ARES Virus: Arctic Storm (29 page)

“Are you sure that you searched all of the bodies?” echoes a strong voice from above, speaking English.

Abzari is startled from a slumber that he doesn’t remember sinking into. He bites into his lip to keep from making any sound of surprise or fear. The rapid hard beats of his heart from the abrupt adrenaline rush pound against his ribs. He can hear each bass drumbeat in his ears and worries that the sound will carry upward or shake the ground. The distinctness of the voice means that someone is very close to the top of the well, if not actively peering down it.

“Yes, sir. We’ve looked at each body three times over. He’s not here,” another voice responds.

“Search the buildings again. Look under rugs, furniture, pry up boards. Do everything. Intel indicated that he was here. We need to either find him, or his body.”

“Will do, sir. Perhaps he already fled.”

“Nonsense. We had the area under surveillance. No one came in or left.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t here.”

“That’s a possibility. But HQ needs a body and we’re not leaving until we’re one hundred percent sure he didn’t climb down a snake hole. Some of those corpses were pretty chewed up. Are you sure one of them isn’t him?”

“Yes, sir. Although some were in bad shape, we have also been checking for the tattoo; the scorpion tattooed on his shoulder.”

Those words startle Abzari beyond belief. Enough so that he nearly emits a cry. Those above are specifically looking for him, but he doesn’t have any notion of why. Sure, he’s a messenger, but he’s certainly not part of any hierarchy. He doesn’t know much of anything. He just delivers messages and packages. Yet it seems that this operation was solely to find or eliminate him. The fact that they are checking bodies indicates that they want him dead, or the operation would have been conducted much differently.

He searches through his terrified mind for anything he’s done that might warrant such attention. If anything, they would want to question him, seeing as he has many contacts. But dead, no, he can’t think of any reason for that. As far as he knows, the assassinations are only conducted against top-level members. If he gets out of this, it’s time for him to go into deep hiding and vanish for a while. He knows several locations, but he’ll have to keep moving. If he stays in one location for long, he’ll be recognized at some point, and all people talk for the right price.

“Okay. Check again. Search everywhere. Burn shit if you have to. Raze the town, but find me a body.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And for God’s sake, look down these wells. They sure have a shitload of them for such a small place.”

“We’ve looked there as well. Most of them are dry.”

“Figures. Look again. God, I hate this shithole of a country,” the first voice states, fading away.

Then leave,
Abzari thinks.

With the amount of light still showing, Abzari guesses that it’s late afternoon or early evening. There’s no way to tell for sure. Due to the absence of circulation, the air at the bottom of the well is stuffy. His legs are cramping due to being in nearly the same position for hours on end and the onset of dehydration. He doesn’t dare move, though. A little discomfort is better than discovery and his certain death after questioning.

Light blossoms brightly on the well floor. The white-blue tone of the beam indicates that a powerful flashlight is being shined into the chamber from above. The intensity of it casts the alcove into a deeper shadow. He holds his breath for a moment, then inhales and exhales in slow measure so that he doesn’t disturb the thick sandy dust on the floor. Without moving his head, he glances down to ensure that no part of his body or clothing protrudes from under his shelter. The light holds for a few more moments and then is gone. Abzari holds still for a minute longer before drawing in a deep breath.

He wishes he could have glimpsed those above him to see if they were wearing protective clothing. But, from the clearness of the voices he heard, he’s fairly assured that they weren’t and that whatever poison was dropped is now clear. That alleviates one of his concerns if he makes it out of this. He takes another sip from his flask and slowly stretches his arms and legs. The adrenaline that coursed through his body when the voices startled him awake begins to subside, leaving him with the dire urge to urinate. Raising his robe, he goes where he lies, making sure none of it seeps out where it can be seen, and covers it with a handful of sand after finishing.

The light at the bottom of the well begins to fade. He’ll spend another night in his alcove and see what the new day brings. He won’t sleep very much, as his mind is churning over the situation. That an entire operation was conducted merely to eliminate him is unfathomable. The Western nations obviously have the wrong intelligence, but that doesn’t really matter. Wrong or right, the bottom line is that they’re after him. Luckily, he grabbed his possessions before running for cover. His passports and the cash on hand should see him safely through to an underground location where he can obtain new documents.

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

Captain Meacham steps from the helicopter, doing his best to shield his body from the dust storm stirred up from the rotor wash. He hates being on yet another tour in this godforsaken place. It’s his third one and he’s certain that he’ll never be able to fully clean the sand away. It seems that no matter how many times he digs into his ears, he pulls yet more of it out.

Fucking shit gets everywhere
, he thinks, feeling it blow against his cheeks.

Away from the landing zone, he drops his pack and gathers the platoon temporarily assigned to him. The others landing in a perimeter around the village have their orders: Keep anyone from getting in or out until they get the order to move in. Then, it will be a clearing operation—no one left alive.

He knows the reasons for it, having read about the attack on Pineville and being given a summary briefing on the spill of the same agent in this and two other locations.

Stupid assholes
, he thought when he found out what the mission entailed.

The battalion assigned to the mission was to set up an airtight perimeter, shoot anything within the perimeter should anyone attempt to escape or attack, then go in and clear the village. The briefings entailed that it was some kind of enhanced rabies virus that drove those afflicted mad. The details of the clearing operation were for others to concern themselves about. He would be out of that action. His orders were simple: Once that part of the operation was complete, he was to go in with the platoon and find the man responsible for the Pineville attack. Plain and simple. Search through the bodies and locate him, taking pictures when they did. Intel placed him within a compound known for housing terrorists, so that was a good place to start.

Digging through his pack, he pulls out a file and begins handing out pictures of the man they’re seeking.

“This is Abzari Hassan. Study these so that you can readily identify him. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the man who coordinated the attack on Pineville. If a face is beyond recognition, look for the tattoo on his left shoulder. It will be gruesome work, but it’s vital that we find him. Questions?”

“Sir. Will we be going in with the others?” one soldier asks.

“No. We’ll be going in after that phase of the operation is complete,” Meacham answers.

“I’m good with that…sir. I’ve found that I’m allergic to bullets.”

“All of us are, sergeant. But, that won’t mean that we won’t be taking precautions. There may be some of these bastards hiding out, even after the battalion clears the village. Stay alert and keep your head about you. We’ll move in six-person teams. If something doesn’t feel right, call it in and wait for reinforcements. There’s no excuse for losing someone after the battle is over. Let’s not get complacent. Lieutenant,” Meacham says, addressing the platoon leader, “As you know your people better than me, I’ll leave it to you to make up the teams. I’ll assign the search zones when it’s our turn to head in. We’ll systematically comb through the entire city until we find what we came for. Search the bodies where they lie. If we don’t find Hassan with the first pass, we’ll begin dragging bodies out into the square, then search again. We’ll keep searching until we find him, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Study those, double check your MOPP gear, and stay close.”

Late in the afternoon, Meacham strides across the dusty lot of the compound. So far, each and every pass through the city has yielded negative results. Each time they finish looking over the bodies and combing the town without finding the target, his irritation and impatience rises. This was supposed to be a simple operation. The smell of the bodies lying in the sun and the buzz of flies is getting to him. He only has two weeks, three days, and just under five hours until this tour is over. This will most likely be his last operation until he ships home, and he just wants to get it over with. The lieutenant follows him as he strides toward one of the wells that seem to have been placed at random throughout the yard.

Removing the facemask of his MOPP gear, Meacham leans against the low brick wall of a well. “Are you sure that you searched all of the bodies?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve looked at each body three times over. He’s not here,” the lieutenant answers.

“Search the buildings again. Look under rugs, furniture, pry up boards. Do everything. Intel indicated that he was here. We need to either find him, or his body.”

“Will do, sir. Perhaps he already fled.”

“Nonsense. We had the area under surveillance. No one came in or left.”

“Perhaps he wasn’t here.”

“That’s a possibility. But HQ needs a body and we’re not leaving until we’re one hundred percent sure he didn’t climb down a snake hole. Some of those corpses were pretty chewed up. Are you sure one of them isn’t him?

“Yes, sir. Although some were in bad shape, we have also been checking for the tattoo; the scorpion tattooed on his shoulder.”

“Okay. Check again. Search everywhere. Burn shit if you have to. Raze the town, but find me a body.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And for God’s sake, look down these wells. They sure have a shitload of them for such a small place.”

“We’ve looked there as well. Most of them are dry.”

“Figures. Look again. God, I hate this shithole of a country,” Meacham states, walking back toward the compound’s residence.

In the end, walls are knocked down, holes are dug under floors, bedding, rugs, and furniture are tossed into the streets. A seismic machine was flown in and the ground tested for tunnels. Nothing. Meacham is near to one hundred percent sure that Hassan isn’t in the village, alive or dead. They’ll recheck the surveillance footage to make sure no one escaped without being seen.

“Sir, we’ve done everything we can, but he’s not here. We searched through belongings, caches, the training sites, but turned up nothing that would indicate he was even here. Our intel must have been wrong on this one,” Meacham states over the secure radio.

“That’s disappointing, Captain. We need that body.”

“I know, sir. But, other than tattooing one of the bodies here, I don’t see how we can deliver that,” Meacham replies.

“Very well. A team is being dispatched for the bodies. The CDC or someone like that wants them.”

Washington, DC

September 14

WASHINGTON, DC (Reuters) — After a long silence following the alleged terror attack on the town of Pineville, the White House today released a statement regarding the tragedy.

“We have been working diligently with our allies, intelligence agencies, and the Centers for Disease Control to determine both the cause and source of the Pineville tragedy,” Press Secretary Montague stated at a press conference held today. “Through the tireless efforts of all involved, we have identified the mastermind of this terrorist attack. And make no mistake, this is yet another act of terror against our nation.”

The White House identified Abzari Hassan, previously known as a lower messenger for the Free Islamic State, one of the many terrorist groups operating in the Middle East. “Information has come to light that he used that identity to mask that he was much more than that and planned the operation behind the Pineville attack,” Montague commented. “Although no group has yet come forward to claim credit, that is sometimes the case. Our intelligence has identified Hassan beyond a shadow of doubt.”

Although pressed for details concerning what intelligence they did have, Montague stated that, “Those details are a matter of national security and cannot be given. They would put our sources at risk and we are pursuing other intelligence leads. We will give you further information once we have ascertained that they won’t interfere with other operations.”

During the White House briefing, Montague affirmed early reports that outbreaks similar to Pineville have occurred. “Yesterday, three separate outbreaks occurred; two in the Middle East and one in northern Africa. All of these outbreaks occurred in and around hotbeds for terrorist group activities: training facilities, sanctuaries, operational planning, etc. The intelligence we have gathered places Hassan in and around each of the locations immediately prior to the outbreaks. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has confirmed that the agent is the same as the one used at Pineville. Our belief is that either the agent used in the Pineville attack was manufactured at these locations or they were a staging area for the weaponized virus. The fact that these outbreaks occurred indicates that further attacks may have been planned. We are pursuing leads along these lines.

“At the request of the host governments and due to the dire nature of the outbreaks, the president has authorized a direct intervention by troops stationed in the vicinity. Taking all necessary precautions against spreading the virus outside of the contagion zone, we were not able to move into the area quickly enough to save any of the inhabitants.”

Asked how a small terrorist group was able to obtain such a potent viral agent, Montague answered, “We aren’t sure as yet how such a group obtained or was able to manufacture a weaponized version of rabies. The delivery methods were primitive, as, obviously, were their containment methods for storing the agent. This leads us to believe that they had help from a nation state. We are currently working to establish where such a viral agent could have been manufactured.”

Sources close to the White House believe that the outbreak overseas was an accidental release caused by improper containment procedures and facilities. The White House did not comment on the total casualties involved with the outbreaks, but estimated that they were “…limited only to several hundred thanks to the quick response of allied forces stationed overseas.”

With regards to questions asked about expecting other attacks or whether there may be other locations where the virus is being stored, Montague responded by saying, “We are under the belief that these were the only locations, but we’ll have to wait to hear from our intelligence community and those of our allied nations before making a firm statement on that issue. We are diligently sifting through intelligence found at each site; however, our initial analysis indicates that there weren’t any immediate attacks planned. We were also able to put a sizable dent in their infrastructure, curtailing any operations for some time. I will have to add the caveat that these accidental outbreaks overseas caused by carelessness were, in fact, the same live agent that was used at Pineville, meaning that there is the potential for it to be existing elsewhere. As we learn more, we’ll be passing it along.

“We are working on discovering how such a terrible viral agent was delivered into our country and have set up controls to prevent the tragedy of the terrorist attack on Pineville from happening again.”

When asked if they were able to capture or locate Hassan, Montague issued a “no comment” and closed the press conference.

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

Middle East

September 15

Even though Abzari rations his small supply of water, it vanishes quickly. It’s not so much thirst that drives him to take sip after sip—although his tongue is swollen and his throat feels like he’s inhaling fire—as it is boredom. He shifts under the enclosure to minimize cramping, but it’s all that he can do not to crawl out from the alcove and scream. He tries occupying his mind by planning his eventual escape, both in the short term and the long, but that’s been done a hundred times and he finds that he can’t concentrate on it anymore. His thoughts quickly wind back to wanting to crawl out of the hole. Sand finds its way into places under his robe that he didn’t even know existed, chafing some places raw. In the end, Abzari waits two more days at the bottom of the well.

Unable to take another night in his shelter, he crawls out. He thinks that if he has to stay another hour, he’ll go insane. He’d rather face a swarm of bullets and a lingering death than remain one more minute. He now has an inkling of what Jahannam must be like. Even with the pungent odor prevalent, standing at the bottom of the well feels like he’s being reborn. His narrow view upward shows a clear night with a spattering of stars visible. The top of the well seems as if it’s zooming away, as if he’s looking through the opposite end of a telescope. He raises his arms upward, reaching for the freedom they offer.

His legs feel shaky and his arms weak. Dizzy from the sudden drain of blood from his head, he does several knee bends in an attempt to restart the circulation throughout his body. He realizes that he has a bit of a climb ahead of him and it won’t do to pass out and fall after having exercised so much patience to this point.

Feeling a little more clear-headed, Abzari grabs hold of the rope leading seemingly miles upward and gives it a tentative pull. The remaining rope gives a small amount, the turnstile high overhead offering a faint creak. Abzari harbors no illusions that he’s alone in the village.

The Western nations are fickle that way. Sometimes, once they arrive, they never leave. At other times, they pack up immediately and depart as if they were on vacation.

Worried that the noise and movement might attract someone, he begins the arduous task of pulling the rope taut inch by inch.

Once the rope is unwound all of the way without any curious observers taking a peek into the well, Abzari pulls on it to test its ability to hold his weight. Assured that he won’t end up on his ass, he places his foot into a crevice created by the overlapping bricks. Step by step, he pulls and pushes his way to the top, listening between each effort. At the top, he peers over the low wall surrounding the well.

Nighttime and a moonless sky cast dark shadows across the back of the compound. Abzari directs his gaze to the open windows of the residence only to see deeper darkness stare back at him. There’s no movement coming from the immediate area, but over the top of the wall, he sees a glow of lights reflecting from nearby. There’s also the muted humming sound of active generators.

Gazing skyward, he searches for a sign of helicopters in the area. He knows not to look for lights, but for their dark shapes moving in front of the stars. The mountains rising above the adobe walls of the compound will conceal their movement close to the ground, so he listens for the telltale rotor wash. Hearing nothing other than the droning generators, he hauls himself out of the well.

The night air against his face feels wonderful after enduring the odorous stale air of the well for so long. Regardless of his circumstance, he can’t help but take a deep breath and relish being in the open for a second. Feeling much better, he looks to the nearby wall. With its protruding nubs of clay, it will be simple to scale. With soldiers remaining in the village, the hard part will be doing so without attracting attention.

He scales the wall. Peering over the top, he sees lights crisply shining across the sandy waste of the valley floor from encampments surrounding the city. Abzari shimmies low over the top and lands on the other side with a soft crunch. He picks the darkest area between the lights and begins trotting, hoping to make it across the mountains to a city beyond without being spotted by patrols or the ever-present drones, eventually making his way, by whatever means, into Pakistan and beyond.

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

Paris, France

September 16

Abzari strolls out of the jetway and into the bustling satellite terminal of Paris’s Charles De Gaulle Airport. Straightening his suit, he grabs the handles of his roller bag and starts toward the main terminal. The past forty-eight hours have been busy ones. After making his way through the line surrounding the village, he caught a ride across the border with Pakistan and into Parachinar. There, he met with one of his contacts, changed clothes, and was transported to Kohat, where he caught another ride to the Peshawar airport.

Utilizing several of his unused passports, he flew to Ankara where he caught subsequent flights to Amsterdam, Berlin, and London, finally arriving in Paris. He expected to be stopped each time he had to present his passport, but was passed through without notice. Sitting for hours on end in aircraft seats was tiring, but it beat having to spend another minute lying at the bottom of the well.

He feels yet another sneeze coming on. Reaching for a handkerchief, the sneeze erupts before he can bring the cloth to his face. A tired-looking couple with their two young children in tow glance at him in irritation. Ignoring the looks, he wipes his nose and presses onward. The cold came on just before he arrived at the airport in Pakistan. He attributes the runny nose, sneezes, scratchy throat, and irritated eyes to a cold brought on during his stay in the well. The thought that it could have been caused by whatever was dropped in the village crosses his mind, but if that was indeed some kind of nerve agent, he wouldn’t have just caught a cold from it. He’s not sure how he was able to escape, but he’s thankful for it. Shrugging away his thoughts, he shoulders his way through the busy terminal, his sixth international airport in two days, unaware of the viral trail he’s leaving behind with each breath.

Catching his ride, he learns that his name is being associated with an attack on an American city. The shock sends a multitude of thoughts racing through his mind. He had briefly heard of some outbreak in an American city, but brushed that aside, only thinking that the Americans were sloppy, lazy, and deserved it. Learning that the Americans were laying the blame at his feet was preposterous, but his driver assures him that they are, in fact, deadly serious about it.

That would explain why they were specifically searching for me
, he thinks, his anxiety increasing even more.

He worries that they put so much effort into their attempt to eliminate him. The Americans are, if anything, persistent. They will continue their hunt to the ends of the world. If they need his body to sway world opinion, they will stop at nothing to find him. He’ll need to lay very low and keep running, possibly for the rest of his life. The first thing he’ll have to do is shave his beard—something that is shameful, but necessary. Then, after hiding out for a short period of time, he’ll have to move again…and again…and again. At least now he knows what was dropped on the village, but he can’t fathom why he wasn’t affected.

That’s neither here nor there. Allah shielded me. I’m alive and need to stay that way
, he thinks, exiting the vehicle and vanishing into the underworld.