The Ghost Pattern (20 page)

...57

...Tuesday, May 10, 9:46PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)

...Undisclosed Location

...Russia

...Thirteen Days Missing

Gary counted every minute since Teng had returned to the lab. Would it work? Did Teng keep his side of the deal? Or had he caved under pressure, ratting on them again?
Come on, already,
he encouraged the Russians in his mind.
Come to Papa for a restful sleep, guaranteed to last forever.

He verified for the tenth time that everyone was in position and ready. Adenauer stood tall, his backbone stiff, and his face carved in stone, right next to the lab table nearest the door. The aerosol canister containing the anesthetic mix was inches away from his hand, tucked discreetly between the two centrifuges and the chromatograph.

Declan Mallory had an oxygen mask on, and slept sedated, undisturbed, unaware of anything. It was better for him that way.

As for the rest of them, they huddled near the far end of the lab tables, pretending to be working on various equipment, and ready to spring into action at the earliest opportunity.

Clamor outside the door caught his attention. Multiple men treaded heavily and noisily approaching the lab, then the rusty bolt was pulled, and the door shoved open forcefully.

“This is it, guys,” he whispered, “Godspeed.”

Adenauer swallowed his antidote, then turned to face the door.

Four armed men barged in, followed by Bogdanov. Gary recognized King Cobra, Death, and One-Eye, but the fourth was a new face, a huge man wearing a long, monastic beard, and holding a Kalashnikov with ease, as if it were a toy. Bogdanov’s face was contorted in anger, his eyes glinting with pure hatred.

Gary saw Adenauer hesitate to release the gas, and he followed his gaze to see Marie-Elise staring at the floor, where she’d dropped her antidote capsule. Gary signaled her almost imperceptibly to leave it. Picking it up would be risky; could get the Russians’ attention. She leaned against the back wall, pale, and nodded discreetly to Adenauer, encouraging him to proceed.

Unseen, Gary popped his capsule in his mouth, then swallowed it immediately. Behind him, Jane, Teng, Fortuin, and Bukowsky took their pills, while Marie-Elise let herself slide to the floor, hidden from view by a storage cabinet. Good. This way, if she fainted she wouldn’t risk hurting herself in the fall.

He turned to watch the Russians near the lab entrance, and saw Adenauer releasing the canister valve and stepping back.

“You are dead, all of you, you fucking cunts!” Bogdanov thundered.

He pulled his gun and released the safety, pointing it at Adenauer’s head. Adenauer stood firmly, calm, brave, and dignified, unfazed by Bogdanov, and taking shallow, infrequent breaths.

“
Kak der’mo
,” King Cobra said, disgust showing on his face. “What is this smell?”

“This is nothing to worry about,” Adenauer said, almost smiling. “We work with chemicals here, so that can happen. But see? I am breathing it too. If you take deep breaths, like this, you won’t feel it anymore.” He demonstrated with his hands, encouraging them to breathe in the stink of desflurane.

God, I hope he’s faking it,
Gary thought.

Bogdanov pointed his gun at Gary next, then back to Adenauer, his hand shaking just a little.

“What’s going on? What are you fuckers doing?” he yelled. “I will kill all of you, you hear me?”

Why the fuck isn’t it working?
Gary thought, sweat bursting at the roots of his hair.
It has to work! It has to!

Then he noticed One-Eye lean against the back wall, and Death running his hand against his forehead and shaking his head, as if to rid himself of a dizzy spell and regain focus.

It
was
working; they just needed a little more time.

Reading his mind, or just being the pure genius that he was, Adenauer started explaining to the men how the sense of smell worked, and how the nose protects itself by blocking the sensory information of a strong smell after a few inhalations, to maintain the capacity of discerning new smells despite the prevalence of a stronger, pervasive scent. Pedantic and calm, he took his time going through lots of trivial details about the wondrous human olfactory system. Bogdanov probably already knew most of that, and the rest of the men didn’t really care, but Adenauer’s speech kept them busy inhaling some more aerosolized anesthetic.

Then Gary noticed how Adenauer had placed a hand firmly against the surface of the lab table, to help support his weight. He was starting to feel weak, despite the antidote.
Damn…

Bogdanov was the first to collapse, probably because of his smaller body mass. As he fell, he fired his gun twice. Both bullets strayed and hit the wall above their heads.

Death took two steps forward to catch Bogdanov as he fell, but he never got that far. He collapsed on one knee, then buckled to the side, his head hitting the concrete floor with a loud thud. One-Eye collapsed right where he stood, leaning against the wall. King Cobra was next, and the bearded giant was last, falling forward while trying to fire his Kalashnikov.

“Now!” Gary yelled, and leapt forward, opening a metallic case stocked with chloroform on gauze. Grabbing a couple, he ran and placed one on Bogdanov’s nose, and one on Death’s, holding them firmly in place for a few good seconds.

Bukowsky was right behind him, taking care of the other men. He placed gauze soaked in chloroform on the noses of One-Eye and King Cobra, and then struggled to flip the bearded thug on his back.

Gary helped roll the man over and took his weapon, while Bukowsky gave him his due dose of chloroform. Then he helped Adenauer move to the back of the lab to breathe cleaner air, and offered him a second antidote.

Jane and Fortuin picked up Marie-Elise and put her on a cot. Fortuin held her head up and opened her mouth, while Jane opened one of the capsules and spread the powder under Marie-Elise’s tongue, to speed up the absorption and get it in her blood stream without risking her choking on the capsule. Within seconds, she started fluttering her eyelids and mumbling. She was going to be OK.

Gary and Bukowsky snapped a few power cords from some lab equipment, and used it to tie the Russians’ hands. They took their weapons and shared them among themselves. Bukowsky, Gary, and Jane each took a Kalashnikov and a pistol, leaving the rest of the weapons in Fortuin’s charge. Jane fumbled a little with the Kalashnikov, but soon figured out how to replace the clip, set the gun on semi-auto, and remove its safety.

“Watch them carefully,” Gary said to Fortuin and Adenauer, pointing at the unconscious men lying on the floor. “The slightest move, and you give them more chloroform. Don’t hesitate…better safe than sorry, all right? No one’s gonna miss them if they never wake up again.”

“Yes, yes, understood,” Adenauer replied. “Good luck!”

He offered his hand and Gary took it, giving it a firm shake and looking the German in the eye.

“Thank you,” Gary said warmly, surprised at the emotion he suddenly felt for the self-sacrificing man he’d always thought too arrogant to tolerate. “For everything.”

Then he turned to Bukowsky and Jane.

“OK, let’s go kill us some Russians now, so we can all go home.”

...58

...Tuesday, May 10, 2:43PM Local Time (UTC+3:00 hours)

...Russian Ministry of Defense

...Moscow, Russia

...Thirteen Days Missing

Myatlev took small pieces of toast covered with pâté de foie gras and chewed them slowly. His mouth felt dry, like sand, and he couldn’t even feel the taste of the exquisite delicacy. His thoughts revolved around the same bothersome, life-or-death questions. Why? Who was that woman? Why was she after him? How much did she know? Why was he still alive?

He pushed away his plate, an expression of disgust contorting his lips. Ivan jumped to his feet.

“Was there something wrong with it, boss? I’ll have them—”

“Nah…” He dismissed Ivan’s concern with a wave of his hand, then stood with a groan, holding his stomach, and released one notch in his belt. Then he started pacing the office slowly. His brows, creased firmly, were ridging his forehead, and somehow made the dark circles underneath his eyes seem more prominent.

He stopped his slow pacing and turned to face Ivan, who waited patiently near the coffee table, ready to pour him another shot.

“What’s going on at the lab? Did you call him?”

“Bogdanov? Yes. I told him to pull in some reinforcements, and be ready for an attack.”

“Everything all right there?”

“I heard nothing more. But clouds are thick over there; we lost satellite feed.”

“Argh…fuck!” Myatlev snapped. Even motherfucking nature was against him on this one.

He took a mouthful of cold chamomile tea and winced at the stale, unpalatable taste, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Goddamn shit…Send in reinforcements. Send the troops we have stationed on Sakhalin.”

“But…I thought—”

“Yes, Ivan?” he snapped impatiently.

“You said the lab was above top secret, that no one can know about it. If we bring the troops from Sakhalin, how are we going to keep everyone quiet about the lab?”

Myatlev gave Ivan a long stare, making him lower his eyes and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Sometimes he just couldn’t believe how naïve Ivan could be. He knew better than to ask that stupid question. But Ivan was just hired muscle, after all. What did he expect?

“The usual way, Ivan, what the fuck? Let them do their job and keep the lab safe. Then, they’ll disappear.”

Ivan remained quiet, a hint of surprise showing on his face. He’d been loyal, docile, and dedicated all those years, taking out everyone who had the misfortune to stand in Myatlev’s path, and had never hesitated in getting his job done. This time though, Myatlev was asking a bit much; the Sakhalin contingent was one hundred and fifty strong, all Russians, all soldiers who deserved better. He understood Ivan’s hesitation. He was asking for a massacre…
For the higher purpose,
Myatlev reminded himself,
it’s all for the higher purpose.

“Understood?” Myatlev reinforced his point with Ivan.

“Yes, sir,” he replied deferentially.

“And blow up that Phenom. They won’t be going anywhere, those fucks.”

...59

...Tuesday, May 10, 10:08PM Local Time (UTC+10:00 hours)

...Abandoned ICBM Site

...Near Naikhin, Russia

...Thirteen Days Missing

They walked in single file, in a start-and-stop dynamic dictated by Martin, the contractor team lead who led the way. Two of his men were the advanced recon team, marching ahead of everyone else by a couple hundred yards, making sure they didn’t walk into an ambush. Alex had learned how to walk in the green-hued darkness of the forest without stumbling at every step. She lifted her feet higher, then set them down almost vertically, carefully, stepping on branches rather than tripping on them.

Behind her, Lou supported Sam, whose pallor had accentuated in the past hour. He leaned more and more on Lou, and groaned quietly every few steps. Every time she searched his face with worried eyes, Sam smiled weakly, trying to reassure her. It wasn’t working. The blast must have caused him an internal hemorrhage or more severe damage than she had estimated. He needed a hospital, as soon as possible. But what was really possible where they were? Nothing much. Where would they go?
Please hold on, Sam,
she thought,
we’ll find a way, we always do.

Stepping carefully not to make noise, and almost mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, she let her mind wander. What would they find at the abandoned silo? Would they find the four hundred people they were looking for? Would they find bodies? Would they find V? If he were indeed the architect of this bold plane hijacking, would he be there, taking care of business? Or would he be hiding someplace distant and safe, letting others get their hands dirty, like the master puppeteer that he was? Would she finally get the chance to find out who he was?

She’d stopped talking to her team about her scenarios. She could see it in their eyes that they didn’t believe her anymore. Not even Sam. They must have all thought she’d become irrationally obsessed with her elusive terrorist. Yet she was sure; she knew, deep in her gut, that it was V, the mysterious Russian mastermind, who had the vision and the global strategic brilliance to orchestrate such a bold plan. Terrorists like that weren’t born every day. And when they were, they made history in a significant way.

A drop of water hit her cheek, bringing her focus back to reality. Light rain had started to fall, further reducing the visibility, but there was a distant trace of light coming from somewhere. She took off her night-vision goggles.

At the front of their line, Martin suddenly froze, raising his left fist in the air, in a silent command to stop. Then he silently gestured that he saw the enemy, and they should remain behind, under the cover of the dark forest.

They had arrived.

Alex took cover behind a tree trunk and carefully peeked to see. The silo was right there, eighty yards or so from the tree line. It was a massive cupola-covered circular structure, not taller than twenty feet. Probably the rest of the structure continued underground.

The structure seemed to have a single point of entry, a large metallic door. It had been originally painted in military green, but that had faded under the sustained attack of the elements, and was stained by rust.

Two armed Russians stood watch in front of it. They carried their Kalashnikovs loosely; they were not expecting trouble. They wore a strange mix of mismatching old military uniform parts, as if they were outfitted by a World War II Russian Army surplus store. They were not the official Russian Army.
Interesting, and it’s yet another argument in favor of my theory.
Alex felt a wave of excitement at the thought. She was getting close to catching the bastard after all.

At the left side of the main building, just like they’d seen in the satellite imagery, there was an open hangar that housed several military trucks, guarded by two armed sentries. From that distance, Alex could see they also had machine guns, but didn’t have any night-vision equipment.

Several light sources illuminated the area. A couple of larger spotlights covered the main entrance and the hangar access. Five floodlights covered the piece of asphalt road that connected the two structures, and several tens of feet of the road leading to the silo. The advantage presented by darkness was gone.

Martin signaled his men, and three of the military contractors joined him near the tree line. A rapid sequence of hand signals followed, then they split into two teams. All four men had holstered their weapons and carried their tactical knives in their hands, ready to strike. The rest of the fighters spread out behind the tree line, getting ready to charge.

Alex felt her heart pounding in her chest. She tightened the grip on her Tavor, her finger hovering above the safety lever, but not releasing it. She felt her spine tingling, and adrenaline hitting her gut. This was it…she better be ready.

She felt Lou’s touch on her shoulder.

“This is an SS-19 Stiletto base,” he whispered quietly, barely audible.

“And?” That bit of information didn’t mean anything to her. She felt a wave of irritation at her own lack of knowledge.
Here I am, the clueless soldier. Fucking great!

“That means it goes deep underground.”

They kept their eyes on the two teams, as they made a silent and slow approach toward the two sentry groups. The team approaching on the right side, targeting the main silo entrance, had the forest line cover them for most of the way, then the silo’s wall curvature was going to work in their favor, keeping them hidden from view as they advanced.

The team headed for the truck hangar had it a little rougher; they had to cross thirty feet of open, well-lit field. Martin saw them hesitating to leave the cover of the tree line, and ordered them to stop by extending his arm with his palm facing up and outward. Then Martin and his companion made their move toward the silo entrance.

Alex held her breath, feeling her heart pounding.
Oh, we better be right about this,
she thought.
Otherwise, we’re all going away for a long, long time, and I’m not even sure which country will sentence us to death first.
She felt a wave of nauseous anxiety at the thought that she had brought all these people here, in harm’s way, based on her theories. She quickly revisited her deductions, and inspected her logic. She hadn’t taken any wrong turns in her investigation, or cut any corners. She was sure. The passengers of flight XA233 were there, just a few yards away. They had to be. She felt her anxiety dissipate and she took a long, refreshing breath.

Martin and his companion had approached the sentries, crawling single file against the wall. When they were just a few feet away, they pounced silently and deadly. Martin got the one on the left. With one hand, he covered his mouth keeping him quiet, while the other, holding the tactical knife, stabbed the Russian in the throat, an inch below his ear, slicing deep into his brain. His companion decided to grab his target’s head and quickly break his neck with a swift rotating move. He then slowly eased the dead man down to the ground, making sure his fall was noiseless.

They dragged the two bodies a few yards along the wall toward the back, getting them out of sight. Martin signaled the other team to be ready, then whistled loudly, enough to be heard by the other two Russians. The sentries perked their heads and started approaching fast, turning their backs toward the forest line, where the second team waited for the right opportunity to attack. The second team made its move, and within seconds, both Russians were dead.

Martin gave the “clear” signal, and the rest of the support team advanced to his location, followed by Alex, Blake, and Lou. Sam declined wearily, seeming unable to stand, and signaled them to go ahead without him.

They approached the silo door walking briskly, almost running. Martin placed a couple of his men on watch duty, and opened the massive door. It creaked loudly, causing them to freeze in their tracks and clasp their weapons, listening intently.

They entered the structure cautiously, their weapons ready. A long, curved corridor extended both ways inside the structure, with metallic doors every twenty yards or so. Martin split them into two teams, taking opposite directions in their search. Blake joined Alex on the team headed left, and Lou went with the other team.

After a few yards, Martin’s fist popped up in the air and they froze in their tracks. He then signaled with his fingers at his ear that he was hearing something, and gestured them to align along the inside wall, to take cover.

They heard footsteps approaching. Alex held her breath, getting ready to pounce. She released the safety lever on her Tavor, and she heard the others cock their weapons.

Then she saw who was approaching; two men and a woman wielding their Kalashnikovs falteringly, who froze when they saw them. One of the men lifted his Kalashnikov in a firing position, but hesitated to open fire. Her team immediately took positions on the corridor, and lifted their weapons, ready to pull the triggers. She felt her hair stand on its ends; this was wrong, very wrong.

“Hold your fire,” Alex shouted. She stepped away from the wall, approaching the three people, and lowering her weapon. “Hold your fire. We’re Americans; we’re here to take you home.”

“Really? You’re not fucking with me?” one of the men asked in a choked voice, lowering his weapon.

The woman dropped her weapon to the ground and almost jumped forward, hugging Alex.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all.”

Alex felt her eyes moisten; she hadn’t expected that reaction.

“There are more of us,” the same man said, “many more. And Russians too, with guns.”

“Name?” Martin asked.

“Davis. Dr. Gary Davis.”

“Dr. Davis, how many Russians, and where are they?”

“We don’t know. We just broke free, right now. We were going to try to free the others. Five Russians are unconscious and tied up in the lab.”

“All right, let’s get you to safety,” Martin replied, then directed them to the door, with one of his men leading. “Take them outside, behind the tree line, and wait there for my signal.”

“Have you seen Adeline?” Blake asked, grabbing Dr. Davis’ sleeve. “Is she all right?”

Gary Davis stopped and turned to face Blake. “I am sorry; I don’t know who that is.”

Blake’s hand fell, releasing Dr. Davis’ sleeve.

“Let’s move,” Martin commanded.

They advanced carefully, stopping at every door, clearing the structure room by room. Most of the rooms were empty and dark. Then they found a makeshift lab.

Martin opened the door carefully, and stiffened when he saw light. It was a large structure equipped with lab tables and equipment. His eyes met the scared glances coming from several people. Then he noticed the five inert bodies tied on the floor, dressed like the sentries he’d just taken out at the main silo entrance.

Martin entered the lab lowering his weapon and saying, “We’re American; we’re taking you home.”

The harrowed men and women started to cheer, but Martin quickly silenced them with a quick gesture. He then directed them to leave the structure and join the others at the tree line.

“One of us was injured, and is bedridden, sedated, and unconscious,” a tall, dignified man spoke with a strong German accent.

“Name?” Martin asked.

“Adenauer. Theo Adenauer.”

Martin gave Alex a quick look.

“Dr. Adenauer,” she said, “we will clear the structure first, make sure everyone’s safe, then come back for him. Chances are if he’s unconscious, he will be out of harm’s way.”

“You know who I am?” the man asked, emotion tingeing his voice.

“Yes, we do,” Alex replied. “We’ve done our homework; we’re not here by accident.”

“Have you seen Adeline, my wife?” Blake asked Adenauer with pleading eyes. “She’s five-seven, brown hair, thirty-six years old.”

“No, I’m sorry. That name does not sound familiar. But there are hundreds more, somewhere in this structure.”

“I know her,” a woman said, stepping forward. “I’m Lila Wallace. I am—I was the flight attendant in first class. She was seated in my area.”

Blake grabbed her hand with both his, holding it tight. “Where is she? Is she OK?”

“She’s with the others,” Lila replied. “We got separated when we got to the trucks. But she’s fine, I am sure. She wasn’t among the…” Lila choked a little, and then continued. “You’ll find her, you’ll see.”

“Among the what?” Blake asked quietly, his face petrified with fear.

“Umm…the test subjects,” Lila whispered, a tear rolling on her cheek. “But she wasn’t, I’m sure she’s OK.”

“Oh, my God,” Blake whispered, turning a sickly shade of pale.

Alex felt her stomach turn. She’d been right in her theories. Whoever had taken flight XA233 wanted the researchers to develop a nerve agent, and needed test subjects. Instead of feeling redeemed, all she felt was an unbearable sense of revulsion, of loathing, and a bubbling anger, driving her to want to draw blood with her own hands from the motherfucker who’d tortured all those people.
It will come, you’ll see,
she thought.
I’ll find you, you sick son of a bitch, and when I do, you’ll wish you were never born.