The Ark

FORTY-FOUR

When Garrett’s private jet had flown over the Seattle metro area, Dilara had finally known where they were, but it didn’t make a difference. On the helicopter ride from the airport to Orcas Island, there had been no chance for her to make an escape.

They arrived at some kind of compound with a mansion that lorded over the estate. She had been hustled through a security pass-through, and then onto an elevator that went down, taking her underground. The panel had seven buttons on it. When the doors opened at Level 3 to reveal a hallway bustling with people, she understood the purpose of the warren. Oasis. The refuge that would hold these people until it was safe to reemerge once the bioweapon had done its job.

A bear of a man with a shaved head met them at the elevator. He was flanked by two other men heavily armed with submachine guns.

“Status?” Garrett demanded.

“All our members are accounted for and inside Oasis.”

“Good. We’re going on lockdown immediately. Dr. Kenner, this is Dan Cutter. He’ll take you to your quarters.” Garrett turned back to Cutter. “Give me two hours. Then we’ll begin the interrogation.” With Petrova at his side, he got back in the elevator.

Cutter and the two men behind him took Dilara by the arm and led her to a room that was more lavishly appointed than she expected. It was the size of a cruise ship cabin, with a small bathroom to the side. The bed, nightstand, and dresser were antiques. A change of clothes lay on the bed, and a pair of shoes were on the floor.

“You can wear that, or you can stay in your dress and high heels,” Cutter said. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

He slammed the door behind her and locked it. She heard him tell one of the two men to stay behind and guard the door. The footsteps retreated down the hall. Dilara had never felt so alone.

She wasn’t going to wear the dress. Though the odds of her overpowering a trained soldier were slim to none, she needed to be in more practical clothes to make her move when the time came. There were probably cameras in the room, but there was no use trying to find them. If she covered them up, they’d be in here immediately.

She’d been in the field too many times, where privacy was not always the greatest concern, to let voyeurs embarrass her, but she didn’t want to give them more of a show than she had to. She changed into the new outfit, covering herself with the shirt before taking off her dress. The clothes fit surprisingly well, even the tennis shoes. Going to the bathroom was more uncomfortable, but she had no choice, again keeping herself covered from prying eyes.

Then all she could do was wait, so she sat on the bed and meditated. She was brought some food, but she didn’t eat it and only drank water from the faucet in the bathroom. She was used to going all day without eating when she had to. If they wanted to drug her, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

She was so deep in her meditation that when the door opened, she only vaguely noticed it. Cutter grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“Come on,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“The lab. We have some questions.”

He heaved her to her feet and pushed her in front of him out the door.

They made a turn into a longer hallway and entered a laboratory. Garrett stood to the side with a rail-thin 40-year-old man whose white hair matched his lab coat.

The lab held three pieces of furniture: a chair that wouldn’t be out of place in a dentist’s office, an examination table, and a seat for the doctor. The counter along one wall held a sink and various pieces of electronic equipment. It looked like one of the rooms that would serve as a medical infirmary during their stay underground.

Cutter guided her to the dental chair.

“Sit.” It wasn’t a choice. Once she was in the chair, she nervously watched as Cutter strapped her wrists to the armrests. The calm reprieve of her meditation was already distant.

“Listen, Sebastian,” Dilara said, “I’m willing to tell you anything you want to know.”

“That may be true,” Garrett said, “but I can’t take your word for it. I don’t have time. My men will be activating the devices tomorrow, and I have to be sure that they won’t be intercepted.”

“How would I know that?”

“You seemed to know a lot before. I’ve received news that both FBI Special Agent Perez and Dr. Tyler Locke were killed in a shootout on board the Genesis Dawn. Therefore, you are now my only link to what Tyler knew.”

Dilara’s heart sank at the news of Locke’s death. Garrett didn’t seem to be lying.

“I know this is a shocking confirmation for you,” he said. “You must realize that no one knows where you are now. You’re alone. All you have is us.”

She strained at the wrist straps, but they wouldn’t budge. “You’re going to drug me anyway?”

“Dr. Green will do the injection. It’s a new serum that my company developed for the CIA. A more reliable variant of sodium amytal. It won’t hurt, but there is a risk to its use because it depresses nervous system functions. That’s why a medical professional will administer it.”

“I swear I don’t know anything!”

Garrett ignored her. “Dr. Green, let’s begin.”

Green walked to the counter and stuck the needle of a large syringe into the cap of a bottle and withdrew 20cc’s of a clear fluid. He swabbed the vein on her left arm with rubbing alcohol.

“You’re a doctor,” Dilara said to Green. “Please don’t do this.”

Green smiled. “You’ll feel a small poke.” Then he jabbed the needle into her arm.

She felt the cool fluid flow into her vein. When the plunger was all the way down, Green removed the needle.

“It should reach its full efficacy in five minutes. Dilara, I want you to count backwards from 100.”

She was already feeling woozy. She shook her head.

“I’m not doing anything!” She pulled at the restraints until her veins bulged.

“This will be easier for you if you don’t struggle.”

“Let me go!”

Then as if someone turned off a light switch, the room went black and her head seemed like it was plunged into a bucket of ice water. Green’s voice became indistinct and faded until she sensed nothing at all.

“What happened?” Garrett asked. She wasn’t supposed to pass out. She was supposed to be awake to answer his questions.

“She dropped her blood pressure and lost consciousness,” Green said as he pointed a pen light into her eye. “As I said before, it happens in five percent of cases. Let’s get her on the table.”

Green had told Garrett about the potential risks. He could tell Green wanted to say I told you so, but the doctor didn’t dare.

“Help him,” Garrett said to Cutter. “Five percent! Idiot!”

Cutter unstrapped her and lifted her dead weight from the chair and lay her on the table.

Green propped her feet up with a pillow. He checked her blood pressure.

“Her pressure is still low, but stable.”

“What now? Can you wake her up?”

“I can give her a shot of adrenaline. It would wake her up but it would also offset the effects of the serum. Then we’d have to start all over. A second injection so quickly might be fatal.”

“If we wait for her to wake up, will she still be under the effects of the serum?”

“We won’t know until she’s conscious. That may take a few hours.”

“Dammit! All right. You’ll stay here with one of Cutter’s men. When she wakes up, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on,” he said to Cutter and stormed out of the room.

FORTY-FIVE

Once Locke and Grant touched down at McChord Air Force Base south of Seattle, it was a short drive to the Fort Lewis army base where the assault team was making its final preparations inside one of the barracks. A map of Orcas Island was tacked to the wall, and thirty hardened commandos were busy checking weapons and loading their packs with ammo. Most of them were in their early twenties. Locke and Grant were older than every one of them by a good five years.

They introduced themselves to the team’s commander, Captain Michael Turner, a pale, lean 30-year-old with a brush of close-cropped red hair. Turner, whose neck tendons looked strained to the breaking point, eyed them warily, apparently checking to make sure they measured up to his team’s standards. He shook their hands, but he didn’t look pleased to see them.

“Sorry to barge in on your mission, Captain,” Locke said, “but we have some tactical information that will be useful when we’re on site.”

“If General Locke says you need to be here, then you’re on the team,” Turner said like a soldier who knew he had no choice but to follow orders. “As long as we’re clear that I am in command.”

“Absolutely. I’m sure you’ve seen our service records.”

“Yes. I had the base quartermaster get some BDUs for you. Get changed, and we’ll do the mission briefing.” Turner looked at his watch. “I have 1743 hours. We’re wheels up at 1900.”

Locke tossed the larger set of battle dress uniforms to Grant and put his own on. He hadn’t worn fatigues since he left the service five years before, but donning them put him right back into military mode.

“Seems like old times,” Grant said. “Except I feel like an old man compared to these young whippersnappers.”

“You need your walker for this mission?” Locke asked with a chuckle.

“Just my cane. You have your hearing aid in?”

Locke shook his head and spoke louder. “Can’t hear you without my hearing aid in. Got my reading glasses, though, in case I need to read the instructions on my pills.”

Turner broke into their fun. “You two ready?” he said curtly.

Locke finished tying his boot laces and stood. “Grant was born ready, but I’m a late bloomer.”

Turner rolled his eyes. He obviously didn’t share their sense of humor.

“Listen up,” he said, and the room grew still instantly. The soldiers eyes were riveted on Turner. These guys were all business.

“The intel on this op is sketchy at best,” Turner continued. “ Our mission is to infiltrate this complex here, and secure the bioweapon inside before 2100 hours.” He pointed at a satellite photograph of the Hydronast compound on Orcas. The island was shaped like a drooping upside-down W, with three peninsulas pointing south. The compound was located on the east coast of the westernmost peninsula, bordered by a finger-shaped bay.

“We considered coming in by boat to Massacre Bay.”

Locke and Grant looked at each other when they heard the name. Not a bright omen.

“But that angle is well-lit,” Turner continued, “and we would be exposed trying to breach the shore fencing. They have a dock, but it is heavily guarded. We estimate at least 30 guards on the premises. No knowledge about their disposition.”

Locke spoke up. “I believe I can answer that, Captain. Sergeant Westfield has served with one of the hostiles. He’s ex-Army special forces. His name is Dan Cutter, and it’s logical to assume he has stocked his guard crew with others like him. These won’t be typical rent-a-guards. They’ll be well-trained and alert.”

“I got the briefing on Cutter,” Turner said, the distaste evident. “Our best chance for a successful mission is to take them by surprise. Because of time pressures, we can’t wait to ferry in our Hummers. And if we try to land with Blackhawks within two miles, they’ll hear us coming. Therefore, we’re landing here.” Turner pointed at the easternmost peninsula of the upside-down W, about ten miles due east of Garrett’s bunker. “We’ve arranged for one of the island’s school buses to be left at the LZ. We drive the rest of the way and dismount here.”

Turner pointed at a spot less than a mile from the northern edge of the massive compound.

“When we’re within one click, we’ll do on-site recon with the UAV.” To his left sat an unmanned aerial vehicle, a battery-powered helicopter not much bigger than a toy kids play with. When it was flown 50 feet above the observed area, it couldn’t be heard by ground forces. The camera on board, which included infrared and light amplification for night ops, was powerful enough to beam back real-time battlefield images.

“Once we have their positions, we’ll breach the outer fence and eliminate each hostile as we reach them. When the perimeter is secure, we’ll enter the bunker here.” The hangar-sized building closest to the mansion.

“How silently can we do this?” Locke asked.

“We’ll try to take out as many of them as we can before the alarm is sounded. By that time, we should have overwhelming numbers.”

Locke shook his head.

“That would jeopardize the mission,” Locke said.

“Why?”

“Because any alarm will cause an immediate lockdown. Concrete doors will slide over all the entrances to the bunker. Game over.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it was in the specifications. I constructed a preliminary blueprint for the facility three years ago, and although there will be changes, the basic elements are likely the same. The elevators are powered by electric motors in the cabs themselves, so there are no cables to cut. Concrete slabs three feet thick will block the shafts, and we don’t have the firepower to blast through them. It’ll be impossible to get in after that unless it’s opened from inside.”

“How about air shafts?”

Locke shook his head again. “Only in the movies are ventilation shafts big enough for people to crawl through. I know for a fact these ones will be designed to prevent that.”

“We could smoke them out. Drop smoke grenades down them.”

“No good. Even if we find some of the shafts, their filters would absorb any smoke.”

“Do you have an alternate plan?” Turner said in exasperation.

Locke shrugged. “All I know is, we have to get through that entrance and down into the bunker before the alarm sounds.”

“Then we’ll be really, really quiet. Anything else?”

“Yes. Once we’re inside, we need to be very careful not to release any of the bio-agent. If any of us is exposed to it for even a second, we’re dead and we might as well let the MOP do its job.”

“I’m so glad you’re here to give us good news, Captain Locke,” Turner said flatly.

“Believe me, Captain, I want to get out of this mission in one piece. Speaking of that, how do we signal when we’re successful?”

“When I’m satisfied that the bio-agent and the facility are secure, I’ll give the okay to radio the all-clear signal, which is “The well is dry.” The B-52 that is on station will be told to return to base.”

“I’ll be glad when I hear that phrase,” Grant said.

“One more thing, Captain Turner,” Locke said. “There will be unarmed civilians inside as well as one friendly, a woman named Dilara Kenner. Make sure we only fire at the bad guys.”

“My orders are to shoot anyone who poses a threat. If they aren’t armed, they’re not a threat.”

“That’s all I ask.”

“All right, people!” Turner shouted, trying to pump up his troops. “Check your gear and lock and load! We need to move!”

“And let’s synchronize our watches,” Locke said. “Because my father is nothing if not punctual. If we radio even one second after 2100 hours, we’ve got about 30 more seconds on this earth. Then there won’t be enough left of any of us to fill a shot glass.”

FORTY-SIX

It seemed a little silly to be riding to an attack in a yellow school bus, but Locke and Grant were the only ones who looked amused. The rest of the team looked uncomfortable and embarrassed crammed into the vehicle’s tiny seats. With no military bases on the island, the bus with the letters Orcas Island School District on the side was their best choice.

While they drove into the fading light of sunset, Locke rechecked his bag of tricks that he had outfitted from the Fort Lewis armory. He was armed with the Glock on his hip and the H&K MP-5 submachine gun that was preferred by special forces. Some of the soldiers were equipped with longer, more powerful M-4 assault rifles, and Grant had one laying against his arm as he dozed.

It took twenty minutes on winding roads to get from the landing zone on the east side of the island to the point where they crossed the remaining terrain on foot. The Hydronast compound was surrounded by ten-foot-high razor-wire fencing, but it was unlikely to be electrified. Too many potential lawsuits that would bring unwanted attention to the site.

They did, however, suspect sensors hidden in the ground and trees for motion detection. Although the island was crawling with wildlife, animals that were large enough to trip the sensors, like deer, wouldn’t be able to jump over the fence. Locke agreed with Turner’s assessment that once they crossed the fence, they would be detected if they didn’t disable the sensors somehow.

All the trees 50 feet on either side of the fence had been chopped down so that using the branches to drop over it would be impossible. The only way through would be to cut the fence.

The team, which was now spread out in the trees 100 yards from the fence were signaled to halt by Turner, and everyone dropped to the ground. Locke laid down next to him. The soil was soaked by rain that had pounded Puget Sound since he and Dilara left four days ago, letting up just in time for this operation. He and Turner both pulled out binoculars. They saw no guards patrolling the fence line, which confirmed the suspicion about motion sensors. Anyone patrolling would continuously set them off, rendering them useless.

The guards must be patrolling the central compound, ready to rush to any sensor that detected movement.

“What do you think?” Locke asked.

“We’ll have to cut through the fence.”

“Then what? It’s about 500 yards to the central compound from the fence. Lots of opportunities to set off the sensors if we miss one.”

“We’ll have to risk it. My men are trained to spot and disable them.”

“Then we just barge in the front door of the hangar building, guns blazing?”

“You got any other options?” Turner said.

Locke thought about it, but he didn’t have any. “Maybe we’ll see something with the UAV.” It would be another ten minutes before the full dark would allow them to use the UAV without it being seen.

Grant, who was using Locke’s binoculars, nudged him and handed them back.

“Take a look at the fence. Two o’clock, at the base of post.”

Locke focused on the spot with the binoculars. It took him a second, and then he saw what Grant was talking about.

“Crap.”

“What is it?” Turner asked.

“The fence is wired.”

“But with high voltage…”

“Not high voltage. Just a sensor wire.” One of the wires had become exposed, just slightly, but enough for Grant’s eagle eyes to see. “If we cut the fence, they’ll know immediately.”

“Can we bypass it?”

“Maybe, but it would be tricky,” Locke said. “These guys are good.”

“So the concrete doors would close instantly as soon as the fence was breached?”

“Unlikely. They’d want confirmation of an intrusion before they did something that drastic. But as soon as they saw the hole in the fence, or us crawling through it, they’d sound the alarm. Then we’re toast.”

“Maybe we should try a full assault through the front gate,” Turner said. “Catch them by surprise.”

“Same problem. When they suspect their guards are taken out, the alarm goes off and they shut themselves in.”

“You’re not being very helpful, Locke.”

Locke knew he sounded pessimistic, but when you eliminated all of the obvious choices, less obvious choices suddenly made themselves known.

He concentrated on the fence again. He had laid the binoculars down while he was talking to Turner, and the lens was covered in water from the high grass. He paused to wipe it off, then stopped. He dug his gloved finger into the soil, which was soaking wet. His finger plunged through up to his top knuckle as easily as if he’d pushed it into pudding.

Locke looked up at the tree next to him, a giant evergreen over 150 feet tall.

“Captain Turner,” Locke said, a big smile spreading across his face, “I’m about to be helpful. I believe I have a way to get us through.”

Sebastian Garrett checked his laptop to make sure the inventory for Oasis was up to date and then radioed Cutter. The device on the Genesis Dawn should be in full operation by now. He’d wanted an immediate lockdown, but not everyone had completed the move from the main house into the bunker. Once the bunker was sealed, it would open up only once more: the next morning when the three prion-emitting devices were ready and their bearers were sent off to LAX, Kennedy Airport, and Heathrow in London. When they were gone, Oasis would be closed off from the rest of the world for three months, the time he expected it would take the Arkon-C to run its course worldwide. The men delivering the devices would have to be sacrificed, but they didn’t know that. They were told that they would be let back in, but Garrett couldn’t take the chance that they would be infected.

“How are we coming?” Garrett asked Cutter.

“Another twenty minutes, sir.”

“What? Why is it taking so long?”

“We’ve still got equipment to move down that is crucial to our operations.”

Oasis was equipped with positive-pressure airlocks and hazmat suits for external forays in emergencies, but Garrett didn’t want to use them if he didn’t have to. The bunker was powered by two generators, and an enormous fuel tank buried next to it, with enough diesel stored for the entire three month stay. Water from the desalination plant ensured a sterile supply, and the food stockpile contained twice what they should need.

“All right,” Garrett said. “But when the equipment is inside, close it up. Tell everyone so there are no stragglers.”

“Yes, sir.”

He put the radio back on his desk. A knock came at his door.

“Come!”

A head peeked in his door. It was his replacement pharmacologist, David Deal.

“What is it, Deal?”

The man came in, stopping at the threshold. He looked nervous.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but…” He hesitated.

“Come on, Deal. We’re busy trying to close up.”

“I know that, sir. That’s why I’m here. They told me I would need your permission.”

“To do what?”

“Well, with all the rush, you know, with my new Level 10 status just the last few days, and then the quick move down here, well, I left some things at the main mansion that I need for my work.”

“What?”

“They’re some critical notebooks. In the rush, I left them behind. I was told that to go back and get them, I would need your approval.”

“How long will it take?”

“Just a few minutes. I think I know where they are.”

“You think?”

“They’re quite important.”

Garrett considered it. To keep his people happy, he needed to make sure they were engaged, and Deal was a last minute addition.

“Very well. But be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Garrett radioed the guard at the entrance chamber to let Deal out.

FORTY-SEVEN

Night had fallen, giving the assault team the cover of complete darkness. A corporal opened what looked like an elaborate laptop computer. The main difference was the pair of joystick controls at the base of the panel. He would pilot the UAV from this terminal.

Captain Turner nodded, and the soldier who had prepared the UAV backed away. The corporal tapped a button, and the helicopter whirred to life. The sound was no louder than a hair dryer set on low.

“What’s the battery life on this model?” Locke asked.

“Thirty minutes, tops,” the pilot replied. “Depends how much maneuvering I do.”

The UAV rose into the air neatly, and it was soon out of earshot. The pilot kept it ascending until the UAV was higher than any of the trees. The only reason Locke could see it was because it occasionally blotted out a star. As long as it remained high up, no one would notice it.

Locke, Turner, and Grant focused on the video feed coming back from the onboard camera. The Starlight scope showed the helicopter flying past the fence and then over more trees. In two minutes, it passed over the first lights at the outskirts of the compound’s main area.

The UAV flew over the hangar farthest from the main house and then circled it. No activity. Same for the second hangar. Arc lamps like the ones that lined city streets lit up the compound.

At the last hangar, the one closest to the main house and large hotel-type structure, a dozen men could be seen hauling equipment from a truck through a large delivery door. The UAV maneuvered to get a better look inside, but the angle was too high.

“Should I take it lower?” the pilot asked.

“No,” Turner said. “With all those people, we’d never get in unobserved that way. Let’s keep looking.”

Next to the truck, two armed guards, both in black caps and clothes, stood by a Ford SUV, their rifles slung at their sides. Another SUV pulled alongside, and one of the guards went over and spoke to the driver.

The UAV circled the compound to find more guards. Three more SUVs were spotted, as well as five guards on foot. Fifteen so far. There were probably more inside one of the buildings. All of the lights were out at the main house. A few were still on in the hotel. Other than the guards and the men working at the truck, the compound seemed deserted. Locke could only guess that most of the rest of the residents were already in the bunker. They didn’t have much time.

The UAV came back over the central part of the compound, and a lone man could be seen walking out of a different door in the hangar.

“Another guard?” Turner asked.

“I don’t see a weapon,” Grant said. “Or a black cap.”

“And he’s wearing khaki slacks,” Locke said. “It’s one of their civilians.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Heading to the building that looks like a hotel. This may be what we’ve been waiting for.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we try to take any of these guards alive, they’re not going to help us, no matter how much we threaten them. I’ve already had two of them kill themselves right in front of me. But a civilian might be another matter. If we can get to him fast enough, he could be our ticket inside the bunker.”

“Then I guess it’s time to try your idea. You really think this will work?”

“Depends who we get out here. If it’s Cutter, we’re screwed. Someone else, we might catch a break.”

“Very well,” Turner said. “Let’s see that bag of tricks of yours do some magic.”

Justin Harding, an ex-Ranger who had been recruited by Dan Cutter, was leaning against the passenger side of the SUV when he heard a loud crack come from the north end of the compound. It was quickly followed by a crash that reverberated through the woods.

He looked at the driver, Burns, and was about to report it in when he got a radio call from Cutter.

“Echo Patrol, this is Base. We just detected a breach in the north fence. Get out and find out what’s going on. Bravo Patrol will meet you there. Report back. If there are hostiles, report back and engage.”

Cutter gave them the exact location of the breach.

“Affirmative. Echo Patrol out.”

Burns fired up the SUV and screeched out of the central compound. The SUV bounced up and down as Burns weaved through the trees.

When they were within 100 yards, they came to a stop and dismounted. If there were hostiles, Harding didn’t want to barrel right into an ambush.

He and Burns, another ex-Ranger, advanced with classic covering positions. When they reached the tree line, he scanned the fence with his infrared. No bodies, human or animal in the vicinity. He switched on his flashlight and immediately saw the problem. He stood up and lowered his weapon.

“Not another one,” he said to Burns. “And right on the fence this time.”

He radioed to Jones, who was driving the second SUV.

“Bravo Patrol, pull up to the fence and shine your headlights on it.”

The SUV pulled forward, and the fence was brightly illuminated.

“Damn!” Jones said as he got out. “Smashed right through it.”

A huge pine tree had fallen from the tree line outside of the fence and rammed a 20-foot-wide section of the fence into the ground.

“Just what we need tonight.” During the storm two days ago, a tree had fallen in the wind storm, setting off the alarms, but that one had been in the woods and merely caused some noise. This one was a much bigger problem.

“Base,” he radioed, “we’ve got another tree down.”

“Where?”

“Right on the fence. That’s what set off the sensors.”

“Can you fix it?”

“No chance. It’s crushed.”

“We can’t attempt large-scale repairs until tomorrow. You and Burns stay there to keep guard. Send Bravo Patrol back to the central compound. They’ll relieve you in a couple of hours. I want status checks every 15 minutes.”

“Roger that.”

Harding replaced the radio.

“You heard the man,” he said to the three other guards, who were all standing in front of the SUV, staring at the massive tree. “Looks like we’re pulling shit duty tonight.”

Harding heard a faint pop from the opposite tree line. Burns’ head flew back, and Harding smelled the blood shooting from Burns’ mortal wound for only a moment before his world went black.

The driver in Echo Patrol was the first to be taken out by the assault team’s snipers. Locke saw them adjust their silenced PSG-1’s and take aim at the other three guards. It was all over in less than two seconds, far too quickly for the guards to react.

The assault team had been monitoring the radio calls, so they knew when it was time to take the shots. The plan had worked just like Locke envisioned.

The ground was so wet that the trees’ roots were grasping at the soil to stay upright. He had remembered the windstorm that hit Seattle while he was gone had damaged trees all over the Puget Sound. With the ground still soaked, it wouldn’t take much to topple another tree.

He had selected one that was already tipping in the direction of the fence, enough to make sure he could control the direction of the fall. Then it was a simple matter of burying explosives from his bag of tricks in strategic locations around the base of the tree. He picked several with small charges so that they would sound like the crack of a rotten tree trunk when they went off. Using the ground-penetrating radar, they found the biggest roots. The shape-charges were placed so that they focused down at the largest of them.

The pine had fallen right across the fence. Literally in one fell swoop they had already cut a way through the fence, taken out four guards, had two vehicles at their disposal, and circumvented the motion detectors.

The team quickly crossed the 50 feet to the fence and went through the opening.

Locke saw the four bodies of the guards lying at the front of the SUV. The headlights were still blazing, showing the gory detail of the takedown. Locke felt no remorse for the surprise attack, not after all he’d been through in the last week.

“You heard the man on the radio,” Locke said to Turner. “We’ve got 15 minutes before they have to check in.”

“Right,” Turner said. “Let’s go.”

FORTY-EIGHT

The Lodge, as everyone called the Hydronast hotel building, was lit only sparingly. Once the main power to the Lodge was cut off, it would be completely dark. Given how many times he’d been in the Lodge before, David Deal thought he would be comforted by the building, but now the emptiness of it seemed disturbing. He had an eerie feeling that any minute the visions he’d had before would come back with a vengeance, and this time they wouldn’t be so benevolent.

He crossed the lobby and took the stairs to his room on the third floor. He’d told the faithful leader that he’d left some papers important to his work, but in truth what he’d left behind was something more valuable to him. He wouldn’t dare tell Sebastian Garrett that what he wanted special permission to retrieve was a letter that his daughter had written him long ago. A letter he had hidden under the mattress so it wouldn’t be discovered.

His wife had left him with their only daughter so that she could shack up with another man, a drug dealer who lured her into a life of debauchery and sin. Deal bid her good riddance. He could raise their daughter on his own. But two years later, his daughter succumbed to leukemia.

The loss devastated him, and he turned to religion to find answers. When his old church couldn’t satisfy him, he found his way to the Holy Hydronastic Church, which promised a utopian New World in the near future, something he would see in his lifetime. In the church, he found others like him, intellectuals who needed faith in something bigger than themselves, in which science wasn’t a boogeyman to be shunned but the answer he’d been seeking.

When he began having the visions during the Leveling, he became convinced Hydronasticism was the way he could find meaning in the world.

Then the faithful leader, Sebastian Garrett, revealed that the New World would be upon them soon and that David Deal was selected to be part of it. Deal didn’t know what it was, but Garrett promised them that after 90 days in seclusion in the underground waiting area, they would emerge to the New World, an earthly Eden that Deal would help shape.

Only a few in Garrett’s inner circle knew exactly what the New World meant, and though Deal was curious, he accepted the fact that he was not one of them. Garrett had told them that others might try to take away their Oasis, which was the reason for the extraordinary security measures — the guards, the fences, the guns, the passwords to get in and out of Oasis. This week, the safe word was “Searchlight,” and the warning word was “Heaven.” Deal was excited by the intrigue and the world yet to come.

Because he was taken into Oasis so hastily, he’d forgotten about the letter under the mattress. Normally, he kept it in a hidden pocket in his suitcase, but he read it every night before he went to sleep, so the mattress was a more convenient place for it. Only when he got to his quarters in Oasis did he realize that he’d left the letter behind. If the Lodge were burned or ransacked, he might lose the last communication from his daughter forever, and even Utopia would be meaningless without that.

He found his room and it took only a moment to locate the letter where he’d hidden it. He pocketed the letter, closed the door behind him, and retraced his path down the stairs.

He got three-fourths of the way across the lobby when the exterior door opened. Two guards in their black pants, sweaters, and caps walked in. He didn’t recognize them, one a tall Caucasian man with the hint of a smile and the other a powerfully built African-American, but then he was so new that he didn’t know most of the guards.

Deal guessed he had taken too long and they were sent to bring him back, which was fine with him. He’d retrieved what he wanted and was ready to await the New World.

“What’s your name?” the taller man said.

“David Deal. I’m sorry I took so long. Dr. Garrett gave me permission to get something from the Lodge.”

“Well, he wants you back now, and we’re supposed to take you there.”

Deal shrugged. He was already heading back, so this just seemed like overkill.

Locke had learned from experience that the best way to get through any security was to act liked you belonged there. This Deal just assumed he was one of the guards, so Locke ran with it.

They walked out the lobby door of the Lodge and escorted Deal to the SUV they had appropriated back at the fence. Turner sat in the driver’s seat, and Private Knoll from the assault team sat in the back. Grant got in the passenger seat and Locke got in the back with Deal, who squeezed into the middle. Turner drove toward the door where they’d first seen Deal emerge.

Once the dead guards had been dragged out of the way at the outer fence, Turner had ordered the rest of his team to stay behind with one of the vehicles and shoot anyone else who might come out to investigate. With two SUVs out there, no one would pay any attention to one of them driving back. No motion sensors would be tripped. In fact, they’d probably all been turned off in this area to eliminate false alarms.

If more than four of them drove back in the SUV and they were seen by other guards from a distance, the number of men in the vehicle would have raised questions. Of course, if anyone who knew the guards saw them up close, the jig would be up anyway.

The ground-penetrating radar confirmed that a large bunker lay below them. This was Oasis. When Locke had seen the original specs, it had called for a Level 4 containment lab like the one at CDC, ostensibly for analyzing any WMDs that had made the bunker necessary. Now Locke realized it was actually for creating the bioweapons.

Turner left a burly sergeant in charge at the fence breach with the order to monitor the radio. If they encountered trouble in the compound or if the main alarm was sounded, the team would begin an all-out assault. Since Locke knew the basic layout of Oasis and it was his idea how to get in, he was going along, and he insisted on Grant being the fourth. Turner had given in, even though he didn’t like leaving the rest of his soldiers behind. But if they were to get in, speed and stealth were their best weapons. Bringing along more men would hinder a quick infiltration.

They had changed into the guards’ clothes. From the four who were killed, they were able to scrounge up three outfits that weren’t too bloody. Three of the kills had been headshots, and two of those caps were destroyed. The other kill had been to the chest. Turner and Knoll went capless, and Turner wore one of the bloodied sweaters, which they washed off as best they could with the canteens. It would stand up to scrutiny from a distance. Grant had to squeeze himself into the largest sweater, which was stretched to the breaking point.

Guided by the corporal operating the UAV, they had driven right up to the building the civilian had entered. Locke thought they might have to search the building, so he and Grant left Turner and Knoll behind in case they missed the civilian coming out. But lo and behold, there he was as soon as Locke pushed through the door.

Locke had had to think fast. When Deal had mentioned Garrett, that seemed like an obvious angle, so Locke took it. As he expected, Deal didn’t question Locke’s authority.

The drive to the hangar took almost no time, but Locke’s watch said they only had a few minutes before the expected check-in from Harding. They’d have to make this quick.

Locke suspected that getting into Oasis wouldn’t be as simple as walking through a door, but he couldn’t question Deal without tipping him off that he wasn’t who he said he was. Locke would have to improvise. He told Grant, Turner, and Knoll to wait in the car. They’d be able to hear him over their headsets. They’d know when to move in.

The light from the arc lamp was strong over the entrance. Locke got out, followed by Deal. He turned as Locke closed the door behind him. Deal stopped, peering past Locke at Turner. Then he leaned in closer, and his eyes went wide.

“My God! What happened to you?”

In the light of the arc lamp, the residual blood on Turner’s sweater was still bright, and his green t-shirt underneath was clearly visible through the bullet hole.

Locke grabbed Deal and pushed him into the hood of the car. He jammed his hand over the man’s mouth.

“Pay attention, and do exactly what I say and I won’t have to shoot you. No sudden movements and no shouting. Nod if you understand.”

Deal nodded quickly. Locke removed his hand, ready to replace it if he thought Deal would yell.

“What do you want?” Deal asked, trembling.

“I want you to take me into Oasis. How do we get in?”

Deal swallowed nervously. “There’s…There’s a guard inside behind bulletproof glass. He opens the door after you do a handprint scan and say the password.”

“What’s the password?”

“It won’t do you any good without the handprint.”

“I’m not going to say it. You are. What’s the password?”

Deal looked like he might not say it for a second. Then he spoke. “Heaven.”

Something about how Deal said it made Locke doubt him.

“You sure? Because if that guard doesn’t open that door, I’m going to shoot you right there and walk out.” Locke was bluffing. He wouldn’t shoot an unarmed non-combatant, but he thought he sounded pretty convincing.

“The door will open,” Deal said, whimpering. “I swear.”

“Good. Now get it together. Just play along like a nice boy, and you’ll be fine.”

Deal nodded again, regaining his composure, and Locke followed him through the door.

He walked into a small antechamber that faced a metal sliding door, and there was the guard sitting behind the bulletproof glass. The guard looked at the two of them while Deal pressed his hand on a biometric pad.

“Who are you?” the guard asked Locke, who ignored the hand scanner.

“Tyler. James Tyler.” Use something close to the truth, and it’s easier to cover a lie. James was his middle name.

“I haven’t seen you before, Tyler.”

“I’m new. Cutter hired me two days ago to replace Howard Olsen.”

“Scan your hand.”

“I can’t. With all that’s going on lately, they haven’t put me in the system yet. But Dr. Garrett wants me to escort Mr. Deal here back down.”

Locke had remembered the name of the man who fell from the Space Needle elevator, Howard Olsen, and assumed he was on the guard staff. It seemed to do the trick. So many names being dropped so quickly must have convinced the guard that Locke was legit.

“Password,” the guard said.

Locke kept his eyes on the guard. Either Deal would say it or he wouldn’t, but Locke wanted to know immediately whether the guard would open the door.

“Heaven.”

The guard nodded. Locke had been focused on his eyes, and for just a split second, the guard’s eyes had opened slightly and the eyebrows had lifted in the middle. The guard covered well, and if Locke hadn’t been looking directly at him at that moment, he would have missed it. But the guard was surprised. It wasn’t the password he was expecting.

Nevertheless, he lazily tapped a button on the panel in front of him and the door slid open. Then his hand fell back to his side, and he waved them through with his other hand. Classic misdirection. Something was about to go down.

So Locke did the same thing. He waved his hand at Deal to walk through ahead of him, drawing attention away from his other hand that reached into the pack hanging at his side. He had to time this right, or he’d be dead the second he walked through that door.

FORTY-NINE

The guard manning the Oasis entrance that night was George Henderson. The job wasn’t his favorite, but he was a professional, so he paid attention, particularly to anything that didn’t fit standard procedure. This guy who called himself Tyler was definitely in that category.

Normally, Henderson would be one of the first to know if a new member of the security team had been hired. But given how fast the last few days had gone, it was conceivable that he wouldn’t have been notified. The guard duty rotated amongst the security team, and this was the first time he’d pulled the duty in a week. When Tyler had mentioned Cutter and Olsen and Garrett, he assumed that the guy was valid.

Until Deal said “Heaven.” That was the warning password. Whoever Tyler was, he wasn’t welcome.

Henderson briefly considered calling Cutter and reporting the incident without opening the access door, but he decided this was a perfect opportunity to take care of the matter himself. His standing orders were to use his judgment in handling these matters, including taking the subject down himself. Which was exactly what he chose to do. He could eliminate this intruder on his own, and with that kind of heroic deed, he’d never be asked to perform desk duty again.

So he pressed the button to open the door and simultaneously dropped his other hand to his sidearm. He’d be able to draw it as the intruder rounded the corner. Henderson would get three shots into Tyler before he knew what hit him.

The intruder waved Deal to the door. Deal came through, and at the same time Henderson heard a clatter on the floor. Instinctively, his eyes dropped from Tyler to the floor. He saw a metal cylinder bounce against the wall and come to rest near his feet.

His peripheral vision registered that Tyler threw himself to the ground behind the glass, but Henderson realized too late that the cylinder at his feet was a flash grenade. He was looking directly at it when it exploded in his face.

Locke crouched against the wall, pressed his fingers into his ears, and shut his eyes tightly. He’d pulled the pin on the flash grenade and counted to two before flicking it with his wrist in the direction of the open door.

The grenade went off with a loud thump. The grenade was intended to disable with a bright light and concussive force of the explosion. In most cases, the explosion wasn’t injurious, but stunned its targets by rendering them deaf, blind, and dizzy.

Locke leapt to his feet and dashed through the doorway. Both Deal and the guard were lying on the floor clawing at their eyes. Before the guard could recover, Locke slammed him in the back of his head with the butt of the rifle he’d appropriated from one of the guard’s dead colleagues. The guard dropped to the deck unconscious, but breathing. The smoke lingered as the ventilation system struggled to dissipate it.

Locke took advantage of the smoke cover and smashed the sentry room’s camera, but he knew that it wouldn’t take Cutter’s security team long to notice it wasn’t working. When that happened, they’d first think it was a technical glitch. Then they would call the guard to confirm there wasn’t a security breach. When they got no response, they’d send a guard to check. Locke guessed that they had two minutes at most.

Grant and Turner, who’d heard the blast through the earpiece, rushed through the outer door. Locke hadn’t been able to tell them about his improvisation, so they came through the door with their guns at the ready. When they saw Locke was the only one standing, they lowered their weapons.

“Looks like you’ve got things under control,” Grant said.

“He tried to take me down by himself,” Locke said.

“Big mistake.”

“Where’s Knoll?”

“He’s keeping watch outside.”

“We’d better hurry.”

Turner removed a packet of plastic restraining ties from his pocket. He threw a couple to Locke, who used them to bind the guard’s hands and feet behind his back. Grant did the same with the groaning Deal while Turner radioed his sergeant.

“Ares Leader to Ares One,” he said.

“Ares One here.”

“We’re through the front door. We’ve still got five minutes before those guards are supposed to check in. Maintain your position. I’ll alert you when we’ve secured the barriers. Make no move before then unless you get confirmation from me.”

“Roger that.”

Locke checked the hallway leading from the guard station, where it reached an intersection. To the right and left were long corridors that ended in doors. Locke turned and saw two elevators with only one call button. Down. Across from the elevators was another door, a triple-thick heavy-duty metal slab that could probably take a direct hit by an RPG. Locke eased it open.

It was the interior of the hangar, a huge chamber. About fifty feet away, Locke could see the open hangar door and next to it, a large service elevator. Two guards stood at the elevator, observing the movement of equipment. Apparently, the thick door had muffled the flash bang well enough for it to go unnoticed amid the noise the guards were making.

The hangar contained only one thing, but there was a hell of a lot of it. Dirt. Massive piles of it stretching to the ceiling and filling every corner of the hangar, leaving only a wide path to reach the service elevator. All of it had been bored out of the earth below him and stacked here so that no one would see dump trucks leaving the facility. They could put up the buildings without much permitting, but digging out thousands of tons of dirt and rock would have invited unwanted questions about what was being built. The other hangars must have been filled to the brim as well.

Locke closed the door without the guards seeing him. They were too focused on the other side of the hangar. He walked down one end of the long corridor past the elevator and opened the door to see a wide stairway leading down.

At the first landing, there was the horizontal concrete barrier that was recessed into the wall. At the press of a button at the central security station, the barrier would come out of the wall over the landing and nestle into the opposite wall, covering the entire stairwell. It would take far more explosives than Locke had in his bag of tricks to blast through it.

He couldn’t hear anyone in the stairwell and closed the door. Locke jogged back to the guard station and saw the computer monitor sitting on the guard’s desk. If they could log into the system, they might be able to get a schematic for the underground facility.

“I’m going to check…”

Those were the only words Locke got out. He heard a shot outside the building. The outside door crashed open, and Knoll’s lifeless body tumbled inside. A guard rushed in and jumped over Knoll. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the residual smoke and the three men standing in the guard’s chamber.

The guard raised his weapon to fire, and Locke lunged for the button controlling the security door. He slammed his hand down on it as bullets from the guard’s machine gun thudded into the wall behind the open door. Grant ducked under them, and the security door slammed shut. The guard put another round into the glass, but it was, indeed, bulletproof, and the rounds simply smacked into it.

The guard whipped the radio to his lips, and Locke realized that he, Grant, and Turner had only seconds to get down the stairs because the guard was radioing that security had been breached. Oasis was going to be locked down.

“Come on!” Locke yelled and ran toward the east stairs.

Grant was behind him, and Turner followed, yelling into his radio.

“Ares One! This is Ares Leader! We’ve been made! Start your attack!”

“Roger, Ares Leader!”

Locke plunged through the door and took the stairs down two at a time. A klaxon sounded. He was just past the landing when the barrier began to emerge from the wall and slide across the stairwell. The concrete slab must have weighed tons, but it was closing quickly. It was already halfway to the opposite wall as Grant hopped over it and down the stairs.

Turner dove over the railing and into the opposite wall. He tucked himself in and rolled down the stairs, just squeezing through before the barrier slammed with a clunk into the wall.

The klaxon reduced to a quarter volume, and a female voice said, “Intruder alert. Stay in your rooms.” The message repeated ten seconds later. Locke assumed the message was aimed at the facility’s civilian occupants.

He helped Turner up. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Turner said, massaging his shoulder.

“Try your radio.”

Turner called for the sergeant three times. No answer except static.

“The barrier’s too thick,” Turner said.

“And if we can’t raise them, we can’t radio the bomber.”

“Then our first objective after we find the bioweapon is to get the barrier open again.”

Locke simply nodded. They all knew what they were up against. There were seven levels to explore, at least twenty guards still inside, hundreds of unarmed civilians, including Dilara Kenner, to worry about, and if they didn’t secure the bioweapon and reconnect with their team in the next 30 minutes, the most powerful non-nuclear bomb in the military’s arsenal would turn the entire complex into a sinkhole.

Grant cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “this should be a challenge.”

FIFTY

Dilara Kenner was vaguely aware of a banging noise, and it sounded like a voice was yelling at her. Her eyes fluttered open. Her head lolled to the side and felt like it was mired in quicksand. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. Then she saw two men at the other end of a room. One man, dressed all in black, was talking into a radio. The other man, who was in a white lab coat, was looking at him intently. Then she recognized them and the chair she had been strapped into, and her adrenaline kicked in.

She didn’t know how she had gotten to the table. Whatever they had drugged her with made her lightheaded, but the horn that still blared in the background had awakened her, and the adrenaline surging through her body was overcoming the effects of the pharmaceuticals.

The words coming from the speakers became clear.

Intruder alert. Stay in your rooms.

Someone was assaulting the complex. And if rescuers were inside, her best chance was to find them herself.

The fuzziness in her brain was clearing. She closed her eyes and willed herself to concentrate. If they knew she was awake again, they’d strap her back down or put her back in the bedroom.

The guard’s deeper voice said, “Stay here and watch her. I’m going to find out what’s going on. Lock this door and don’t open it. I’ll come back and unlock it when we have the all-clear.”

The door opened and closed. She was alone with the doctor.

She silently flexed her hands and legs. They were working, but she couldn’t tell how much strength she still had. She’d have to chance it.

She let out a soft moan and rocked her head back and forth slightly as if she were just coming out of her stupor.

The doctor came to the side of the bed as she thought he would. She fluttered her eyes open and closed. He was standing next to her, probably figuring out what he should do. His crotch was level with the top of the table. Perfect.

She turned over on her side facing the doctor and moaned even louder. The doctor reached out with his hand to steady her, never seeing her knee lash out at him.

She hit him squarely in the groin, and the skinny man doubled over with a squeak. He fell to his knees, sucking in air.

Dilara jumped off the table too quickly. She got a severe head rush and leaned against the table to steady herself.

The doctor wobbled, trying to get to his feet. Dilara fell back on her defensive training. When she knew she’d be spending a lot of time excavating digs in dangerous locations, she’d taken hand-to-hand defense and weapons training, just in case. Now she was glad she did. And the first thing she had learned was that the elbow was one of the strongest points on the body. You could use it for maximum damage with the least amount of danger of injuring yourself.

The doctor’s head was now even with her elbow.

With what strength she had, she threw her elbow backward, slamming the doctor in the side of the head. His opposite ear smacked into the counter top. Dilara’s arm rang with pain from the impact, but she’d accomplished what she wanted. The doctor fell to the floor, out cold.

She wasn’t strong enough to heave him into the chair and strap him down. Besides, there wasn’t enough time. They’d find out she was gone soon anyway. She had to try to rendezvous with the intruders. All she was sure of was that whoever was attacking the facility was her friend.

She looked around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. She had no intention of leaving unarmed.

Garrett and Cutter had been in the fifth level’s scientific laboratories when Cutter got the call from the guard that the entranceway had been breached. They had been supervising the last stage of readying the prion devices for shipment. As soon as the call came in, Cutter had ordered the entire facility locked down.

Soon after that, he got reports from his team still outside that they were being attacked by hostile forces, probably Army special ops. Cutter went to a monitor and called up the sentry camera’s digital playback. It showed a guard with David Deal coming through the security door, and then a flash and smoke. After that, the camera went dead. Cutter played it back again and recognized the man dressed as a guard.

“Locke!” Garrett shouted. “That news story was a phony! Did we get the barriers closed in time?”

“My guard can’t get to the stairs,” Cutter said, “but he thinks they might have made it in. Only three of them. He saw them go towards the east stairwell.”

“Dilara Kenner. We can use her as a hostage. Have the guard bring her here. I don’t care if she’s awake or not.”

Cutter called the guard he’d left with the doctor.

“Is the woman conscious yet?” Cutter asked.

“I don’t know,” the guard replied.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m on my way down to the control room,” the guard said.

“What? Get back to the exam room now and get Kenner. Bring her to the lab level. Carry her if you have to. Use the west stairwell.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If Locke has only two other people with him,” Garrett said, “what could they do?”

“It sounds like they have Army reinforcements outside, so they’ll try to open the barriers. If they succeed, the soldiers outside may be able to launch a full-scale assault of Oasis and wipe us out.”

“The control room then. Go. I’ll finish up here. When we have Kenner, patch me into the loudspeakers. I don’t think Locke will let her die a slow death. When the devices are ready, I’ll destroy the remaining samples. We can’t let our research get into the Army’s hands.”

The control room, located deep down on level seven, was the central nervous system of the Oasis complex. Guards posted there could watch any room in the facility via the cameras mounted throughout the structure. The control room was the only place from which the barriers could be opened.

“Where’s Locke now?” Cutter said into his mouthpiece as he drew his pistol and sprinted for the north stairwell. If he could circle around and sneak up on them from behind, he might be able to end it quickly.

“They’re still at the top of the east stairwell. Shit!”

“What happened?”

“They just took out the camera.”

Security for Oasis had been designed to keep intruders out. The design never assumed they could make it past the fence and sentry posts, so the internal cameras were meant for observing the inhabitants in order to control them, not to track intruders. A good smack from a rifle butt could take one out.

“Tell no one to use the east stairs. Use the north or west stairs. We’ll lure them down and then get them from above. Prepare for an assault. I’m on my way.”

Cutter eased the north stairwell door open. No shots. No one there. He ran down the stairs.

Locke opened the door to the first level. He saw a long hallway that was bisected by a T-intersection at its halfway point before it got to what looked like another stairwell door at the other end. No guards. The civilian occupants were heeding the warning to stay in their rooms. Finding Dilara would be a tedious task, Locke realized with dismay, that they didn’t have time for.

Turner kept an eye on the stairwell. Grant had busted the camera, but that didn’t give them much protection. They’d have to destroy cameras as they went.

“How do we get those barriers open?” Turner asked.

“There’s a control room on the bottom level,” Locke said. “It’ll be a hardened facility.”

“And the hazmat lab?”

“Fourth or fifth level. It’ll be the only other one that’s secure. They won’t want nonessential personnel wandering in there.”

“So what’s our plan?”

“Lab first?” Grant said.

Locke nodded. “Less heavily protected. Plus, if the bioweapon isn’t secure, we might as well just wait there for the bomb to fall.”

“Then let’s go,” Turner said. “Keep an eye on the doors as we go. I’ll be ready with grenades if we hear someone below.”

“But first, a little surprise.” Locke dug around in his pack.

“Something else in your bag of tricks?”

“We don’t want someone coming from behind us unannounced,” Grant said, knowing what Locke was planning. “Makes his back prickly.”

About four inches from the door, Locke placed an updated version of a claymore mine. On the side facing the door were the words, “Front toward enemy.” The explosive was directional, meaning friendlies could stand behind it and receive minimal injuries while those in front of it would be shredded by the blast. Locke set a striker in front of the mine. Now if the door opened, it would hit the striker, and anyone standing within 20 feet of the door would become “non-operational,” as the Army liked to put it.

Locke finished placing the striker and stood. “Now that the itch in my back is scratched,” he said, “let’s find the lab.”

FIFTY-ONE

The exam room seemed like any other Dilara had visited in her life. She rummaged through the drawers and cabinets looking for something that she could take with her for protection. They wouldn’t keep scalpels in here, but she was hoping to find something sharp, pointy, or heavy. She found plenty of tongue depressors, gauze, cotton balls, and towels, but the only thing sharp was the hypodermic that had been used on her.

Without a weapon, she was defenseless. The guards were much tougher than the doctor and would take her down in a second. Still, she couldn’t just wait for someone to rescue her. Better to be proactive and go down fighting.

Her best option was to head for the stairs and try to make an escape while their attention was focused on whoever had invaded the facility. Once she was above ground, she could make contact with the invaders.

Dilara’s heart was pounding as she inched the door open to see if anyone was in the hall. If she just popped out, her escape might be over before it began. She peered through the slit.

No one in that direction. She opened the door wider until she could see the “315” on it and looked the other way. Clear. She made a motion to leave and then heard a man talking. Coming this way, but down a hall she couldn’t see. He paused while he spoke, as if he were talking on a phone. One set of footsteps. He was alone.

She recognized the voice. It was the guard who’d just left.

“I’ll be down there with her in a minute,” he said.

He was coming for her.

Dilara slid the door closed quietly. She only had a few seconds. The guard would need to open the door fully before he saw the doctor on the floor. That might give her a second of surprise.

She grabbed the hypodermic and stuck the needle into the same vial she had seen the doctor use. She drew five times the amount used on her. Then she crouched behind the door, which opened inward.

She held the syringe with one hand and placed her other palm over the plunger. The footsteps outside approached the door. No hesitation in them. The guard expected to see Dilara still lying on the table. It might take him a second to register what happened, and in that time, she needed to act.

The door swung open, and the guard walked in, stopping even with her when he saw the doctor on the floor. Dilara lunged out from behind the door and thrust the needle into the guard’s thigh up to the plastic and at the same time shoved the plunger down hard. The clear liquid surged into his leg before he could move.

The guard yelped and pulled his leg back. Dilara still gripped the syringe as the needle withdrew, and she held it like a switchblade.

“You bitch!” the guard shouted and rushed her. The muscular guard knocked the syringe out of her hand and picked her up by the shoulders.

Even though the drug went into muscle, Dilara hoped the high dose would have the same effect as it had on her. She had started silently counting the moment she had injected him.

At the count of six, the guard shoved her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. She doubled over, gasping for air.

“Stay there!” the guarded shouted. All she could do was count.

At the count of eight, he raised the radio to his lips.

At the count of nine, his eyes rolled back in his head.

At the count of ten, he hit the floor.

The guard was barely conscious, but he was out of it. He moaned softly and babbled something Dilara couldn’t make out. She sucked in a breath and finally stood straight.

She kicked at the guard’s arm, but it was limp, so she was easily able to take his submachine gun. She also relieved him of his spare magazines.

She examined the gun. Heckler & Koch MP-5. She’d fired one once during her training. Nice, light weapon. Just what she needed.

She stuffed his Sig Sauer pistol into her waistband and went in search of the stairs.

At the second level, Locke repeated the precautions he’d taken on the first level. They disabled each camera and then placed a claymore against the door. With the cameras out, whoever came through first would have no idea how unhappy he was going to be for the 30 milliseconds he had to live.

Grant broke the third level camera, and Locke knelt near the door. He placed the mine and was about to set the striker when he heard footsteps squeak lightly on the tile in the hallway beyond the door. Someone was coming.

Locke hadn’t finished setting up the claymore, so he shoved the mine and striker aside and backed away on the landing, aiming his gun at the door. Grant and Turner were on the stairs below him, the weapons trained on the door. It opened, and when Locke saw the face peer through, he eased up on the trigger.

“Hold your fire!” he yelled.

It was Dilara, and she was armed to the teeth.

“Tyler!” she said. “You’re alive!” She threw herself into his arms, and Locke hugged her tightly. After a few seconds, he let her go and gave a sheepish grin to Turner, who looked nonplussed.

“Are you okay?” Locke said to Dilara.

“Garrett drugged me, but I’ll be all right.” Her voice was a little thick, as if she were eating sticky peanut butter.

Locke pointed to the MP-5 she was carrying. “You sure you’re up to handling that right now?”

“When I came through that door, I almost shot you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“They said you were dead.”

“Good. That’s what I wanted them to think.”

“We have to stop them,” Dilara said. “They’re planning to release some kind of prion in New York, LA, and London. They’re shipping the stuff out tonight.”

“That’s why we’re here. And we’ve got about twenty minutes to find it.”

“Why twenty minutes?”

He told her about the bomber circling overhead.

“Is it just the three of you?”

Locke nodded. “The rest of our team is locked out on the surface. We’ve lost communications with them.”

“Then what do we do?”

“After we secure the prions, we have to figure out a way to get into their control room.”

“Maybe a guard would be able to give us a way in,” Dilara said.

“Even if we find one,” Locke said, “these guys aren’t the talkative types. It would take too long to get anything out of them.”

“I know one who might talk.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I just pumped him full of truth serum.”

FIFTY-TWO

Sebastian Garrett watched his scientists load the last of the Arkon-C into the dispersion devices. In a few minutes, they would be ready for deployment. The assault had been a great inconvenience, but nothing more than that if he could get these scientists finished.

“Hurry up,” he said into the microphone. “This is taking too long.”

The transfer of the Arkon-C was taking place, as it always did, inside the chamber he’d used only a few days ago to make his point about traitors. All of the Arkon that existed in the world, except the one sample still on Noah’s Ark, was in that chamber. And once the transfer was complete, he would destroy the surplus.

The computer files had already been destroyed. He kept the only remaining copy of the files in a USB drive in his pocket. It held all of the plans for modifying Arkon-A, the raw form on Noah’s Ark, into Arkon-C. He didn’t want to take the one-in-a-million chance that the government would get their hands on the process and engineer some kind of antidote.

The men inside the closed chamber were wearing biohazard suits, just in case containment was compromised during the job. The other labs had already been sterilized with salt water, a process that took longer than using heat, but was just as effective. It was the reason Noah had been able to eventually emerge from the Ark and repopulate the world, the Arkon having been destroyed after it wiped out the animals and flowed into the salty seas.

In the observation room were the three men who would deliver the devices. Each of them assumed they would come back to Oasis once their jobs were complete, but there was a slight risk that they’d be infected during their missions. When they returned, they would get as far as the entranceway and be terminated there by guards waiting in hazmat suits. Garrett regretted losing believers, but it was necessary to ensure the safety of Oasis.

The only other people in the observation room with Garrett were the chamber operator and Svetlana Petrova. Dilara Kenner should have been here by now.

He spoke into his radio.

“Cutter, where is Dilara Kenner? I can’t bargain with somebody I don’t have. He’ll want to hear her voice.”

“She got away, sir,” Cutter said.

Garrett’s hand clenched on the walkie-talkie. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. But we just saw her run into the third level stairwell, right about where Locke should be.”

“So they’re together now?”

“I don’t know. The stairwell camera is out at that level.”

“Well then, what do you know?”

“None of the hallway cameras has picked them up, which means they’re all in the stairwell, and we’re about to start our attack.”

“Fine, then. I obviously don’t need Dr. Kenner any more. Kill them all.”

Cutter watched the camera on level four. It was still intact and didn’t show any movement, which meant that Locke and the others must still be at the third level landing.

Perfect.

Cutter planned a three-pronged attack. Four men would come up the east stairwell below them and serve as the decoy. Another four men, who must have just missed Kenner running into the stairwell, were stationed halfway down the third level corridor, ready to ambush Locke when he came out the door. They would remain hidden until Cutter signaled that Locke and his companions had entered the range of the third level hallway cameras. Then his men would pop out and mow them down.

Cutter’s confidence in the plan came from the third prong. Once the attack had started below, the last four men, who had used the west stairwell to get up to the first level, would move into the east stairwell from above and close in a pincer movement. If they could sneak up on Locke, they could end it right there, but if not, Locke would be driven right into the ambush in the hallway.

Cutter wanted to be leading the battle himself, especially because he had seen Grant Westfield with them, but he could help the team best by directing the attack from the control room. At least he’d get to watch Westfield die on his monitor.

“Teams check in,” he said.

“Team One ready.” The bottom level team.

“Team Two ready.” The team on level one.

“Team Three ready.” The ambushers in the hallway on level three.

“Teams two and three, wait for my signal. Team One, go.”

Team One burst through the seventh level door and charged up the stairs. By now, Locke and his group would hear the footsteps below and be aiming for them, focusing their attention away from the upper levels. Team One’s directive was to start firing before they got to the third level, both as a distraction and to cover the sound of Team Two coming down from the first level. It might even drive Locke upstairs into the arms of Team Two.

He heard Team One begin firing. He didn’t hear any return fire. Locke must be figuring out what to do. Now was the time.

“Team Two go!”

Cutter saw the Team Two leader in the hallway of level one kick the door open.

The door exploded.

The two men who were right in front of the door were blown to pieces. The other two men, who had been covering them, went down holding their faces. Cutter gritted his teeth. The door had been booby-trapped.

Cutter called for Team One to pull back. Too late.

He heard an explosion before the Team One leader could respond.

“Team One leader is gone!” Cutter heard from another man. “They’re dropping grenades down the stairs!”

Cutter was losing his men fast. “Team One, get out now! Use the closest door! Team Three, hold position and wait for my command.” Maybe Locke would still come out through the third level door, and he could salvage this debacle.

He waited and saw nothing from the third level hallway camera. Thirty seconds passed. Nothing.

“Switch to the level two hallway camera,” he said.

The monitor showed Dilara Kenner behind Locke and another soldier holding Grant Westfield up to the camera. All looked uninjured. Westfield’s face took up almost the whole image. His arms were extended past the camera behind it. Why didn’t he just break it? What was he…

Dammit!

“Shut down that camera!” Cutter yelled. “Hurry!”

The operator wasn’t fast enough. With a flash, all of the video feeds blinked out.

FIFTY-THREE

When the attack had started, Turner had ordered them to retreat into the third level hallway. Locke had been about to open the door, but Grant stopped him. His history with Cutter made him think that’s exactly what Cutter wanted. He also predicted the attack from above. Grant’s instinct was good enough for Locke. When they heard the explosion from the first level, confirming Grant’s suspicions, Turner agreed. They dropped a couple of grenades down the stairs and did what Cutter wouldn’t expect. They went up.

Grant saw the remains of the camera on the level two landing and told Locke he had a way to take out the cameras, which were becoming a real nuisance. Even if they shut down each camera as they went, doing so would eat into time they didn’t have, and Cutter could track them by the sequence of outages. Locke wasn’t an electrical engineer, so he had overlooked something that grabbed Grant’s attention.

The cameras were all on the same circuit and weren’t shielded. If Grant could find a high voltage wire and tie it directly into a camera’s video feed, he could overload the whole system.

In the second level hallway, Grant balanced on Locke and Turner’s shoulders to reach. Sparks flew when he spliced the wires together, and Locke heard a pop from another camera down the hall.

Grant jumped down. “We should be good to go. That’ll teach them for giving the construction contract to someone without my amazing skills.”

The klaxon shut off. A few doors opened. Civilians lured out by the voices. They must be on a residential level.

“Everyone stay in your rooms,” Locke yelled, and the doors slammed shut.

He led them to the stairway at the west end of the hallway. Turner followed without a word. Since Locke knew the basic layout better than anyone else, Turner had deferred the point position to him.

Only fifteen minutes were left, and they all felt the pressure to move quickly, but they couldn’t risk attacking head-on a fortified position they had little intel about. Anything the guard doped up on truth serum might be able to tell them would be worth the time.

They went cautiously into the stairwell and saw no one. They were halfway down when the door from the third level opened. Turner had the angle and fired two quick bursts, taking down two guards before they could react. The bodies kept the door from closing, and Locke could see another two guards retreat down the hallway.

This must have been the ambush team that Grant assumed would be waiting for them. Now Locke had the advantage of numbers. He ran into the hall firing shots at the running guards, who were going for the east stairwell. Just like Locke wanted.

He could see one of the guards halt before opening the door as if the man were listening to someone in his earpiece. But the other soldier barreled past him and launched himself at the door. The first guard tried to hold him back, but the door was already swinging open and hit the striker of the claymore that Locke had reset there.

The blast threw them backwards, and the guards came to rest face down, their bodies a mess of blood and dust.

“Which room?” Locke asked Dilara.

She led them to a room around the corner. Grant covered them while Locke opened the door. They found the doctor and the drugged guard still on the floor.

Grant and Turner picked up the guard and put him in the chair, clasping the restraints over his wrists.

“What’s your name?” Locke asked the guard while Turner wrapped the doctor’s wrists and ankles with plastic cuffs.

The guard’s eyes were completely dilated, unable to fix on who was speaking to him.

“Connelly.” He voice was slurred, like he’d chugged a twelve-pack.

“How many guards are there, Connelly?”

“Guards?”

“Your men. How many?”

“Thirty-two total security forces.”

“Looks like this stuff is working,” Grant said.

“How many inside?” Locke asked.

Connelly paused, confused. The math was too much for him. Locke had to make it less complicated.

“How many men are usually posted outside, Connelly?”

“Standard operations is 12.”

With the four in the hangar that meant 16 outside when the barriers came down. Cutter started with 16 inside, and now less than that. If Locke was lucky, Cutter had fewer than 10 men left. With that few, it would be risky for him to try another assault and lose more men.

Cutter would pull his men back to the control room and make a stand there. He would make it a battle of attrition, but Locke had to worry about the time. Ten minutes until the bomb dropped.

“What about the civilians, Connelly?” Locke asked. “Are they armed?”

Connelly shook his head lazily. “Garrett doesn’t want them to have weapons. Only us.”

That would feed into Garrett’s plan for dominating the group once he had wiped out everyone outside Oasis. He wanted a bunch of sheep he could command in his New World. Cutter wouldn’t be getting help from anyone else, just his security forces.

“Where is the bio lab?’

“Fifth level,” Connelly said.

“How do we get in?”

“Can’t. Palm scanner.”

“What about the control room? Where is it?”

“Seventh level.”

“Palm scanner?”

Connelly nodded. “If it isn’t locked manually from the inside.”

“Which they would probably do,” Turner said.

“Connelly, if you were attacking the control room, how would you do it?”

“East stairwell. Direct shot at the door. RPG.” Rocket propelled grenade.

“Two problems with that,” Grant said. “We don’t have an RPG, and it might blow the whole room apart. We need it functional to open those barriers.”

Locke shook Connelly. “How else? How do we get in?”

“Can’t. Have to wait until they come out.”

Get them to come out. That was it. And how do you get them to come out? Panic.

“Connelly,” Locke said, “does your palm print give you access to the bio lab?”

Connelly nodded.

Locke turned to Grant. “Help me pick him up. We’re taking him with us.”

They had their way in.

FIFTY-FOUR

On the fifth level landing of the west stairwell, Turner and Grant watched up and down the stairs while Locke pressed Connelly’s hand against the palm scanner leading into the bio lab. The screen changed into a keypad and said, “Enter pass code.”

“What’s the pass code?” Locke asked.

“78924,” Connelly responded robotically.

Locke entered the number. The door buzzed, and the bolt disengaged. Now that the klaxon had been shut off, the buzz sounded like an air horn in the empty stairwell.

Locke opened the door and shoved Connelly through it. No gunfire. Locke went in and saw another white hallway. Turner, Grant, and Dilara followed him in, their weapons held high.

“Where are they?” Locke said as he wrapped plastic ties around Connelly’s wrists. He didn’t need the guard any more. “Where’s Garrett?”

“Observation chamber.”

“Where’s that?”

“Right at the elevator. Halfway down.”

“What are they doing there?”

“Preparing the dispersion cases. Burning everything else.”

“Dispersion cases?” Locke stood and faced the others. “Must be like the one I found on the Genesis Dawn. That’s why my father wanted the bomber as backup.”

“So what’s the plan?” Turner said.

“Not much time left,” Locke said. His watch showed 9:53. Seven minutes. “We need to go in full throttle.”

Leaving Connelly on the floor, Locke jogged down to the elevator and peeked around the corner toward the north stairwell. Empty. Garrett must assume that they wouldn’t be able to get into the fifth level without blowing a door open, which would ruin any chance of being taken by surprise. Of course, Garrett didn’t know they had the helpful Connelly with them.

Locke waved at the others. They crept down the hall toward the observation room door. They were a quarter of the way down the hall when a door opened at the other end 70 feet away. A woman in a biohazard suit walked out and stopped in her tracks when she saw the four of them.

She shrieked and ran back into the room. That was all it took.

A guard with a weapon stepped out of the observation room, and Turner took him down with a three-shot burst. Locke ran down the hall and slid on his back past the door on the slick tile. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of Garrett and Svetlana Petrova going out a door on the opposite side of the room as he sailed past. A hail of bullets dotted the wall above Locke. He took a shot in that direction and thought he hit someone.

Turner leapt over the fallen guard and into the room. He took a hit in the shoulder and fell to the ground, but it was enough of a distraction for Grant, who followed him in and shot the last guard. Locke went in next.

A man in a white lab coat was crouched under a control panel in terror. Through a large window, Locke could see three others in biohazard suits inside a steel-lined chamber. On the chamber floor were three cases identical to the one Locke had taken from Garrett’s stateroom to the CDC. The men inside the chamber stopped what they were doing and watched the gun battle inside the observation room.

Locke noted all of this in a second, including that Garrett wasn’t there. Locke plunged through the opposite door and rolled onto his knees, ready to dodge gunfire. He saw Petrova throw open the stairwell door and Garrett turned and looked straight at him. Even from this far away, Locke could see the hate on Garrett’s face. Locke saw that Garrett wasn’t carrying a case.

Locke raised his gun to fire, but Petrova pulled Garrett into the stairwell with her, and he missed the shot. Locke went back into the observation room.

Grant was pressing his hand to Turner’s left shoulder.

“How is he?” Locke asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Turner said with a grimace. “We’re running out of time. Let’s finish this.”

Locke turned to the man at the control panel.

“Tell those people to get out now. Don’t bring anything out and lock it up.”

The men in the biohazard suits complied quickly, locking the chamber.

“Is that all of it?” Locke said, pointing his weapon at the cowering operator, who nodded furiously.

“That’s all the Arkon we have left.”

“Arkon? That’s the prion agent?”

“Yes.”

“And you can burn it all in there?”

Another nod.

“Then fire it up.”

“Wait a minute, Locke,” Turner said. “We’re supposed to secure it, not destroy it.”

“Sorry, Captain. Nobody’s getting their hands on this stuff. Especially my father.” To the operator, Locke said, “Do it.”

Turner made a move to stop him, but Grant put his hand on the Captain’s gun.

“Uh uh,” Grant said. “I didn’t go through all this just to let the Army get hold of a new weapon.”

“Captain Turner,” Locke said, “you didn’t see what Arkon can do. It reduced an entire planeload of people to bones in a matter of hours. I heard the tape of the pilot. That kind of death must have been excruciating. Do you have family?”

“A wife and two sons,” Turner said.

“Garrett was planning to use the Arkon to kill them and everyone else you’ve ever known. I’ll sleep a lot better knowing we’ve destroyed it. Won’t you?”

Turner paused, then said, “My official order to you is to secure that bio-agent. In my current condition, it might be difficult for me to stop you if you disobey my order.” He gave Locke a weak smile.

“Well,” Grant said, “that takes care of the technicalities.”

“Now,” Locke said to the operator, who pressed a red button marked, “Sterilize.”

Flames shot up inside the chamber. Locke watched the temperature gauge. Within seconds, the chamber was over 1000 degrees. The cylinders of Arkon in the open cases began to burst open, spewing their contents into the fire. Anything not metal melted and burned.

When the gauge hit 1500 degrees, Locke breathed a sigh of relief. The threat was gone, and the military was not going to have a new bioweapon to play with. Now they could focus on opening the barriers and saving their own butts. Locke looked at his watch.

“Five minutes left,” he said. “Time for us to implement phase two. Dilara, can you handle this guy?” Locke pointed at the chamber operator.

Even though a round was already chambered, she racked the bolt on the submachine gun and ejected a bullet for effect, which obviously frightened the operator even further. “I’m ready.” Her voice sounded much clearer.

Locke gave her Grant’s radio. They’d have only one chance, and the timing would have to be perfect.

“And you, Captain? No hard feelings about burning up the Arkon?”

“You still talking about that? Let’s finish this thing and get those barriers open. I don’t want to die any more than you do.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“I’ve still got one good arm. I can do my part.”

“Good. We’re only going to get one shot at this. We need them to be convinced they’re going to be infected by the Arkon. Captain Turner, when you’re in place, blow the seventh level door. Dilara, that will be your signal to press this button.”

Locke pointed to a button next to the one marked “Sterilize.” Inside a flip up lid that was in place to prevent accidental activation was a black- and yellow-striped button labeled with the bold letters, “Containment breach.”

FIFTY-FIVE

The B-52 from Fairchild AFB turned to begin its final pass over the Olympic peninsula. Even with the 30,000-pound MOP in its bomb bay, the immense bomber made the turn easily. It would take exactly 4 minutes and 39 seconds to reach the drop point.

Major Tom Williams listened to the command come in from General Locke.

“Drillbit Flight, you are go for release.”

“Acknowledged, Drillbit Command. Go for release at 2100 hours.”

“Drillbit Flight, be prepared to receive the abort code at any point before that.”

“Roger that.” On the internal comm, he said, “OK, boys, keep sharp. Let’s get this thing right on target.” Williams was the only officer on board who knew the true nature of the mission. He understood the importance of containing a deadly bioweapon, but he sure didn’t want to drop a bunker buster on American soil. He had his orders, but he kept hoping for that abort transmission to come in.

The bomb bay doors opened.

Locke and Grant were in position at the seventh level landing in the west stairwell. Turner was stationed in the east stairwell at the sixth level landing. Dilara was still in the bio lab observation room.

Locke hadn’t run into more guards, so Cutter had to be holed up with his men in the control room.

“Everybody ready?” Locke said. Even though their scrambled radio transmissions couldn’t reach outside, the radios worked within the confines of the Oasis facility.

“In position,” Turner said.

“I’m ready,” Dilara said.

Locke looked at his watch. Four minutes left. The only objective was to communicate the abort code to the bomber.

“Okay, Turner. Execute.”

Turner’s reply came over the radio. “Fire in the hole!”

The explosion was more than 150 feet away, on the other side of the facility, but it rattled the complex like it happened in the next room. Turner had set up the rest of the explosives from Locke’s bag of tricks just outside the east stairwell door leading into the seventh level. The dust and smoke should provide an effective barrier to anyone thinking of going out that way.

“Dilara,” Locke said. “Now.”

In the bio lab, Dilara hit the button marked, “Containment breach.” A siren blared throughout the complex, different from the intruder klaxon heard earlier.

“Warning!” the amplified voice now echoed. “Containment breach on level five!”

As the warning repeated, Locke threw the west stairwell door open. If Connelly’s information was correct, the control room would be at the midpoint of the seventh level hallway. Between the explosion and the containment breach alarm, Locke was hoping to cause a panic with the remaining guards. Surely they knew what Arkon could do.

As he predicted, two men burst through the door of the control room. Locke and Grant had to get there before the door closed on them.

Locke shot the guard on the left, and Grant took the man on the right, neither of whom had time to raise their weapons. Turner, his left arm slack at his side, came from the opposite direction, but he wouldn’t make it to the control room door in time to keep it from closing.

Locke raced down and grabbed the door handle just before it clicked shut. He pulled it back as bullets pounded into it. Grant tossed the last flash bang grenade into the room. They couldn’t risk disabling the barrier controls with a fragmentation grenade.

The flash bang blew, and Grant charged in, followed by Turner and Locke. The control room sprawled across 50 feet and looked like it managed every mechanical and electrical system in the facility. Two guards sat at a control station on the left, blinking their eyes. Grant took them down with two blows from his rifle stock.

Shots came from the right, and Locke saw Cutter and two more guards herding Garrett and his girlfriend into a hallway that had no outlet. It looked like Garrett had his very own panic room. Cutter fired as they retreated.

The panic room’s door began to slide closed. Just before the door shut, Locke saw Garrett smile and mouth the words, “You lose.” Then Garrett, Cutter, and Petrova were gone.

Locke didn’t have time to worry about them. They’d be as dead as him if he didn’t get the barriers open.

The only people still upright in the control room were Locke, Grant, and Turner, and they were faced with a control panel that stretched almost the length of the room.

The clock on the wall said 9:58. Half the monitors were black screens for the blown video cameras. The other half of the screens showed the status of different systems for operating of the facility.

“Quick!” Locke said. “Everyone look for the barrier control!”

“Hard switch?” Grant said.

“They wouldn’t use a software control. They’d have something dedicated.”

They started running their eyes over every switch and LCD panel.

“I think I found it!” Turner cried out. “It’s called Lockdown!”

“Try it!”

Turner flicked the switch. The monitor above it changed from red to green. The barriers were opening.

Sixty seconds.

Turner spoke the abort code into his radio. “Ares Leader to Drillbit Command. Come in Drillbit Command. The well is dry. I repeat, the well is dry.”

Nothing but static came back.

“We’re too deep,” Turner said. “Too much interference. We need to get to the surface.” Turner was beginning to go white from blood loss. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. And Grant was strong, but Locke was faster.

“I’ll go,” Locke said. He dropped his weapon and his pack and ran for the stairs.

As he leaped up the stairs two at a time, he kept repeating, “Drillbit Command. The well is dry. Drillbit Command come in.”

By the time he got to the second level, he was out of breath. The last hour of nonstop action had sapped him, and his adrenaline was gone. But as he reached the landing, Locke heard a voice drop in and out. He willed himself up higher.

“Ares…come…can’t…you…”

“I repeat, the well is dry. The well is dry!”

“This is Drillbit Command.” It was his father’s voice. “Say again.”

“Dad, it’s me! The well is dry! Don’t drop the damned bomb!”

His father yelled in the background. “Abort! Abort! Abort!” Locke’s new favorite word. He fell to his hands and knees, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

“Abort! Abort! Abort!” came the radio call. The pilot, Major Williams, relayed the command to the bombardier, who had been about to release the weapon.

Williams realized only then how tightly he had been clenching the yoke. Now that he no longer had the specter of bombing his own country hanging over him, he eased up on the grip and relaxed.

“Drillbit Flight returning to base,” Williams said into the radio and turned the B-52 on an eastern course, back toward Spokane.

The bomb bay doors closed.

FIFTY-SIX

Locke emerged from Oasis to find that the special forces team outside had already taken care of the rest of the guards, capturing a few, killing most, with three casualties of their own, including Private Knoll. As soon as the abort code had been given, Blackhawk helicopters that had been on standby flew in with two platoons of military police from Ft. Lewis. Scores of soldiers patrolled the grounds, looking for any stragglers who might be trying to make an escape through hidden exits. It took the MPs nearly an hour to roust the inhabitants of Oasis and gather them outside. Hundreds of dazed people sat under the arc lamps wondering what had happened.

When the containment breach button had been pressed, the entire fifth level locked down, so it took a while to extract Dilara. When she was free, Locke took her topside, where they both took a moment to enjoy the cool night air before heading for the staging area where the wounded were being treated.

Locke had already told Dilara about how Garrett had holed himself up in the panic room.

“We still don’t know how all this was tied to Noah’s Ark,” she said. “Garrett said that a relic in the Ark was the source of the prion. I don’t know whether to believe him.”

“The CDC scientist told me the prion must have been engineered from some raw material,” Locke said. “The relic would fit that description.”

“So you think Garrett was telling the truth?”

“We’ll know soon enough. When they finally pry Garrett out of that room, he’s going to use every bargaining chip he has to save his skin, including the location of Noah’s Ark. Garrett has a talent for self-preservation.”

“The only thing I want to know is what happened to my father,” she said.

“I’ve told them to call me as soon as they capture Garrett. I promise you’ll get an answer.”

They reached a clearing where six men lay on stretchers. Medics hovered around them, inserting IVs and bandaging wounds. Grant was standing next to Turner, whose shoulder wound was being dressed before he was transferred to Madigan Army Medical Center at Ft. Lewis. The red-headed captain looked even paler than normal, which Locke hadn’t thought possible.

“How are you feeling?” Locke asked him.

“It isn’t the hardest Purple Heart I’ve earned,” Turner said weakly.

“Your men did a great job without you.”

“I trained them well. You didn’t do so bad yourself. I’m glad we brought you along.”

“Now the hard work begins. Sorting this mess out.”

“These people look like they don’t know what hit them,” Grant said as another helicopter landed.

“”I don’t think most of them do,” Locke said. “From what I gather, the majority seemed to think this was some kind of test of their faith.”

“You mean, they had no idea what Garrett was planning?”

“I’m sure some of them did. It’ll take Homeland Security some time to find out which ones.”

“But you burned all of the evidence,” Turner said. “Garrett’s going to get away with it, and we’ll have a hell of a political mess on our hands. These religious nuts are going to make the government miserable.”

“I don’t think so,” Locke said. “I only burned the dangerous stuff. The man who operated the sterilization chamber was so frightened about being blamed for everything that he led us to a trove of documents detailing the plan inside the lab level. Nothing about the prion weapon itself, but plenty about the rest of it.”

“And a good thing,” said Miles Benson, who rode towards Locke from the helicopter on his IBOT wheelchair. “Garrett’s company can take the heat for that road race you had with the dump truck in Phoenix. I’ve already contacted our lawyers and the insurance company. Now I won’t have take it out of your next partnership share.” He smiled. “Strong work.”

“Thanks.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I could use a nap.”

A sergeant yelled “Ten hut!” and the soldiers that were standing came to attention before an immediate, “At ease!” followed. Locke’s father, now in a forest camouflage BDU instead of his Class A service uniform, marched up and came to a halt next to Miles. Other than Miles’ disability, the two men had the same appearance. Military stature, crew cuts, hard faces. They could have been brothers.

The General held Locke’s eyes as he addressed the soldiers. “Excellent job, men. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“General Locke tells me you insisted on coming on the mission,” Miles said.

“He’s always volunteering for some damn fool thing,” the General said. “Someday it’s going to get him killed. Where’s the prion weapon?”

“Your prion weapon is clogging the filters somewhere in this facility,” Locke said with satisfaction.

“My orders were to secure the weapon. What happened?”

“Sir,” Turner said, still prone, “the weapon posed a serious threat to our mission. The only way to accomplish our objective was to burn it.”

The General’s eyes narrowed at Locke. “Is that right?”

“It was my call whether you like it or not.”

General Locke took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’d like a word with my son. Alone.”

As the General strode away, Locke leaned down to Turner.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“We take care of our own. And now you’re one of us. Unofficially.”

“Let’s get you on the next chopper out of here,” Grant said, helping Turner up. Locke left them hobbling towards the Blackhawk.

Locke approached where the General stood ramrod straight and stopped with his nose just a foot from his father’s. His face was a rigid mask, ready to take whatever punishment his father wanted to dish out.

“You disobeyed orders,” the General said.

“I wasn’t going to let you get your hands on that prion weapon.”

“I don’t give a damn about that weapon. In fact, I’m glad you destroyed it.”

Locke’s face relaxed. Now he was confused. “What?”

“I told you that there’s no place in the world for these kinds of things.”

“But you ordered Turner…”

“Tyler, I’m a soldier, and my first duty is to follow orders. I was ordered to secure that bioweapon, so I passed that order on to Turner. Officially, that part of the mission failed, and I will have to take Turner’s report for what it is. Unofficially, I think you did the right thing. That took guts.”

“Surprised?”

“Not really. I’ve read your service record. Impressive enough, but back at White Sands was the first time you’ve really stood up to me. Not avoiding me, not like in college when you went behind my back and joined ROTC. To my face. Now seeing you in action for the first time only reinforces that impression.”

This was nothing like what Locke was expecting. The General was actually giving him a compliment. Other than the condolences he gave Locke when Karen died, it was the first positive thing he’d said in years.

“Why didn’t you want me to come on this mission?” Locke asked.

The General sighed. “You don’t have kids. I’m sorry you don’t. Then you might understand the position you put me in.” He paused. “I was going to order that B-52 to drop its bomb.”

The gruffness in his father’s voice was still there, but it had softened just slightly. Locke realized that his respect for the General had just ratcheted up a few notches. He thought about what his father had said about him destroying the bioweapon and Dilara’s revelation that a relic on Noah’s Ark held the last remaining specimen of it.

“If there were another sample of this prion somewhere,” Locke said pointedly, “and somebody knew where this small remnant was, what would you say to that person?”

“I’d say that I don’t know want to know anything I’d have to officially act on,” the General said, “but I’d hope that person had the fortitude to do the right thing and destroy it.”

Locke held the General’s eyes, then nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

They started walking back toward Miles and Dilara, who were still at the medic station.

The General gave him one last look. “And Tyler, stop being so pig-headed and stay in touch. Maybe next time I’ll need your help.” Then he walked away in the direction of the command post.

Miles looked at Locke in amazement. “You finally on good terms with him?” he asked.

Locke just shook his head, still stunned by his conversation. “I don’t know. For now, I guess.”

“So that means he’s a legitimate business contact now?”

Miles knew how to strike while the iron was sizzling.

“If you can get the contract, go for it,” Locke said. He held up a finger. “Just make sure I’m not the principal on the project. I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”

“Excellent,” Miles said, practically rubbing his hands together at the thought of the money rolling in. “Oh, before I go, Aiden contacted me on the flight out. He wanted you to call him. Said he’s got some interesting news for you.” He handed Locke his cell phone. “While you do that, I’m going to talk to General Locke about all the capabilities Gordian can bring to the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.” He motored away toward the command post and left him standing with Dilara.

“Just one call,” he said to Dilara, “and then we head back to Seattle.”

“Good,” she said. “I can use a shower.”

He dialed Aiden, who answered on the first ring.

“Tyler! I heard you had a wee bit of excitement out there. I’m jealous.”

“No, you’re not, I promise you. Listen, I’m beat, Aiden. Miles said you had something for me.”

“Absolutely. Remember that slip of paper from Dilara’s locket that you had us analyze? The one that said B C T?”

The Book of the Cave of Treasures. “To be honest,” Locke said, “I had forgotten about it. You found something?”

“Two sets of numbers and letters. We were able to read the pen indentations with the TEC’s scanning microscope. I think it’s a latitude and longitude. 122.bggyuW, 48.hutzsN.” Locke wrote them down and studied the odd coordinates.

“Why do these look familiar?” he said.

“Because you’re standing right at 122 west and 48 north,” Aiden said.

Locke realized he had seen the coordinates when they had been planning the raid on Oasis.

“Without the decimal digits, this could be anywhere on the island. What’s with the letters?”

“You tell me. That’s what the paper in the locket said.”

Locke turned to Dilara. “Did your father use a code for his notes?”

“Why?” Dilara said.

“He left you a message.” He showed her the coordinates. “And I think it leads to something else. Do you know how to read this?”

“I think so. For notes he didn’t want anyone else to read, he had a cipher. He taught it to me when I was young, and I use it in my notes sometimes. He and I are the only ones who know it.”

She looked at the coordinates and took Locke’s pen. She quickly crossed out each letter and substituted a number.

“Thanks, Aiden,” Locke said. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Let me know what you find.” Aiden hung up.

“What do you think it is?” Dilara asked.

“Only one way to find out.” He flagged down a passing soldier. “Sergeant, I need your GPS locator.”

“Yes, sir,” the surprised sergeant said and handed him the unit.

The coordinates were so precise, Dilara’s father must have used a GPS unit to record them. Locke entered them into the unit. He wasn’t surprised by the answer.

“It’s in this compound,” he said. Dilara looked completely reenergized.

The location was about 300 yards north of their position, back in the direction of the woods that Locke had driven through from the fence.

Using his flashlight, he and Dilara walked until they reached the coordinates. In the exact center was a pine tree that had to have been 500 years old. A black hollow in the tree showed where it had survived past forest fires.

“He must have buried it,” Dilara said. “He’s an archaeologist, after all. We’ll have to come back with a couple of shovels.”

Locke looked at the ground, which was covered with pine needles. If her father had buried something here three years ago, all traces had been washed away. Maybe the ground-penetrating radar could help them.

He was about to go back with Dilara, and then he stopped.

“Why would your father hide something out here?” Locke asked.

“I don’t know. It must have been something he didn’t want Garrett to find.”

“If he was a visitor, don’t you think it would have been odd for him to walk out here with a shovel? Someone would have noticed.”

“Maybe he used his hands.”

“With just his hands, he wouldn’t have been able to dig too deep. If he had, he would have come back all dirty and bloody. Garrett would have known something was up.”

“Then how else could he…”

She paused. They were both looking at the tree. The one with the hollowed trunk.

Locke shined the flashlight down inside the hollow. Nothing but wood chips and water. Then he bent over and looked up. A circular reflection. It was the end of a tube two inches in diameter, pushed up into a part of the trunk further hollowed by insects. He tried to reach it, but his hand was too big.

Dilara snaked her hand in and grasped the tube. It took her three tugs because the tube was wedged in so tightly, but on the last one, she yanked it free.

The tube was white, opaque, two feet long. The top was sealed shut and seemed watertight. Dilara wiped the gunk off the tube with her shirt. She took a deep breath, then opened it.

In the dim light, Locke could see a roll of yellowed parchment, ancient looking. In the center of the rolled parchment was a slip of white notepaper, obviously modern. Dilara carefully tugged the note free.

As she ran her eyes over the paper, her eyes welled with tears. When she got to the end, she looked up at Locke.

“Your father?” he said.

Dilara nodded. “He wanted me to find this. This is the Book of the Cave of Treasures. It’s the way to find Noah’s Ark.”

FIFTY-SEVEN

When he stepped out of the Blackhawk at Boeing Field, it seemed to Locke like months had passed since he and Dilara had arrived at the same spot from Las Vegas just five days ago. All Grant would talk about on the flight was Tiffany and his long-delayed return to Seattle, and Locke couldn’t be happier for him. Grant lived in an apartment downtown, so he hitched a ride in Miles Benson’s van back to Gordian headquarters. Locke took Dilara with him in the Porsche. Since she had already stayed at his house once before, he offered again. The big difference this time was that they didn’t have trained killers looking for them.

Her father had been smart about coding the message in her locket, although his flaw had been to make the slip of paper too hard for her to find in the first place by placing it under her mother’s photo. When Dilara had received it, she had no idea that she should look for a message inside it. But the coding itself was ingenious. The leading numbers showed they were latitude and longitude, but the coded lettering made the coordinates too imprecise to be of use in finding the hidden documents. No one who found the note, other than Dilara, would be able to decipher it.

As Locke drove, she read the note from the sealed container to him. As she spoke, she became so choked with emotion several times that she had to stop and compose herself.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Dilara asked. Her pain was palpable.

“We don’t know that,” Locke said, but he didn’t really believe it.

“No, he is. I know it.”

He put his hand on hers. “I’m so sorry, Dilara. I promise you we will find out what happened to your father.”

She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

He let her weep quietly. After a few minutes, she took her hand away to use a tissue and said, “My father wanted me to find the Ark, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Your father’s note says that the ‘scourge’ is still in the Ark’s bowels,” he said. “That confirms what Garrett told you. That a relic with the prion disease — Arkon — is still in Noah’s Ark.”

“But Garrett told me that he never got to the Ark. If he didn’t get into the Ark, how did he find a relic from the Ark?”

“We’ll have to ask him. Maybe use his own truth serum. In the meantime, what’s our next step?”

“Our next step?”

His father’s words echoed in Locke’s ears. “I need to make sure the last of the Arkon is destroyed.”

“I’ll take the scroll back to my laboratory at UCLA and analyze it there. We have a controlled environment for examining ancient documents, and this one looks at least 3000 years old. It’ll be extremely fragile.”

“Who else will be involved?”

“No one. If it looks like the scroll really leads to Noah’s Ark, then I don’t want there to be a stampede to the site. I know you’re worried about the Arkon getting loose again, but I’m worried about the potential historical loss as well. Priceless artifacts could be looted, trampled, or destroyed.”

“It’ll be quite a find for you. It’ll change your life.”

“And yours, too.”

“No, I’m an engineer, not an archaeologist. I’ll leave the glamour stuff up to you.”

The rest of the ride passed in silence, each of them mulling the implications of such a find.

When they reached Locke’s house and went inside, Dilara carefully replaced the curled note back into the tube with the scroll and sealed it. She sighed heavily.

“He’d be very proud of you.” His words brought on the opposite effect from the one he intended. Dilara burst into tears.

“I’m such an idiot,” she sobbed. “All those years, I thought he was crazy, and he was right all along. Now he’s dead, and I’ll never be able to tell him how proud I am of him.”

Locke pulled her to him and cradled her head in his shoulder. “He knows. He knows.”

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. She had never looked more beautiful or vulnerable, nestled in his arms. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, tasting the salty skin.

Dilara exhaled a breathier sigh and turned her face to him. Their eyes met. The day’s pent up tension flooded out of them, and they kissed deeply, as if they had fit together this way forever. Locke felt her entire body press against him, and he responded in kind.

“Shower?” she breathed into his ear.

Only then did he notice that they were both sticky with sweat and dirt.

He nodded and kissed her again. His need for her was almost unbearable. He felt like a randy teenager again.

They shuffled toward the bathroom, locked in an embrace as they maneuvered down the hall. They took turns unbuttoning and unlacing each other, tossing clothes and shoes as they went until there was nothing left to toss.

They staggered into the bathroom, their bodies still entwined, and Locke blindly fumbled with the shower control. Dilara pulled his hand away from it with an urgency that he completely understood.

“Later,” she said and dragged him to the carpet.

The shower would have to wait.

The next morning, Locke woke before he was ready. The light streaming through the window because, in his hurry to get into bed, he had neglected to close the blinds. He had the unfamiliar feeling of warmth next to him. Dilara was curled up next to him, her smooth naked body snug against his, her face resting on his chest, her breath puffing lightly on his skin. The smell of shampoo wafted from her hair draped over the pillow. The effect was intoxicating, and Locke smiled to himself at the memory of the bathroom floor, the long lazy shower that followed, and then the epic love-making session on the sheets that now swaddled them.

Intruding into all of these pleasant sensations was the shrill sound of his phone ringing. He grudgingly extricated himself from Dilara and picked it up.

“Whoever this is,” Locke said groggily, “your next words better be, ‘Congratulations Powerball winner.’”

“Prepare to be disappointed,” Grant said.

“Okay. What time is it?”

“Eight AM. I’d rather not be up either, but we have a big problem.”

Grant’s tone of voice got Locke’s attention, and he sat up.

“What happened?”

“The Army finally got into that chamber that Garrett, Cutter, and the others retreated into.”

“You caught him?”

“I wish. It wasn’t a panic room like we thought. It had a hidden corridor. It led to a subterranean submarine pen, big enough to dock a small sub like the one from Garrett’s yacht.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Locke said.

“It kills me to say it,” Grant replied, “but Garrett and Cutter got away.”