Black Rose (12 page)

CHAPTER 30

The contents of Gutenberg's computer were a bombshell. Stephanie had just finished briefing everyone on what she had found and on the contents of his diary.

"People like him make you wonder if there's any hope for the human race," Ronnie said. "How can someone write a business plan for killing millions of people?"

"It's been done before," Nick said. "You ever hear of the Wannsee conference?"

"No."

"It was a meeting of high-ranking Nazis, where they planned the extermination of the Jews. A business meeting."

Ronnie shook his head.

"I think those names mentioned in Gutenberg's diary are the people running AEON," Elizabeth said.

"There's nothing that tells us exactly who they are," Selena said. "We know about Gutenberg and Krivi. Why do you think the others are part of AEON?"

"For one thing, each is wealthy and powerful and that's a requirement for membership in AEON's top tier. Take Kamarov, for example. Aside from the President Gorovsky, Kamarov is possibly the most powerful man in Russia. Nobody knows his real wealth. He has his hand in everything. Even the Russian Mafia stays clear of him."

There it is again
, Stephanie thought.
As soon as Elizabeth mentioned Russia, Selena looked like she'd swallowed a lemon. Something's going on there.

Elizabeth continued. "Thorvaldson is probably Aapo Thorvaldson, the shipping magnate. He's in the same money league as Gutenberg and Krivi. De Guillame could be the French Foreign Minister, although that's just an educated guess. Mitchell is a common name but it feels like he might be an American, judging from what Gutenberg wrote."

"Lots of Mitchells out there," Ronnie said.

"How many of them have the kind of money and clout the others carry?" Nick asked.

"I can think of one," Selena said. "Senator Randolph Mitchell. He's rich and powerful and his political philosophy fits right in with AEON's goals."

"I hope you're wrong," Elizabeth said.

"What about the other one, Halifax?"

"I'm not sure," Elizabeth said. "It could be the British Secretary of the Exchequer."

"Oh, that's great," Lamont said. "We're up against three powerful government officials, a Nazi banker, a legal drug lord and two of the wealthiest men in the world. How about a partridge in a pear tree, just for fun?"

"We don't know that Gutenberg is a Nazi," Elizabeth said.

"If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck..."

Nick said, "Clichés aside, what's our next move? We can't go after these men publicly."

"We have one advantage," Elizabeth said. "They don't know that we know who they are."

"The Russians have the same information we do, if Steph is right," Nick said. "That means they know Kamarov is an enemy of the regime. They might take care of him for us."

"It's possible, but that still leaves the others. We might be able to work with Vysotsky on this. It's just like before, we have a mutual enemy."

"The Russians are our enemy."

Selena's voice was hard and flat. Everyone looked at her.

"The only reason we were able to work with them before was because Korov proved himself our friend and we trusted him. He's dead. We can't trust Vysotsky or any of his people."

"We don't have to trust them," Elizabeth said, "but if the devil himself was useful I'd make an agreement with him to stop Gutenberg and AEON."

Selena sniffed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Elizabeth was annoyed. "Let me worry about Vysotsky."

"So what do you want us to do, Director?" Nick said.

"Gutenberg's diary says they're going to release the plague to test it out. Until we know where, all we can do is monitor Gutenberg's computer and hope he reveals the location."

"And when we know it?

"Then you go in and stop them."

CHAPTER 31

The village of Sao Bendito was gripped with fear. Candles burned day and night in the church. There was always someone kneeling and beseeching God to remove the affliction He had sent upon them. If the villagers had known who was really responsible, they would have stopped praying and headed for the clinic with their machetes instead of their rosaries.

The clinic was overwhelmed. Bodies lay everywhere, wherever there was space on the floor, or outside under an improvised shelter. By the time they got to the clinic they were already in the latter stages of the disease. No one lay there for long. A day, perhaps two, spent in the illusion of a possible cure and then they were carried off in a makeshift shroud and buried in a mass grave. Funerals were no longer held at the church. The priest had been an early victim. An ancient backhoe that had been the village pride and joy worked overtime digging pits to bury the bodies.

Karl Schmidt looked out over the chaos and tried not to breathe the stench through the surgical mask hooked over his face. A woman lay coughing and moaning in pain on a makeshift bed on the floor of the clinic. He looked down at her and made a few notes in a small notebook he carried. He knew she would be dead before the day was out.

The woman was nineteen years old and had been beautiful, only a week before. She lay in a pool of urine and blood, a ghastly shell of her former self. Cracked, black blotches that looked like poisonous flowers had spread over her body.

Schmidt's scientific curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd stayed longer than he'd planned. Besides, he had faith in the vaccine he'd developed. Even so, there was no need to push his luck. Sao Bendito was isolated but it was only a question of time before word got out and the area was quarantined by the government. He'd give it another day and then he was going back to Europe and civilization.

Doctor Silva was away from the clinic, out on the Indian reservation where the plague had already killed hundreds. By the time he returned, Schmidt would be gone.

There was nothing more to do here. He stepped out of the foul-smelling shack and into the clean, humid air of a sub-tropical morning and stripped off his mask. Schmidt took a deep breath and dropped the mask in a trashcan by the door. Somewhere a chorus of monkeys chattered. A flock of brilliantly colored parrots rose from the tops of the trees, the sun lighting up the vibrant red and gold and blue of their feathers. He watched them take flight.

Schmidt took another deep breath and smiled. Yes, it was a beautiful day.

CHAPTER 32

"It's Brazil," Stephanie said. "They released the plague in a village called Sao Bendito. It's in a very remote area."

"How did you find out?" Selena asked.

"Krivi's scientist, Schmidt. He's in charge of the test. He emailed Gutenberg with a progress report and my program captured it. According to the email, everyone who didn't receive the vaccine is dying like flies. Schmidt used a free vaccination program in a clinic as a cover while he infected everyone."

"I screwed up," Nick said. "We didn't get all the samples."

"Don't blame yourself," Elizabeth said. "It figures they'd have them in more than one place in case something went wrong."

"These people need to be put down," Stephanie said.

"That's not like you, Steph."

"If you read that email, you'll feel the same way," Stephanie said. "Schmidt talks about the suffering of these people as if they were lab rats."

"For him, they are," Nick said.

"Do we have any satellite shots of the area?" Elizabeth asked Stephanie.

"We do, but they aren't very good. That area of the world isn't on the list for priority surveillance. I thought you might want to see the photos, so I got them ready."

She touched a key on her laptop. The wall monitor across from Harker's desk came to life with a photograph of a small cluster of buildings in a vast sea of foliage. An unpaved road leading to the town ended in a square in front of the village church. To the north lay a vast area of rivers and grasslands dotted with scattered clusters of huts.

"Zoom in on the town please, Stephanie," Elizabeth said.

"Not much of a town," Lamont said.

"Talk about the Third World," Ronnie said. "That place makes the boonies look like New York City."

"Where's this clinic they're using?" Nick asked.

"I'm not sure," Stephanie said.

Harker pointed at the photograph. "There's activity around that shack on the north edge of town. That might be it. Steph, what's the big open area on the top of the photograph?"

"An Indian reservation, set aside by the government. It's protected."

"Not anymore," Nick said. "Not if they've let that stuff loose. It may be too late to stop them but we can close them down before they do any more damage."

"It makes sense Gutenberg would choose a place like this," Selena said. "It's isolated, hard to get to. Away from prying eyes. My guess would be that the government wouldn't be in a big hurry to do something about illness on that reservation, even if they knew about it. Look at that country, it's perfect ranchland. There must be a lot of people who would like to see the Indians disappear."

"Sounds familiar," Ronnie said.

"I don't think they'd use a house or the church for a clinic," Nick said. "My bet is on that building as the primary target. If we're wrong, it shouldn't take long to find the right one."

"How do you want to go in?" Lamont said.

"We have to shut this down fast. There's only one way to get in there without losing a lot of time."

"Airdrop," Ronnie said.

"I don't see an alternative, but extraction's going to be hard."

"I have a solution for that," Elizabeth said. "The Fourth Fleet is conducting exercises with the USS Carl Vinson off the coast of Guyana as we speak."

"The super carrier?" Lamont said. "That is one mother of a ship."

"That's the one. They have Ospreys on board. That aircraft has enough range to bring you out."

"That would work," Nick said. "How long will it take to set up?"

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. "I have to make a phone call or two but it shouldn't take more than a few hours. In the meantime, you can get everything together."

"What about protective gear?" Selena said. "It's plague. We're going to come across people who have it."

"You won't be treating anyone. As long as you stay away from them you should be all right. The main problem is that this variety is airborne."

"We could use M-50s," Lamont said. "They're rated for everything but the kitchen sink."

"What's an M-50?" Selena asked.

"A biological warfare mask," Nick said. "Lamont's right, it would protect us against anything airborne. It's a full face mask with a good field of view. Plus it's got twin filters that make it easier to breathe and you can put a voice mike on it. Hot, but it keeps you alive. The filters are good for 24 hours. We do this right, we won't be there that long."

"How do we get over the target?" Selena asked.

"Straight from Andrews. I'll send you in a C-130."

"I always wanted to see Brazil," Lamont said.

CHAPTER 33

Ilya Yezhov watched the black Mercedes bearing Konstantine Kamarov approach the private airport where Kamarov's Dassault Falcon waited. Yezhov had dressed like an aircraft maintenance worker, in baggy white overalls, jacket and cap. He stood under one of the wings, pretending to inspect something. A Bizon submachine gun was hidden under the jacket. The 9mm Bizon was light, reliable and lethal at close range. It was one of Ilya's favorite weapons,.

A second member of his team stood on a step ladder at the rear of the plane, as if he were working on one of the engines. The pilot and crew were under guard in the wooden shack that passed for a terminal. Three men were inside the plane, out of sight. The cabin door was open and the stairs lowered to the tarmac. The rest of the strike team were concealed at strategic points on the perimeter of the runway. One of Yezhov's snipers was concealed behind a fuel truck. He carried a .308 Steyr-Mannlicher SSG-08. Ilya thought the Steyr was the best choice for medium distance targets. The sniper's job was to take down Kamarov's bodyguards. A second sniper was positioned with the heavier .50 caliber Steyr HS50. He would disable the Mercedes before moving to secondary targets.

All the others on the team carried the new AN-94s. Ilya didn't like them. They were over-engineered, fussy and unreliable in the field, not like the old Kalashnikovs. Great when they worked, junk when they didn't. They'd been forced upon him by the armorer back at the base. He decided to speak to General Vysotsky about it when he got back.

Yezhov dismissed his thoughts about the AN-94. He spoke into his headset.

"Target approaching."

Answering clicks told him everyone was ready. The Mercedes turned off the access road and onto the private airstrip toward the aircraft. It stopped twenty feet away from the foot of the stairway, not far from where Ilya stood. He couldn't see Kamarov through the smoked glass windows but he knew the man was inside. Doors opened on the car and three men got out. They were large men, dressed in dark suits and ties. Ilya knew one of them, a former Spetsnaz corporal who'd been trouble when he was under Ilya's command.

The man saw him. His eyes widened in recognition. Yezhov's cover was blown.

"Go," Yezhov said into his microphone.

The calm atmosphere of the afternoon vanished with the first shot from the Steyr .308. Ilya's former corporal was lifted off his feet and thrown backward as the massive bullet struck his chest. Another shot followed close on the first. The second bodyguard screamed and spun in a bizarre pirhouette before he fell to the pavement. The third man ducked behind the Mercedes but the car suddenly accelerated away from the plane, open doors swaying crazily in the air. It left him exposed. A third shot brought him down.

Yezhov ran after the car, his Bizon out and ready. He shouted into his microphone.

"Take the shot, damn it. Stop that son of a whore before he gets away."

The distinctive boom of the .50 caliber rifle cut through the air. The round tore into the engine compartment of the Mercedes. The car kept moving. A second shot blew through the window on the driver's side. The car slowed and turned left, out of control. Black smoke and oil streamed from underneath. Through the shattered window Yezhov saw the driver slumped to the side, covered with blood. The Mercedes circled back toward the plane and slammed into the nose wheel of the Dassault.

The front of the sleek jet dropped onto the hood, smashing the windshield and pinning the Mercedes underneath. A thin tongue of fire shot out from the engine compartment.

The rear door opened and a fat man wearing a mink coat stumbled out and fell on his knees. Yezhov was on him in an instant.

"Get up, you fat pig." He dragged the oligarch away from the burning car. The flames started to spread to the plane, buried with its nose in the windshield.

Kamarov looked at the muzzle of the Bizon. He licked his lips. "Who are you? Do you know who I am?"

Yezhov slapped him. It was like slapping a side of beef.

"Shut up."

Two Skorpion armored vehicles sped across the runway from their hiding spot behind the terminal building and screeched to a stop next to Yezhov and his captive.

"All units, in," Yezhov said into his microphone.

His men converged on the two trucks. As they moved away, Yezhov looked back and saw the plane beginning to burn. Thick smoke roiled out of the open door and flames lit the interior. The trucks had reached the access road when the gas tanks exploded. A tall column of orange fire erupted into the afternoon, scattering chunks of the expensive jet in every direction.

"My plane," Kamarov said. "You will be sorry for this."

"Let me give you a piece of advice," Yezhov said.

Kamarov looked at him with pure hatred. His eyes were piggy and red, set back in the folds and creases of his dissipated flesh. Ilya caught a glimpse of the ruthless man who was feared by everyone in Russia.

"You have nothing to say of value to me," Kamarov said. "I will have you fed to my dogs." He looked away, out the window

Yezhov took out his knife and drove it into the top of Kamarov's thigh, right to the bone, careful to miss the femoral artery. Kamarov screamed. Ilya withdrew the knife and wiped it on Kamarov's pants.

"Do I have your attention now ?"

"Yes, yes." Kamarov clutched his leg. Dark blood welled up between his fingers.

"My advice to you is this," Ilya said. "You will be questioned. Tell the truth, and you may yet live to think about it. One way or another, we will find out what we want to know. The choice is yours about how painful that questioning may be. Have you heard the value in what I say?"

Yezhov held up the bloody knife. Kamarov looked at him and for the first time showed fear.

"Yes. I have heard you."

Yezhov nodded. "Good."

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, except for Kamarov's moans of pain when the truck hit a patch of rough road.