Area 51: The Mission-3 (32 page)

"Yeah," Keegan said. "Far out. We're a fighter now. The jet jocks will crap when we tell them this. Give me level flight, azimuth, two one seven degrees."

The pilot of the Sparrow saw the edge of the runway through his NVGs. He nudged the stick forward, descending. He had about a second and a half to figure out what was happening as a solid line of tracers appeared just in front of him before the plane—and him with it— was torn to shreds by a combination of 7.62mm and 40mm rounds.

"What the hell is that?" Faulkener called out as they watched the tracers streaking over head, parallel to the ground.

"Sparrow, this is Horseman," Toland called into the radio. "Sparrow, this is horseman!" There was only static.

They all turned to look as a bouncer flashed out of the rainy dark and silently flew by.

"There they are!" Turcotte cried out. "Put us down!" They landed, a hundred meters from the four men.

The radio dropped from Toland's fingers into the mud. His head drooped on his shoulders for a long second, then came back up, and he looked about. There was just the slightest hint of dawn in the east, and the clouds appeared to be clearing.

The third man from Toland's patrol was lying in the mud, black vomit coming out of his mouth, blood seeping out of his eyes, nose, and ears.

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-20-

"Endeavor has visual on the mothership," Kopina said, tapping the TV screen that showed the long black cigar shape above the curve of the Earth. "That's a forward view from the shuttle cabin."

She and Duncan were in a small room off the training hangar. Two TVs perched on the edge of the table, one tuned to Endeavor, the other to Columbia.

As the shuttle approached the mothership, the damage caused by the nuclear explosion became evident. There was a long gash, over six hundred meters long down the side. At its widest—where the cargo bay had been—the cut appeared lo be about fifty meters wide.

"That thing actually held up a lot better than I thought," Duncan said.

Kopina nodded. "We think the skin of the ship was ripped open in the explosion, but the main structure— the load- and stress-bearing beams, remained intact. It's obvious that in order to be able to sustain the stress of interstellar travel, the structure of a spaceship has to be incredibly strong."

"How soon will they make linkup?" Duncan asked.

"They're closing relatively quickly," Kopina said. "They're going to be in range and try to grab a hold with the robotic arm in about thirty minutes. Let's hope they get it."

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"If they miss, can't they try again?" Duncan asked.

Kopina gave her a sidelong glance before answering. "Endeavor has enough fuel for only one try. If they miss, that's it. And," she added, "if they use up too much fuel trying to link up with the mothership, they won't have enough to get back down. The shuttle wasn't designed to do much moving once it got into a stable orbit."

"What about Columbia?" Duncan asked.

"It'll be in the vicinity of the talon about thirty minutes after that."

"Do you have us fixed?" Turcotte asked, holding the handset for the FM radio close to his lips. "Over."

"Roger that," the Spectre replied. "We've got the bouncer clear. We'll track each individual as you come off. You have four people, about one hundred meters due south of your position. We can finish them for you. Over."

"Negative," Turcotte replied. "We need them alive. There is something you can do, though." Turcotte quickly finished giving instructions, then signaled for Kenyon and Yakov to follow him.

Turcotte hopped off and slid through the ground fog and the half light of a sun just clearing the horizon, weapon at the ready. Turcotte sidled to the right, getting off the mud of the runway and into the waist-high grass. He got down on his belly and began slithering forward, his clothing immediately soaked by the wet grass, the others following.

When he had made about fifty meters, he halted. "Stand up," he yelled. "Throw down your weapons and put your hands on top of your heads."

"Screw you!" A burst of semiautomatic fire ripped a few feet over Turcotte's head.

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Toland looked at Faulkener. Faulkener returned the look with a glare, his eyes wild. "I'm not going to die like some animal." The NCO fired another burst from his AK-47.

"We've got a chance," Toland said. "They want to talk!" He looked at the third man. He was unconscious now, blood seeping out of every pore, covered in black vomit.

A noise caught Quinn's attention. Baldrick was turning a knob on one of the cases. "What are you doing?"

"Orders," Baldrick said.

"Everyone just freeze," Toland hissed. "I'm in charge here, and I'll make the decisions."

Baldrick didn't stop. Toland rolled twice to get close, then slapped Baldrick's hands away from the case. "I said stop."

"The Mission—" Baldrick began.

"I don't give a damn about your Mission," Toland said.

"I ain't going to die like that," Faulkener said. He began to stand. Toland grabbed him and pulled him down.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Toland didn't have time to dwell on Faulkener, though, because Baldrick began fiddling with the case. Toland finally understood that he was working on a small keypad—activating a destruct device. Toland drew his knife, grabbed Baldrick's right hand, and slammed the knife point through the center of the palm, pinning it to the ground.

He spun about as he heard a shot. Faulkener's body was crumpled on the muddy ground, blood pouring from the self-inflicted shot to the head. "Oh, goddamn,"

Toland muttered.

"Hands up!" the same voice called out.

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"Who are you?" Toland called out.

"U.S. Army."

"Why do you want us? We have nothing against you."

"We want to talk!"

"Talk?" Toland returned. "You shot our plane down."

"'We'll shoot you if you don't put your hands up."

A line of tracers came down from the sky and tore into the earth less than ten meters from Toland's position.

"Next burst is on top of your position," the voice called out.

Toland reached over. The third man was dead. Bled out. Everyone was dead, except he and Baldrick.

"You can't surrender that case," Baldrick said through a grimace of pain.

"Oh, yeah," Toland said. "So we blow it up and then we don't have anything to deal with these people-"

"You can't deal ibis!" Baldrick said, his one good hand reaching for the case.

"The Missions got you brainwashed," Toland said. "Nothing is worth that much."

He raised his voice. "You want the imagery—we'll give it to you, if you'll give us free escort out of here."

Turcotte looked at Kenyon, who had come up during the exchange. "Imagery?

What's he talking about?"

"I don't know what they might have," Kenyon said. "But we need to see it, whatever it is."

"All right," Turcotte called out.

"You can't!" Baldrick said. "It's not what you think."

Toland reached over and with one move withdrew the

knife from Baldrick's hand. "Next time, I won't be so

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nice," he said. Baldrick tucked his bleeding hand into his armpit. "Move and I'll kill you," Toland continued.

"Stand up where I can see you!" Turcotte called out. He was relieved when a man stood, a Sterling submachine gun in his hands.

"Put the weapon down," Turcotte called out.

"You've got the big gun in the sky," the man said. "All we've got is our personal arms. You want lo talk, we talk like we are now."

Turcotte glanced at Kenyon, who shrugged.

"Your call," Yakov said.

"I'll meet you halfway," Turcotte stood up. He let the MP-5 hang by its sling and noticed that the other man did the same with his Sterling. Turcotte walked forward—the other man doing the same—until they were five feet apart.

"I'm Toland."

"Turcotte."

Toland looked Turcotte up and down. "I don't see a uniform."

"I don't see one either," Turcotte replied. The other man looked ill, with the beginning of a black rash running down one side of his neck—which didn't surprise Turcotte. Everyone out here seemed to be sick. Was sick, Turcotte amended in his mind.

"You want the imagery?" Toland asked.

Turcotte didn't have a clue what he wanted other than answers. "Yes."

"What assurance can you give me that you'll let me go?" Toland asked.

"What assurance could I give?" Turcotte asked in turn.

Toland smiled despite his pain. "Good answer, Yank."

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Turcotte had had enough with sparring. He also was surprised at Toland. Where did the man think he was going to go now?

"You know you're sick?" Turcotte asked.

"Oh, yeah."

"Do you know how sick?"

"I've seen them die," Toland said. "I know."

"The satellite you were just at," Turcotte said. "We think it had something to do with the disease."

This time Toland did show surprise. "I was told it simply took some pictures."

'Who told you?"

Toland looked over his shoulder. "You say this has something to do with the disease?"

Turcotte nodded.

Toland turned. "Come with me."

Turcotte hesitated. "I need to bring someone."

"Who?"

"A scientist who specializes in viruses."

"All right."

Turcotte gestured, and Kenyon rose and joined them. Together they walked back to Toland's group. Turcotte looked at the dead men lying there.

"This is Baldrick." Toland pointed at the man holding a bloody hand. "He's the one who knows what's going on." Toland kicked Baldrick. "Open the cases."

"I can't," Baldrick said without much conviction.

Toland's hand strayed to the knife on his web gear.

Baldrick kneeled and turned the combination knobs. He flipped the lid open.

Inside sat a large metal box, battered and heat-streaked.

Kenyon looked at the box. He reached to his belt and pulled off a multipurpose too! and used the Phillips head to work on the screws holding the top on.

Baldrick sat back down, nursing his wounded hand.

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Kenyon flipped the top off. Inside lay sophisticated machinery.

"What is it?" Turcotte asked.

"Could it be a camera?" Toland asked.

"No." Kenyon lifted the machine out and turned it over. He was looking it over very carefully, then pointed. "'This canister." It was as large as a gallon milk jug. "I'd say it's the biolab."

"Of?" Turcotte asked.

"The Black Death."

"The Black Death?" Toland repeated.

"The virus that's killing us."

Toland's eyes opened wide, and he turned to Baldrick. "You mean this thing we got. He made it?"

"He either made it or he knows who made it," Kenyon said.

"You—" Toland was speechless. His knife was out, and he was just about at Baldrick's throat when Turcotte intercepted him.

"Easy. We need answers from him. We need him alive."

"I'm not talking," Baldrick said. He glared back at Toland. "You can use your knife all you want, but I'm not going to say anything more."

"Let's take it back," Turcotte ordered.

"What about safe passage?" Toland asked.

"You're free to walk wherever you want to," Turcotte said. He turned and headed for the bouncer.

"Can I come with you?"

"This," Kenyon said, using a ruler to point, "is some sort of chamber in which the virus was manipulated in zero g. I can't tell you much more without taking it apart." He moved the ruler. "The virus was then shunted down this tube, to this holder. It must have

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been held there until the booster came down. Then it leaked."

Turcotte looked at the machinery. "Then they need this supply?"

"'Looks like it," Kenyon said.

'"No," Yakov said. "They need this supply to fill all four payloads, but they have quite a bit of Black Death stockpiled from the previous two launches."

Turcotte looked up at Baldrick. He had held true to his word and said nothing since they'd boarded the bouncer and flown back to the habitat at Vilhena.

"'He doesn't seem too worried about catching the Black Death," Yakov noted.

"'Do you have a vaccine for this?" Kenyon asked. Everyone in the habitat turned and stared at Baldrick.

Baldrick simply looked away.

"We know he works for The Mission," Toland offered.

"Where is The Mission?" Yakov asked.

Baldrick's face was expressionless.

"He's got to be vaccinated," Kenyon said, "'He wouldn't have handled this," he tapped the device from the satellite, "like he did if he wasn't vaccinated."

"A vaccine won't do us much good," Turcotte noted.

"But it will save a lot of lives," Kenyon said. "The Black Death hasn't finished burning yet. It hasn't even really started."

Turcotte walked over to Baldrick. "You need to talk to us."

"I have an idea," Yakov said. He walked over to the isolation box and pulled out a small plastic kit from a drawer on the side.

"What's that?" Turcotte asked.

"You can't—" Kenyon began, but Yakov silenced him with a glare. He opened the case and withdrew a

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hypodermic syringe. Then he drew out a small bottle of murky liquid, checking the label. He inserted the needle into the bottle and drew back on the plunger, filling about an inch of the clear plastic tube with the liquid. He took out another bottle and did the same.

Yakov walked over to Baldrick. "We've all got the Black Death. I think you're vaccinated for it." Yakov shook the needle. "But this—this is Marburg. It might not kill you. Fifty-fifty on that. But it'll make you very sick even if it doesn't." Yakov looked at the others in the tent. "From what I know about it, Marburg seems to especially like the eyes and the testicles. Gets in there and really does—how do you say in English—a number?

"I also put Ebola in here," Yakov continued. "So if the Marburg doesn't kill you, the Ebola will." He looked at Kenyon, "Have you ever seen what effect on a human the two combined has?"

Kenyon could only shake his head.

"'I do think it will be quite terrible," Yakov said.