The Genesis Plague

20

The marine colonel stood at the base of the slope next to Big Mama — the boulder slightly taller than she was and streaked with some of the MRAP’s camouflage paint. He was glaring up at the partially reopened cave where Jason’s men were helping the marines clear more debris. The larger stones were being manhandled out and tossed down the slope. The smaller debris was being ferried out in buckets along a human chain. With the sun dropping fast over the horizon, they were working double-time against the imminent nightfall.

‘Once the sun’s down, we’ll need to keep any lighting to a minimum,’ Crawford told Jason. His eyes combed the surrounding mountains. ‘No need to draw more attention to ourselves. Plus we’re light on batteries and I wasn’t planning for a sleepover.’

‘Should be clear skies tonight,’ Jason said. ‘We’ll have plenty of moonlight. The guys probably won’t even need their NVGs. The only place we’ll need some lighting is in the tunnels.’

Crawford circled his gaze to the two snipers posted outside the cave entrance. ‘If it was up to me, I’d skip the formalities and firebomb the fuckers. Yup …’ Crawford exhaled. ‘Al-Zahrani or not, I’d vote for Arab barbecue. These slick bastards have nine lives. If they’re on the grill, I say light the fire.’

Jason knew the colonel was only half sincere. ‘Washington wants him alive. Intel says he’s plotting to—’

‘Don’t preach the rhetoric to me, Yaeger. I know the score. This war’s gotten too goddamn civil for my taste, is all I’m saying. You saw what that prick did to those cathedrals last month. Killed almost 500 civs in one day. In less than a year he’s racked up another thousand or so by sending his martyrs into subways, bus stations and malls strapped with C-4. No warning. No conscience. Just wants to put fear into every human being that doesn’t bow down to Allah. And this psycho’s just getting warmed up. Wants to make a nice impression on his boss. That way when Bin Laden’s diseased kidneys finally give out, he can take Al-Qaeda to the next level. If we still had some balls in Washington maybe we’d get this done the old-fashioned way.’ With arms crossed tight over his chest he gave Jason a sideward glance.

Avoiding a political debate, Jason pointed his chin up at the cave. ‘Think we should gas them out?’

‘Not sure how effective that’ll be if we don’t first get in there and see how deep those tunnels go. Wouldn’t be smart sending men in there.’

Jason agreed. ‘You fellas bring a SUG-V?’

The Small Unmanned Ground Vehicle, or SUG-V, was a thirty-pound compact radio-controlled reconnaissance robot equipped with a single articulating arm, cameras and dual rotary tracks for climbing stairs and rolling over rubble — invaluable for infiltrating terrorist hideouts and diffusing roadside bombs.

‘I was getting to that, Yaeger. Don’t be a smart ass. We’ve got a shiny new PackBot in the truck. Not sure how she’ll respond in a cave — transmissions might get sketchy.’

‘We’ll use a fibre-optic line,’ Jason tactfully replied.

‘Worth a try, I suppose.’ Then Crawford added, ‘Let’s just try and skip the heroic stuff this time, capeesh? You remember where that got you guys last time.’

‘Duly noted, sir,’ Jason appeasingly replied.

Though friendly fire and civilian casualties were commonplace in any war, there seemed to be zero tolerance when the error could be attributed to an outside contractor. Despite the fact that Jason’s unit had maintained a flawless record here in Iraq, another of Global Security Corporation’s deep-cover teams working Fallujah had bombed a purported weapons-manufacturing facility that instead wound up being a car parts machine shop. Fifteen Iraqi civilians died in the explosion. The mistake had been a black eye for both the firm and the US Defense Department. And lifers like Crawford, who no doubt felt undermined by the presence of freelancers, were more than happy to keep a scorecard.

‘Tell me, Yaeger: where’s your Kurd sidekick? Why’s he not back here yet?’

‘Had to go north of Mosul. Shouldn’t be much longer.’

‘You said he needed to look into something. That was two hours ago. What exactly is he doing?’

‘He’s following up on a very important lead.’

Here’s where relations with Crawford might get sketchy, thought Jason. When Hazo had called earlier, he’d indicated that his restaurateur cousin had positively identified the American scientist, who’d apparently been chaperoned by a number of military types. Only minutes ago he’d also received an e-mail from Thomas Flaherty, which summarized an initial briefing of the archaeologist in Boston — facts that perfectly corroborated Hazo’s story. Until it was clear what the military’s role had been in all this, Jason would need to sacrifice diplomacy. The bigger question was: did Crawford already know something about the excavation that had taken place here in 2003?

‘Hazo’s got lots of contacts in the area,’ Jason half explained. ‘Influential people who know things.’

‘Don’t diddle my pie hole, Yaeger. Exactly what kind of “things” are we talking about?’

Jason squared off with the colonel and said, ‘The kind of things that lead us to trapping Fahim Al-Zahrani in a cave when every branch of the military thinks he’s in Afghanistan. So I tend not to bust his balls too hard for staying out too late on a fact-finding mission. Capeesh?’

Crawford’s sharp jaw jutted out. ‘Stand down, Yaeger. I’m warning you — don’t fuck with me. If I find out there’s something you’re not telling me …’ For maximum effect, he let the threat linger.

But Jason wasn’t backing down. Guys like this had tried to intimidate him during his short career with the Corps, and were precisely why he’d left it all behind for the private sector. Bullying was a poor supplement for stunted intellect. ‘Info sharing is a two-way street, Colonel. We’re both fighting the same enemy, both on the same side.’

Crawford’s jaw eased back. ‘If my scouts find something and that chopper’s not here to back them up, I’m gonna be mighty pissed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right, then,’ Crawford said. ‘I’ll have the men prep the bot.’