Lockdown

Seventy

Frisk stood fifty yards back from the perimeter of the compound and watched as, on the other side of the wall, dark shapes flitted between the buildings. He looked around at the groups of law enforcement clustered in small huddles. FBI. ATF. SWAT. They were all here, and they all had a different plan as to how to proceed. Although the Joint Terrorism Task Force of which he was a part had been designed to establish clear chain of command, old habits were dying hard.

Frisk glanced up to see a lone figure stepping into a patch of light thrown by floodlights erected by the SWAT team at the main gate. The figure held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He strained his eyes to get a better look.

The figure was soon close enough for Frisk to identify him. ‘Son of a bitch.’ He should have guessed.

A couple of SWAT officers in bio-suits dashed towards Ty, ballistic shields held up in front of them, handguns wedged around the sides. ‘Get down on the ground!’ one of them shouted.

Ty waved them away. ‘Listen, I wasn’t exposed. But I need to speak to someone, like right now.’

‘Get down on the ground now or you will be shot!’ the SWAT officer warned, gesturing with his gun.

Frisk watched as Ty assumed the position, and cuffs were snapped around his wrist. They shuffled him back to the perimeter. Men and women who’d spent a lifetime facing down the worst the human race had to offer backed away.

Frisk followed as Ty was led to a white Winnebago. Three steps and he was inside. It was kitted out as a mobile lab. Two more people in bio-suits greeted him.

‘I told you, I’m clear.’

‘We need to make sure.’

Ty offered his arm. ‘How long will this take?’

‘Thirty minutes.’

One of the bio-suits took a blood sample. ‘This will tell us if you have one of the ten main viral haemorrhagic diseases.’

‘And what if I do?’

‘You’ll be quarantined and treated.’

‘You can treat this stuff?’

‘Most of it. Apart from the Ebola variant. We don’t have a vaccine for that yet.’

Ten minutes later, Frisk stepped into the trailer, also in a bio-suit.

Ty greeted him with a nod of the head. ‘Pretty fly for a white guy,’ he said, ‘although you might want to think about getting the pants taken up an inch or two.’

‘Might have known you and Lock would be in the middle of this. What the hell’s going on in there?’

‘Short version or long version?’

‘Short.’

Ty told him. With each new piece of information, Frisk grew paler. All he’d known was that a major firefight had broken out at a Level 4 Bio Facility.

‘So why’d they send you out?’ he asked Ty.

‘Messenger boy.’

‘And what’s the message? What do they want?’

‘A signed undertaking from the President guaranteeing their status as prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention, along with an undertaking that they won’t be deported. Oh yeah, and a signed picture of Will Smith.’

‘That all, huh?’ Frisk asked.

‘The last part’s negotiable. I think they’d settle for Eddie Murphy at a pinch.’

‘Nice to see you find this all so amusing, but I’m about six levels down from being able to start offering signed executive undertakings.’

‘Then you’d better start moving it up the chain.’

‘Even if we get agreement, they’ll all be going to jail for the rest of their natural lives.’

‘They know that.’

‘OK, I’ll pass it on,’ said Frisk, stepping back out of the Winnebago. ‘But that’s it, right? There’s nothing else.’

‘That’s it.’

Ty watched Frisk exit the trailer. He uncrossed his fingers and let out a sigh. Mareta had had one other demand but Lock had told him not to mention it, although Ty hadn’t needed telling. Soon as he had the all clear, Ty was going to take care of it himself. In fact, he was looking forward to it.