Exit 9 (14 page)

The same careful, detailed work had also gone into all other aspects of the Project—the selecting of candidates for survival, the long-range targeting and control of influential officials worldwide to ensure the Project would remain hidden and unhindered, the planning and preparation for after, and the development of the virus itself and its vaccine for those chosen.

With the start of the implementation phase, they had reached a point where everything was just logistics and coordination.

“What’s the problem?” the DOP asked, his voice traveling straight from the microphone in front of him into the ear of the man at the Australia desk, four rows away.

“A ship with fifty IDM packages and one with thirty were delayed by a storm in the Indian Ocean. They’re scheduled to arrive in the next two days. Our contractors in Sydney and Perth have added extra manpower to make sure they get to their destinations within twenty-four hours after offloading.”

The time frame was still well within implementation parameters.

“All right,” the DOP said. “Next.”

The image switched to Southeast Asia, where a combination of several methods would be used throughout the area. Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, and Vietnam would be dealt with using IDMs. Since Singapore itself was so small, four of the five containers assigned to it would remain right at the harbor, while the other would be on the back of a truck driven to Sembawang on the far side of the island.

Other areas, in places like Phnom Penh in Cambodia and Vientiane in Laos, would mostly be handled by teams of locals using handheld sprayers they’d been told were targeting the malaria-carrying mosquito population.

Which brought them to Burma.

Though the country had started to open back up to the world, its leaders were still highly suspicious. Chances were, at the first sign of a worldwide infection, they would seal the borders. A few carriers might sneak in, and some people might get sick, but the government would undoubtedly terminate them before more could be infected. Getting IDMs into the country wasn’t going to be possible. They had tried to get permission for their anti-malaria spray, even offering to pay for everything themselves, but the Burmese generals who ran things wanted nothing to do with it.

So a third method would be employed. It was the same method that would be used in other troublesome areas like North Korea, Iran, several of the former Soviet Republics in the south, and much of the Middle East: modified passenger planes, painted to look like a local airliner, complete with correct transponder codes. Only instead of passengers, the planes would be carrying more than enough of the virus to drop a fine mist down over the targeted areas.

No nation would be immune.

“Any issues?” he asked.

“Nothing major, sir,” the Southeast Asian supervisor said. “A few local labor problems, money mainly, but we’re taking care of it.”

“And Burma?”

“Planes are in position and ready to be loaded.”

“Good.” The actual loading of the virus would not occur until a few hours before the final Go signal was transmitted.

They worked their way through Southern Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and Europe without any major problems. In the North American report, the DOP was pleased to hear that one of his pet methods of distribution was prepped and ready to go. One of the Project’s front companies had purchased a produce company that created, among other things, specialized produce misters for grocery stores. These misters included cartridges that enhanced the spray so that fruits and vegetables would stay fresh longer. Come Implementation Day, the cartridges—now all ready to go—would replace the standard cartridges the stores were currently using.

Central America went quickly with a no-problem report.

The next satellite image up was South America.

The DOP asked his standard question. “Anything?”

“Not…really, sir.”

The DOP turned from the screen to the desk where the South American rep was sitting. “That sounded like something to me.”

“Just a little issue we’re dealing with.”

“What?”

A pause. “We received a sensor fault on an IDM in Buenos Aires. It’s probably nothing.”

“What kind of fault?”

“The top hatch. One of the sensors was registering a downward stress. But on the next check, everything was fine.”

“Is this the first time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Explanation?”

“Like I said, sir. I think it was just a fault.”

“But…”

“But I’m sending someone to check.”

“Good.”

Another hesitation. “The closest person with clearance is in Caracas. I’ve told him to get down to Buenos Aires as soon as he can.”

It probably
was
just an electronic glitch. There’d been a few others. Frankly, the DOP was surprised there weren’t more. With a massive global operation, technical issues were bound to happen. “Keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Next.”

The image was replaced by one of the Pacific Islands.

16

I.D. MINUS 8 DAYS

E
IGHT PEOPLE. THAT
was it.

It seemed so insignificant, microscopic even, especially when compared with the billions they were trying to save. But after going over everything again and again, it was decided that was all the resistance could spare for the mission to Bluebird. The argument was also made that with every additional team member, the risk of discovery would increase exponentially. If that happened, it was extremely possible the Project would order the immediate release of the virus into the world.

Though Ash had understood both positions, he didn’t have to like them. As way of compensation, Matt let Ash choose all but three of the team. The first of the exceptions was—as Ash had already known—Pax. Ash would have chosen him anyway. The other two were members of one of the Arctic search teams—the same duo who had discovered the highly suspect wreckage of yellow team’s boat.

That left four positions for Ash to fill. Tom Browne and Pat Solomon had shown their worth at the Bluff, though Tom really hadn’t needed to prove anything after what he did for Ash earlier that year. On Tom’s recommendation, Ash also included a man named Casey Nolan, known apparently to most people as Red.

“That’s seven,” Matt said when Ash gave him the names.

“You know who I want for number eight.”

Matt smiled. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“And where will I—”

“Just outside San Diego. Pax will have the info.”

It took three full days to get all their equipment together and compile as much intelligence as possible. It could have easily taken three more, but they all knew they couldn’t afford any more time. Ash spent that final night in the room his kids were sharing. He lay on the floor listening to them sleep before finally nodding off himself.

At three a.m., his phone vibrated with the alarm he had reluctantly set. He slipped out from under his blanket, pushed himself up, and walked quietly toward the door.

“Be careful,” Josie said.

She was lying on her bed but her eyes were open.

He went back to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t wake me. I haven’t slept yet.”

“Oh, sweetie. You need to sleep.”

She tried to smile, but failed. “I didn’t…want to miss when you left.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

“Keep an eye on your brother.”

“I will.”

He went over to Brandon’s bed and kissed his sleeping son’s temple. “I love you, buddy.”

As he reached the door, Josie said again, “Be careful.”

Not wanting to lie, he said, “I’ll do my best.”

The four other members of the team who were at the Ranch met Ash in the kitchen for breakfast. Matt and Rachel were there, too. There were no big speeches. In fact, few words were spoken at all.

When it looked like everyone was done, Ash said, “I guess we should be off.”

One by one, they shook hands with Matt and Rachel. Ash went last.

“Josie and Brandon…” He couldn’t finish.

“They’ll be fine,” Rachel said. “There’s a whole group of people here who will take care of them.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

He shook hands with Matt and headed for the door, but stopped and looked back.

“We’re planning on coming back.”

“Good,” Matt said. “We’ll be waiting.”

__________

“A
LL RIGHT. ALL
right,” Madigan said between breaths. “Watch your left. You’re vulnerable there.”

“Like hell I am,” Chloe shot back. She faked with her left, hit him with her right, then finally let her left fly.

He grunted as her fist hit the punching mitt he was wearing.

“Not bad,” he said. “But I know you can do better.”

He moved to his left, and she bounced around to the right.

They were outside the gym, on the large padded surface near the side entrance. Matt had set up the training facility years ago in the hills outside Escondido, California, about half an hour north of downtown San Diego. Ramona, Madigan’s assistant, stood just off the mats, observing. Besides the three of them, there were only two others around, everyone else having shipped out on assignments.

Chloe had been waiting impatiently for hers, but it still hadn’t come. She knew why—her leg. She’d nearly crushed the damn thing in the spring. Sure, she still limped a little when she got tired, but the leg
was
better. Anything Matt needed, she knew she could do. She’d made Madigan call and tell him that much, but the assignment still hadn’t come.

“Getting tired?” Madigan asked.

“Maybe you are. Not me.” Her brown skin glistened with sweat as she faked again. This time, instead of following up with a right, she kicked out with her foot, pulling back at the last second so that her outer arch merely slapped his ribs as opposed to breaking them.

“Hey, now,” he said. “We’re not working kicks today.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me there are no rules?”

“Yeah, well—”

From out front came the sound of tires stopping in the gravel parking area.

“Hold,” Madigan said.

Chloe took a step back, dropping her hands.

From their position, they could just see the hood of an unfamiliar dark sedan.

Madigan tossed the punching mitt to Ramona. “Take over. I’ll be right back.”

Ramona stepped on the mat and raised the mitt. “Let’s go.”

Chloe watched Madigan until he disappeared around the front of the gym, then released a rapid-fire combination that pushed Ramona back a few steps.

Ramona tossed the protective pad to the side. “No mitts on the outside as far as I’m aware. Spar?”

“Fine by me.”

Ramona had always been more aggressive than Madigan. Chloe got her best workouts on the days she took over.

As they squared off, they could hear two car doors opening and closing again. Voices followed.

Ramona feinted left, then came in low and tried to land a punch to Chloe’s ribs, but Chloe was ready. She twisted out of the way, swinging her leg around as she did, and knocked Ramona in the back.

“Lucky shot,” Ramona said as she pushed herself off the mat. “My turn now.”

Unfortunately for Ramona, Chloe was a good student, and remembered everything she was taught. Over the past several months, as they worked on strengthening her leg and improving her overall skills, she’d kept a keen eye on Ramona, learning the assistant’s moves, perfecting them herself, and mentally marking the other woman’s flaws.

So when Ramona came at her this time, Chloe knew where the hole would be, and perfectly timed a right uppercut that caught Ramona under the chin, knocking her backward in the air and then to the mat.

“Oh, shit,” Chloe said, dropping down next to Ramona. “You all right?”

Ramona looked at her for a moment, unfocused, then said, “I think maybe next time we stick to the mitt.”

From behind them, a voice said, “I guess that answers that question.”

Chloe looked back and saw that Madigan had returned with two others. When she saw who they were, she smiled broadly. “And what question would that be?”

Daniel Ash shrugged. “Just if you were in any condition to join us.”

__________

A
SH HAD COME
to trust Chloe like he trusted no one else. She had been at his side when he saved his kids, had almost permanently sacrificed her leg in the process. If he had to pick only one person to join him on this mission, she was it.

Chloe White was not her original name. That had been Lauren Scott. But after she was captured by the Project on a mission for Matt, the Project had done something to her that erased any memory of her past. In essence, Chloe White was born the day she was rescued.

It hadn’t harmed her intelligence, though, nor robbed her of much of the education she’d picked up before the loss. The personal things were the areas most affected—the people who’d been in her life, her family and friends. They were like strangers to her. As much as she tried, she could remember none of them. Ash couldn’t imagine how that must feel. Somehow, though, she had learned to cope.

Ash and Pax had left the other members of the team at the airport while they drove out to see her. They’d come around the corner of the building just in time to see Chloe knock the other woman to the mat.

“Ash and I need to have a conversation with Chloe,” Pax said to Madigan. “Any quiet place we can talk?”

“You can use the gym. No one’s in there.”

“Thanks.”

Since Chloe was the most familiar with the facility, she led the way.

As soon as they were alone, Ash gave her a hug. “Good to see you.”

“You, too,” she said.

Pax was next. “I could get used to a beautiful woman like you hugging me like this.”

She playfully slapped his shoulder. “Well, don’t. If anyone asks, I’ll be sure to say I’ve never let you within five feet of me.”

Pax looked around, and motioned to some chairs in the free-weights area. “Why don’t we have a seat?”