Z (25 page)

“Roger,” Vickers said as O’Malley shut the engines down.

Vickers climbed out of the copilot’s seat and joined the others on the flight deck on the side of the chopper.

Riley was pleased that they had finally arrived. Sergeant Oswald was unconscious and Comsky had spent the flight hovering over him to make sure that he didn’t choke on his vomit. Trent was also unconscious and he had begun the black vomit. Comsky didn’t give the mercenary long before he crashed.

Riley stepped onto the flight deck and looked about. After a couple of minutes two men—both in NBC suits, one army-green and one navy-blue—came forward, walking across the deck.

“I’m Commander Owens,” the man in the blue navy suit announced, “and this is Lieutenant Colonel Rogers, commander of the First Ranger Battalion.” He looked at Lieutenant Vickers. “Welcome back.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances,” Vickers replied.

Riley introduced himself, then the others, including an explanation of who Bentley was.

“I’m afraid you are going to have to stay out here,” Owens said.

“This section of deck has been isolated, and no crew member is to come within forty feet of your location unless suited.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Colonel Rogers asked, pointing at Oswald and Trent, who were lying on the floor of the helicopter.

“They’ve got Z,” Riley said. “We all have it. He’s just the most advanced among us.” Riley pulled open his shirt, exposing a spider-work of faint red welts across his chest. “These will get worse within the next twenty-four hours, then blisters will form. That’s the primary way the disease is spread.”

“Jesus,” Rogers said. “Is there anything my medics can do to help you?”

“Our medical sergeant, Sergeant Comsky, is taking care of us as well as he can,” Riley said. “He’ll radio over a request for whatever medical supplies he needs.”

“Anything we can do or supply, just ask,” Rogers said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’re sixteen hundred kilometers north of Luderitz,” Owens said, laying a chart down on the flight deck. They all gathered around. “Right now we don’t have any word on possible operations from the Pentagon.”

“I have the information you forwarded on where the cure is stored,” Colonel Rogers said. “A surveillance over-flight was conducted not too long ago, and we should get some idea of security at the site.”

“How long until we’re in range?” Riley asked.

Colonel Owens pointed at lines drawn on the map. “We will be four hundred kilometers offshore to the north of Luderitz—within helicopter striking range—by zero four thirty Zulu tomorrow morning.”

“We’re going in then,” Riley said.

Owens looked up from the chart in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Regardless of what the Pentagon says, we’re going in,” Riley repeated. He pointed at Oswald. “We’ll all be like that by tomorrow evening. We have nothing to lose. Bentley says the cure is in the main building in the Van Wyks compound. It’s our only hope.”

“We’ll be getting imagery soon of the Van Wyks compound,” Colonel Rogers said. “I’ll make sure you get a copy.”

“I can’t have anyone going off half-cocked,” Commander Owens said. “We have to wait for orders.”

“What are you going to do?” Riley asked. “Arrest us? Lock us up?”

“I won’t allow your helicopter to be refueled,” Owens said.

“Then you’ll have to shoot us to stop us from refueling it ourselves,” Riley said.

Owens held up his hands. “We have until tomorrow morning. Let’s see what the Pentagon comes up with by then.”

Pentagon, 17 June

“What makes you so sure the Van Wyks cartel is behind this disease, other than the word of this man you picked up in Angola?”

Colonel Martin no longer rated a seat at the main table. Besides the various chairmen of each service, several representatives from the White House and Congress were present, including the vice president and the national security adviser, who had just asked the question.

Z was no longer a hidden topic. SNN had the outbreak as its lead story every half hour. The fact that Z was man-made, and that the Van Wyks cartel was the culprit, was still a secret—one of the few advantages the planners still had.

“We’ve backtracked that booster,” General Cummings said. “It’s Russian and was launched in Russia, but the payload was commercial. More than half of the payloads the Russians put up nowadays are for pay.

“The satellite that was the payload was owned by a European communications company. It wasn’t easy, but the Defense Intelligence Agency has dug through the layers of ownership. It might not be provable in a court of law, but the company that bought the rocket space is a very distant subsidiary of the Van Wyks cartel.

“We’ve also checked the three previous missions that Bentley talked about. We have those on record, and Van Wyks had an involvement in each one.

“There is no doubt that the mercenaries Bentley was working with were communicating back to the Van Wyks compound in Namibia. We tracked those satellite transmissions with no room for error.”

Cummings checked another piece of paper. “Major Tyron, one of Colonel Martin’s men on the ground in Cacolo, confirms that Z was in that device that was recovered off the booster by Bentley. He also confirmed that it is a sophisticated mini-remote-controlled laboratory used to manipulate virus DNA and RNA under zero gravity. We cannot pinpoint the manufacture of the device, but the CIA has given us information that the Van Wyks cartel has recruited epidemiologists from the National Institute of Virology in Sandringham, South Africa.

“We have people checking on equipment needed to construct a biosafety level four facility to see if any was bought by a Van Wyks subsidiary. That will take some more time.”

Cummings put the paper down. “I believe we have enough evidence—maybe not enough for a court, but enough with people dying over there in Angola—to believe without a reasonable doubt that Pieter Van Wyks was behind this.”

“Why?” the vice president asked.

“Sir, we don’t know that,” Cummings said. “We may never know that.”

“What about the place where you think this cure—Anslum four— is?” the national security adviser asked. “Can you get in there?”

Cummings pointed at one of his officers. “My intelligence officer has prepared a briefing on that. Go ahead, Dan.”

“It doesn’t look good, gentlemen.” The G-2 used a laser pointer on the large blow-up of the Van Wyks compound. “The security inside the target building is unknown. The outer security is the equivalent of an armored cavalry regiment.”

“Lay it out for us from outside in,” General Cummings ordered.

“The port of Luderitz is capable of handling landing ships, such as those carried by the Guam—the amphibious assault vessel accompanying the Abraham Lincoln task force. The problem with that is that it will be daylight by the time the Guam arrives at the port. A daylight assault by sea is not advisable.”

“Waiting another twenty-four hours isn’t advisable,” the army chief of staff rumbled. “I’ve got three hundred and sixty-two confirmed cases of Z in the Eighty-second. Twenty-eight among the Special Forces. Sixteen among other assorted support personnel. Of those four hundred and six confirmed, at least a hundred are getting close to being in the acute phase. Which means death within forty-eight hours.”

“We understand the time pressure,” General Cummings said. “Go on.”

“There are at least twenty tanks, sixty armored personnel carriers, and several hundred wheeled vehicles available to the Van Wyks paramilitary forces. This reduces the probability of an air assault force being successful.”

“With proper air support we might be able to do it,” the army chief of staff said.

“There are also extensive SAM sites, ranging up through SAM-15s, throughout the compound and covering the harbor and rail lines. We estimate a helicopter force would take extensive losses, even coming in under cover of darkness.”

“An air preparation could reduce that SAM threat significantly,” the air force chief said.

“And lose us the advantage of surprise,” General Cummings noted.

“There’s something you are forgetting.” Colonel Martin felt impelled to speak.

Cummings held up his hand. “I know what you are going to say. They have Z, correct?”

“Yes, sir. If we lose surprise, Van Wyks will destroy the Anslum four, the vaccine, and probably any evidence that he was behind the virus in the first place.”

“And any forces we send in face the threat of biological contamination,” General Cummings added, turning to the vice president and national security adviser. “It’s like a hostage situation except that if we don’t succeed in getting the hostage—the Anslum four—out intact, our assaulting forces will all die from infection.”

“You have yet to give me any options,” the national security adviser noted.

“We have three options,” General Cummings said. “One is to wait until our amphibious units are in position—the day after tomorrow—and conduct a joint seaborne and air assault on Luderitz and the Van Wyks compound, preceded by a thorough air strike to destroy both SAM and armor. The advantage of this option is that it will result in the least casualties during the actual assault. The disadvantage is that we lose surprise and it allows Z to run its course for another forty-eight hours.

“The second option is to attempt an air assault early tomorrow morning as soon as the Abraham Lincoln is in helicopter range. The danger in that course of action is that the assault force will face heavy SAM attack on the way in and then will be outgunned on the ground and face armor forces without adequate defenses. The advantage is that it will maintain surprise and it is the quickest option in attempting to seize the Anslum four.

“On both of these two options, we have the additional problem of a high chance that the assaulting forces will become infected with Z, and if the assault fails to gain entry to the underground vault before it is destroyed, they will not have the Anslum four.

“The third option is to pursue a diplomatic solution to this problem. To approach President Mandela and see if he can get the Van Wyks to give up the Anslum four.”

The vice president shook his head. “That won’t work. Van Wyks is a separate entity over there. There’s no way they’ll give up the cure. That would be an admission to the entire world that they invented the disease. There’s no way anyone would ever admit to that.

“Mandela’s got his hands full with his own military right now. This whole thing seems to be tied in with an attempt by right-wingers to set up a separate state. Conveniently they picked Namibia and its diamond mines for that state. We’re not even sure who’s in charge of the SADF.”

“Contacting Mandela would also lose us any surprise,” General Cummings added.

The vice president was looking down at his legal pad on which he had made notes. “You say you have a little over four hundred troops infected. Is that number likely to get higher?”

General Cummings looked at Colonel Martin, who stood up. “Our best estimate is that perhaps another hundred soldiers are infected. We believe that Z has been contained at this point. At least among our forces. In Angola the disease is still spreading, although at a slower rate as people become more aware of the problem.”

“So we’re talking five hundred Americans?” the vice president asked.

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.

The vice president sighed. “Gentlemen, we must consider the possibility that we cannot change this situation. That it will run its course.”

“What?” the army chief demanded. “Excuse me, sir, but these are—”

The national security adviser raised his hand, silencing the general. “The vice president and I understand the situation, gentlemen. But the options you have laid out do not have a very good chance of succeeding, do they?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “As a matter of fact, from what I have heard, many more American soldiers will die. So tell me, what do you expect me to recommend to the president?”

The vice president stood, the national security adviser joining him. “We will be back this evening with the president. Please have some better options, or else we will be forced to let this thing run its course and pursue international sanctions on the Van Wyks.” The two walked over to the elevator and the door shut.

General Cummings turned to the others in the room. “I don’t like it, either, but we do need a better option. Work on it.”

The men and women scattered back to their jobs. Colonel Martin walked over and sat down next to General Cummings. “Sir, there’s something else that has to be considered here.”

“And that is?” Cummings asked.

“Z. The virus itself. If the Van Wyks have a cure and a vaccine, once they find out that they are suspected, it is likely they will destroy any evidence that would prove that they are behind it.”

Cummings was reading a report handed him by his G-2 “Yes? And?”

“And we won’t have the cure.”

“I know that, Colonel,” Cummings’s patience was in short supply since the national security adviser’s words.

“But, sir, this virus will not just go away,” Martin said. “We can contain it among our forces and after sufficient quarantine redeploy those who have survived and are not infected. It will burn out in Angola eventually. But that doesn’t mean it disappears. It will go to ground in some reservoir and will rear its head again and again.”

Cummings put the report down. “A reservoir?”

“There’s no doubt that Z has gone into other life-forms besides humans,” Martin said. “We have not been able to do a thorough study—given the gravity of the situation and the speed with which it has developed—but Z will not kill everything it infects. And it is highly likely that in at least one of the life-forms it will survive and go into a kind of hibernation. And when that life-form comes into contact with a human again, then we will see Z again. And again.”

“So you’re telling me we’re damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Abraham Lincoln, 17 June

“If the destruct control is in Van Wyks’s office on the top floor—” Colonel Rogers turned his gas mask toward Bentley—“as he says, then we have to go in from the top. Clear down.”

Riley tried to concentrate on the imagery. The Van Wyks building was twelve stories high. It did have a helipad on the roof, but there were guards clearly visible in the satellite picture. There were three sandbagged machine-gun positions and they could also make out several men with shoulder fired missiles on the roof.

Riley had not yet thrown up, but it was not easy keeping his stomach from spasming beyond his control. He had bloody diarrhea, and the two Porta Potti’s that the navy had wheeled out onto the flight deck for them were utilized often. He felt terrible, and his interest in Colonel Rogers and the Van Wyks compound was waning. Pain was one thing—Riley could handle pain. Being sick was something entirely different. He wanted nothing more than to just curl up in a ball and detach from his body and reality.

He knew things were getting critical when Conner no longer showed any interest in what was going on. She was lying underneath the helicopter, wrapped in a poncho liner, a bucket near her head.

Riley blinked sweat out of his eyes. Comsky slowly walked up. “Trent is dead.”

“Wrap the body,” Riley ordered. He looked at Rogers. No words were necessary.

Quinn walked over. “I want in on this assault.”

Rogers folded up the imagery. “I hate to tell you this, but we haven’t heard anything from the Pentagon other than intelligence. No strike options, nothing. At the rate things are going, I don’t think anyone is going anywhere tomorrow.”

“We’re going,” Riley said.

“Your pilots won’t be in any condition to fly in the morning,” Rogers said.

Riley looked. Chief O’Malley and Lieutenant Vickers were in the same shape he was.

“We’re going,” Riley said.

Colonel Rogers stood up. “I was told you’re ex-Special Forces.” He tapped the tab sewn on the left shoulder of his fatigues. “You Ranger qualified?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you are going.”

Pentagon, 17 June

“Good evening, gentlemen.” The president took the seat that the chairman normally occupied and sat down. The rest of the room took their places. “I apologize for not being able to get here any sooner, but as you know I was in Denver this morning and headed back as soon as the gravity of the situation was relayed to me.”

The president turned to General Cummings, who was seated to his right. “I’ve been briefed by the vice president. Have you come up with any better options since this morning?”

General Cummings stood up. “Yes, sir, we have. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do.”

“Go ahead,” the president said.

Colonel Martin watched as Cummings briefed the plan they had pulled together that afternoon. The chairman used maps and a mock-up of the Van Wyks compound to emphasize the plan.

While the briefing was still going on, a sergeant entered the room and looked about. He spotted Colonel Martin and as unobtrusively as possible made his way over. He handed him a folder marked ‘Top Secret,” then exited the room. Martin flipped open the cover and read. By the time he was finished reading, an icy hand had gripped his heart.

Martin looked up. General Cummings was done with his briefing. He remained standing, waiting for the president’s reaction.

“It sounds very risky.”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“The mission by General Scott,” the president said. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, sir, we believe it is.”