in or out. Your path to the front door is clear.”
Haley shifted nervously in her seat.
“Seat belt on?” Reece asked.
“It’s on.”
* * *
“We are going to turn in behind them and pull right next to them as they park,” Crimmins said.
“Fuck yeah, then I pop the door and take them out.”
“Just remember to take the safety off,” Crimmins advised.
“Fuck you, Charlie. I know what I’m doing. We did low-vis vehicle interdiction black ops in the ’Stan.”
“Sure you did. Just remember the safety.”
* * *
Reece slowed the Cherokee and turned into the office park that operated as the processing center for the CIA’s Clandestine Service, watching closely as the minivan pulled in behind them.
“Hold on, Haley.”
Just inside the parking area, Reece paused as if he was looking for a place to park. Then he slammed the vehicle in reverse and stepped on the gas.
* * *
“What the fuck?” Crimmins exclaimed, seeing the target vehicle’s reverse lights come on and quickly accelerate toward him.
By the time Crimmins’s brain registered the fact that the hunters had become the hunted, it was too late.
His hand put the van in reverse just as Reece’s vehicle made impact with the front bumper.
The impact sent Woody, who was already kneeling by the one sliding door, to the floor. Hitting the gas to reverse out, Crimmins felt a second impact and looked at the screen on the dash, seeing that a security barricade had risen behind them. The van was jammed between Reece’s vehicle and the barrier.
Reaching for the door handle, he abruptly stopped when a black Suburban slid to a stop, cutting off another avenue of escape. Ignoring Woody in the back of the van, yelling about a broken arm, he looked up in time to see a second Suburban skid into place in front of Reece and the doctor, trapping the minivan in a textbook L ambush. He barely registered that the passenger-side door of the car had flung open. A female was sprinting from the vehicle, three men in tactical gear falling in with her to escort her to the building in front of them.
