RAGE (Descendants Saga (Crisis Sequence One)) (4 page)

He ke
eps his tone hard, unconcerned. “And my mission, sir?”

Ivanovich watche
s him for a moment longer. That resolve, even in the face of something like this horrifying scenario, is exactly the reason why Nesky remains his number one asset in the field. Curiosity aside, the assassin didn’t even flinch at the news in London. If any man alive can get this job done, it is Vladimir Nesky.

“Our agent in MI6 has informed us the Brits are holding a number of youths as part of their experimental research division in the Tombs,” Ivanovich explain
s. “One of these, a boy, was recently taken into custody following a brawl in which he was involved. He and the other party were admitted for fractures, lacerations and contusions. The other boy became one of these things while admitted to St Mary’s Hospital on their med-surg floor.”

“So the boy held by MI6
is a carrier?” Vladimir asks.

“Carrier
, possibly, but apparently not infected.”

“Are they waiting to see if he will turn?”

“No,” Ivanovich says. “They suspect he carries the pathogen, and he may be the key to a cure. In fact, I’d say they’re desperate at this point.”

Ivanovich gesture
s toward the news feeds around them on the flat screens. “Seventy-two hours ago, this wasn’t even news worthy. It’s just blown up. The infected boy at St. Mary’s broke loose and attacked several members of the hospital staff before they realized what he was. By the time MI6 stepped into the situation, things were already out of control. At least one of these victims must have slipped through the cracks.”

“And the infection spread after they turned
and began to attack others,” Vladimir adds.

Ivanovich nod
s. “The boy was taken into custody fourteen days ago. The St. Mary’s attack took place a few hours later. It was treated as a domestic assault incident, at the time, for the public consumption. Our agent informs us MI6 took over at that point and these infected were taken from the hospital. Everyone except the one they missed.”

“You said MI6 took the boy into custody prior to the other youth turning?”

Ivanovich allows a trace of a smile on his face. “Yes, they wanted him for something else. Possibly, they identified some unique quality that placed him in the same category as the other youths currently held in the Tombs in their research department.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“Nothing our agent has shared, so far,” Ivanovich answers. He stiffens. “This is not a hit, Vlad. We have to have the boy brought back to us alive. If this thing spreads out of control, out of London, then Russia must be kept safe.”

“Hard to accomplish with international air travel,”
Vladimir says.

“In light of what has happened in
London, our government is closing our borders. The military is on high alert, ready to scramble Special Forces teams to any location that shows signs of this outbreak behind our border. All incoming flights are being diverted away. None have been allowed to land since this became known.”

“Do you think this boy could provide us with a cure?”

“If it’s possible, we want that option in hand rather than under the control of foreign powers that have already shown their ineptitude,” Ivanovich says, glancing at one of the news monitors. “We don’t want this nightmare to become a reality in Russia.”

“What’s my way in and out?”

“Your private jet is fueled and ready,” Ivanovich says. “Our man at Heathrow has you cleared already as a military flight with top priority. He has a vehicle waiting for you in the hangar. Everything you’ll need will be waiting inside. We’ll be ready with a team for the boy when you come back.”

When you get back
. Vladimir likes that certainty in Ivanovich. It is as much a command to come back as it is a statement of confidence that he will get the job done. And what a job it is.

He
is expected to break into one of the most secure buildings in all of Britain. The SIS building in London is the headquarters for MI6. England’s version of the Central Intelligence Agency in the states.

Vladimir
always fancied the fictional MI6 agent, James Bond. He considers himself Russia’s version of 007. He likes the intrigue and the lifestyle.

However, cracking the MI6 ziggurat
isn’t like walking into a shopping mall. They are setup in much the same way as the SVR here in Russia. Still, with their agent in place, he has no doubt getting into the not-so-secret research laboratory, known as the Tombs, will be possible.

Fortunately, there
exists what Vladimir likes to call the human factor. No matter how sophisticated your operating system, or how convoluted your security protocols, the weak link of human nature will always compromise you. Vladimir has a lot of experience in the field and has always found this to be true.

Either by incompetence, or by corruption, the human factor ma
kes it possible to penetrate the impenetrable, purchase the item that would never be sold, and evade the long arm of the law. And the human factor is present in nearly any scenario. The SIS headquarters for MI6 is a perfect example.

Just because
they have rigorous security clearance protocols in place, does not mean someone like Vladimir cannot get inside. With the right resources, namely money and power, almost anything can be achieved because people are involved. In fact, getting through the door is the least of his worries at the moment. He is counting on walking right through the front door.

The Soviet era KGB, and later the SVR,
has kept operatives working within MI6 for years. In fact, they have operatives in all of the major intelligence services, including the CIA. Vladimir has no doubt, at this very moment, there are agents from Britain or the United States planted within his organization here in Russia. Everyone plays the game and they all understand the stakes. Their lives depend upon it.

Of course, it
is the human factor at work. People are corrupt. They like to think they are not, but offer them enough money, or threaten the security of their loved ones, or themselves, and they always cave eventually.

Their agent in MI6 gr
ew up in London. She attended school there and even garnered some brief military experience before attending Cambridge. Her record is impeccable, making her an ideal candidate for service. Yet, she serves secretly in Russia’s SVR. Vladimir knows her personally, even had a short tryst with the woman.

Her
mother lives abroad in the United States. She suffers with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. Russia approached her while she was still in Cambridge with promises to provide the best care possible for her mother, in addition to a handsome living. They sponsored her education and made arrangements to place her within MI6 through another security specialist who did her interview. He is on the SVR payroll as well.

This
is the way things are done because of the human factor. Vladimir smiles thinking about it. He is not immune to compromise, but he does his very best to make sure he holds to nothing that can be used against him. No loved ones to worry for, no property he’s concerned about, no attachments of any kind.

He remember
s an encounter with an Iranian operative who found the name and location of a former lover of his. The man took the woman hostage because he knew the SVR was gunning for him. When Vladimir arrived at a prearranged meeting with the Iranian, he found the girl standing in front of the man with a gun to her head.

Of course,
Vladimir came out of his car with his silenced Sig Sauer in hand, aimed at them. No attachments. The Iranian was compromised while working in Chechnya.

“I just want to get out
of the business,” the Iranian said, “to disappear with my family. I can give you my contacts, whatever you need.”

This was his proposed arrangement. The woman would go free. She looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping he remembered the good times they shared almost one year earlier. Vladimir did remember her fondly. Still, he keeps no attachments. No compromise.

Vladimir
was merciful instead. He shot her first through the head, and then killed the Iranian when her body dropped away. The agent died with a horrified expression. Evidently, he assumed Vladimir would succumb to the human factor. Anyone who knows Vladimir Nesky for any length of time will never make that mistake.

“What about these infected?”
Vladimir asks. He isn’t asking if the Operations Chief wants him to bag one and bring it back. He assumes they already have a separate team working on that operation. Russia will obviously want one or more of the creatures for experimentation.

“Steer clear of them,” Ivanovich sa
ys. “Don’t get bit.”

Vladimir
nods solemnly. “Done,” he says.

This
is his customary way of accepting his mission. In his mind, he is already working his way through the operation and the variables. He can do this. No problem.

Ivanovich answer
s this with a nod of his own. Around them the bustle and barely contained chaos continues unabated. Vladimir turns and starts away with a last look at the news feeds. On the screens, every major news organization in the world remains focused upon the situation happening live in London.

The
modern age has given humanity the ability to witness events almost immediately in real time. With the proliferation of cell phones in the hands of would be cameramen all around the world, nothing will sneak up on the global society. However, that doesn’t mean mankind can handle what is coming.

“God speed,” Ivanovich call
s after him. “Russia is counting on you.”

Vladimir
pauses at this, glancing back at the Operations Chief. He looks like a condemned murderer who has all but given up hope of a reprieve—like a man in an electric chair, waiting for an unlikely call from the governor to pardon him. Vladimir saw these images in American movies.

He realize
s then, despite his skill and Ivanovich’s unending confidence in him as an agent, the Operations Chief considers this operation futile. Ivanovich is a man looking at the end of the world, a threat that may already be too late to overcome. Even when he brings the boy back to his homeland, a cure might not be found.

This infection, only now beginning to grip
London by the throat, will spread beyond Britain’s capital like wildfire. In a global society such as this, it might prove impossible to stop. Especially, when accounting for the human factor.

All it
took for this to launch out of control was one hospital worker, bitten and infected, who managed to slip through the cracks. Probably, they did not report their involvement or their injury. Hadn’t wanted to get caught up in the trouble. Now, one of the most prosperous and longstanding cities in the world is on the verge of Armageddon.

Riding the Tubes

13 Days Earlier

Hu Takashi hates the late hours he is forced to keep, working as an orderly at St. Mary’s Hospital in London. He is determined not to be forced into any more college loan debt than is absolutely necessary. “One of these days,” he often tells himself, “I’ll be a doctor in this place, and then I’ll do whatever I want.”

He
is a first year medical student already, attending the Imperial College School of medicine, but Hu still has a long way to go. He hopes to do a surgical residency, possibly in Orthopedics, but he isn’t sure. There is still plenty of time to sort it out.

Hu d
oesn’t bother changing out of his scrub clothes. Usually, he wears one pair into the hospital, changes them for his work day and then wears the new set out until the next morning. Through the week, he hardly wears anything else. They are comfortable and fashionable in a professional way.

He like
s the way people look at him when he is wearing his scrubs. He is always received in a respectful manner. Being male, most people assume he must be a doctor. He rarely corrects them and never explains he is actually working as an orderly. However, when he’s feeling especially forthcoming, he does explain he is a medical student.

Being young and unattached, the stares from young women
are a nice perk also. He likes to date, but this is sporadic at best. And, with his course work, Hu rarely has time for a social life. Besides, he is only twenty-three. He isn’t looking for a serious relationship right now.

Hu le
aves the hospital, walking down Praed Street toward Paddington. He plans to ride the Tube from Paddington to Shepherd’s Bush and then walk the short distance to his one bedroom flat on Uxbridge Road. It isn’t a bad trip. He has a little time to read on the train, studying for tests and assignments with the books and laptop in his backpack.

The sky
drizzles rain tonight, but the air is reasonably warm, so he tries not to be bothered too much by the weather. At least it will be dry on the train. He is glad this isn’t a downpour. His laptop might not survive.

After a few minutes walking, Hu passe
s before the Praed Street entrance to Paddington and turns inside. He descends the steps, coming to the expansive concourse below, nicknamed the Lawn. It is 8:15PM already, and some of the shops are closed for the evening. He spots the Burger King open, but decides he will save his cash and just eat the leftover Dominos Pizza in his refrigerator.

The Lawn
is reasonably free of pedestrian traffic, though there are enough people out this evening to feel like he isn’t the only person in the station. He passes Paddington Bear. The statue was placed for the children’s book character that was found in the London train station and named after it.

Not far beyond this, Hu notice
s a woman sitting on a bench with her head lying in her hands. She appears disheveled, making Hu wonder if she might be drunk or taking drugs. He decides to leave her be and continues to walk by.

Her head c
omes up suddenly. “Hu?”

He stop
s, turning back to the woman. She peers at him from between her fingers. When she pulls her hands away, her face is flush. Her long hair lies in tangles across her shoulders. She looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. Upon closer inspection, Hu realizes he knows this woman.

“
Sharon?”

She nod
s slightly, looking like she might vomit on the tiles at any moment. The fluorescent lighting doesn’t help her appearance, casting a pale aura around her. Overhead, heat lighting illuminates the frosted ceiling. The sound of squealing train brakes fills the concourse.

He walk
s back to her. “What happened to you?”

“I’ve been sick,” she sa
ys, lowering her head into her hands again.

“Did you work today
?” Hu asks. “I didn’t see you in med surg.”

“I left after the incident yesterday,” she
explains.

“Yeah,” Hu sa
ys. “I don’t blame you. That guy nearly got you didn’t he?”

“He was on top of me,” she sa
ys. “He tried biting me, but he barely broke the skin before the security guard pulled him off of me.” Sharon shudders. “How is the guard? Do you know?”

“Th
at kid killed him,” Hu says. “At least he managed to save you in the process. That’s one good thing, right?”

Sharon
nods weakly. “I felt pretty freaked out. I had to go home. I wanted to come in today, but I feel awful. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Hu want
s to put his arm around her and console her, but she looks really sick. He isn’t sure he should. “Hey, no wonder after all that happened yesterday. He hurt some of the others pretty bad, but I think the security guard was the only fatality. The government got involved after the police. I saw some of the same people there from when they took the first boy into custody.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they must have come after you left work,” Hu says. “They took the victims from yesterday into custody as well. Somebody said they were MI6, but it’s difficult to know for sure. They never answer anyone’s questions. I’m surprised they didn’t call
you
up.”

“Well, the kid barely did anything to me,” she sa
ys. “It would be pretty pointless.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Hu sa
ys. “I’m wondering what they did with that first kid.”

“The one with the fractures?”
Sharon asks, still hanging her head over her knees.

“Yeah, that one. I was the one who took him to x-ray. It was crazy. That kid’s arm was definitely broke
n when I took him. They said Dr. Schultz was screaming at the Radiographer. In surgery, the arm looked like it had never been broken.”

Sharon
starts to moan, holding her stomach. People passing by glance over at Sharon. Seeing her condition, they hurry on their way. No one stops to see if they need assistance.

“Are you going to be all right?” Hu ask
s. “Would you like me to get you a bottled water from the machine, or something?”

Sharon
leans over the side of the bench, dry heaving. A bit of saliva hits the floor. Hu notices traces of blood in her sputum.

“Maybe I should get you over to the hospital,” he suggest
s.

She wave
s him off. “No, I’m fine. I just need to get home.”

Hu nod
s. “I’ll help you to the train,” he says. “Where are you going?”

Sharon
gets her breath and wipes the saliva from her lips with her sleeve. “Hammersmith,” she says.

Hu st
ands and tugs under her arm to help her up. “I’m taking Bakerloo also, to Shepherd’s Bush.”

She allow
s him to help her to her feet. She is unsteady, feeling dizzy, but she manages with Hu to lean on. He scans his travel card twice at the stalls, and they descend to the lower platforms.

A train depart
s from the opposite platform. Drizzly rain falls upon the tracks just ahead of the tunnel through a gap between the frosted awning and the main building. The lights from their train approach them from the darkness of the tunnel, like a dragon emerging from its lair.

Hu and Sharon descend the steps to the platform, coming out to arched walls of red brick. Benches s
it beneath these arches against the wall. Sharon leans heavily upon him now.

“Hu?” she ask
s. “Would you please help me to get home tonight? I know it may be out of your way, but I would really appreciate it.”

He consider
s this for a moment. It is out of his way. Not only does he know Sharon from work, he also wants to date her and has for awhile. They flirt with one another from time to time on the job. Still, he has never gotten up the nerve to actually ask her out. Doing so while she is sick would be ill-timed and in poor taste.

He decide
s against it. Still, it never hurts your chances with a young woman to save the day. Hu hopes she’ll remember this later.

“It’s no problem,
Sharon,” Hu says. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sharon
attempts a weak smile, but she still looks nauseated. Hu hopes he can get her home without having her puke on the train. Nothing like the smell of vomit to spoil an evening.

The train spe
eds past, beginning to slow before their platform. Six white cars trimmed in blue with red doors pop and screech with the sounds of metal on metal. The train stops, and the doors opens. A female voice resounds from the cars, stating the train’s destination route.

“This is us,” Hu sa
ys and starts forward with Sharon still clinging to him.

“Mind the gap
,” the train’s voice warns.

They step inside the second to last car in the line. There
are a few other people onboard already. Hu sees at least a dozen spread out throughout the train as it slows and stops at the platform. However, no one else has been waiting with them to get onboard.

After a standard pause from the computer, the doors close. In the first car, within the cockpit, the train’s driver wait
s for the all clear and then sends the train into motion again. Hu and Sharon find a place and sit down upon the cushioned seats. That’s one thing Hu likes about the Tube in London over other places he has visited. It is almost always kept very clean, and you don’t have to sit on hard plastic seats.

As the train start
s off, the voice chimes in overhead. The next stop is Westbourne Park Station. They are four stations away from his Shepherd’s Bush stop, but six away from where Sharon is going at Hammersmith.

Sharon
lays her head back against the window with her eyes closed. Hu figures she is very tired and might even sleep the entire way to Hammersmith. He pulls out his cell phone and plugs his ear buds into the headphone jack. A quick scroll through his MP3 app finds him the dubstep playlist he threw together a week ago.

Skrillex start
s on the player. He rifles through his backpack and finds the notes he is required to study for an upcoming pathology exam. He likes path, studying disease processes and all, but he doesn’t think he would enjoy it as a career.

Hu flip
s the spiral binder open and finds the chapter notes he needs. They are currently studying Rhinoviruses. The same kind that causes the common cold. Symptoms are basic, but these are all modern medicine can treat. The viruses themselves have no known cure, and they are easily transmissible.

The flu
is similar in transmission, but at least you can vaccinate for it, if you get the strain identified and isolated in time. At worst, most vaccinated individuals will only become mildly symptomatic. A flu virus might be reduced to cold status with one shot or dose of spray.

Diseases
are kind of marvelous in a way. Hu considers it darkly ironic that some of the smallest living things in existence can kill you. He finds the worst ones, like Ebola, to be the most fascinating. Those bugs can melt your insides and leave you hemorrhaging from every orifice.

Wicked
, he muses.

He almost forg
ets about Sharon sitting quietly next to him. If she tries to speak, he will barely hear her for the bass rhythms pounding in his ears. Besides, he really becomes engrossed when he studies. It isn’t just getting the grade for him. He loves this stuff. Medicine is his passion.

A piercing cry rock
s Hu out of his groove, causing him to nearly leap out of his seat. His hands jerk up, yanking the headphone cord, whipping the ear buds out of his ears. Sharon screams next to him, her head thrown back, mouth wide open like she is being stabbed with a hot poker.

Hu jump
s to his feet, not knowing what is wrong, or what he should do. His eyes dart around. He notices faces looking their way through the windows at each end of their car. They hear her screaming.

“
Sharon?” he cries, trying to break the spell she is under. She doesn’t respond to his call.

Her teeth grit
together, sucking in hissing breaths, her eyes squeezed shut. She slams her head back hard against the window with a loud bang. Hu winces. He knows that must hurt, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

Sharon
’s body trembles now, shaking almost uncontrollably. Her fingernails dig so hard into the seat that she pierces the vinyl and pulls ruts into the cushion. Her head thrashes from side to side in unbearable pain.

Hu back
s away. He has no idea how to deal with this. What is he supposed to do? This isn’t like coming upon someone who is unconscious, or choking. CPR is a good thing, but it doesn’t prepare him for anything like this situation.

Other passengers mak
e their way toward his car. He and Sharon are the only ones inside. Hu picked it so Sharon could have some measure of privacy. He did not want her to be embarrassed, just in case she vomited along the way.