Deep Sound Channel (26 page)

screaming from upstairs. The guards turned when Jeffrey's group came in by the front door. They fired instinctively, but their rifle bullets grazed the partition without going through.

"Blow it down!" Jeffrey shouted. He and Ilse took cover behind two big concrete planters in the lobby. SEALs Two and Seven placed a small satchel charge against the base of the partition, then joined Jeffrey and Ilse. Both guards fled to the rear after popping chemical smoke grenades that blocked IR. The satchel charge went off with a roar—the partition was in ruins. The foursome dashed straight through, tossing stun grenades into side rooms and following up with volleys from their weapons. Jeffrey's South African R4 clicked empty. He reloaded on the run, another thirty-fiveround clip, then fired right through the plasterboard interior walls. The air filled with white dust. His receiver parts clattered noisily, and spent shell casings clinked. He tossed another grenade, then sprayed more bullets after it—the pantry room, unoccupied. They swept the first floor quickly. The guards had all taken cover inside a sandbagged and armored vestibule, protecting the stairs to the basement lab. SEAL Two was using the radar scanner. "This deck's been structurally reinforced. That's the only way down."

The Boer guards shot at SEAL Two through firing slits in their miniature fortress, and Two hit the deck.

"Four, Three, upper level clear, all occupants terminated. We're at the bottom of the staircase down to you. We'll give covering fire so you can breach the vestibule enclosure.

"

"Good," Jeffrey said. "Shoot from hip level into the slits. We'll crawl under your suppressing fire and put satchel charges in place."

SEALs Two and Seven each grabbed a pair of

satchels from their packs. Jeffrey dropped his rifle and grabbed a satchel too. He held his pistol in one hand.

"Chief," Jeffrey said, "open fire." The SEAL chief and the two men with him, Eight and Nine, hit the slits of the enclosure. Jeffrey crawled forward with Seven and Two, shooting on the way. They took cover at the base of the sandbags, which were leaking from all the bullet holes.

Two frag grenades came out of a firing slit and landed on the floor. Whoever threw them was hit—there was a scream inside the vestibule. Jeffrey turned. He couldn't reach the grenades. The SEAL chief saw them too. He ran from the stairwell and flung himself, landing just as they detonated. He was lifted off the deck by the concussions, then bounced back in a heap, helmetless and smoldering. Jeffrey knew he was dead, shards of steel through his heart. The other men in the stairwell kept firing at the slits.

"Arm the satchels!" Jeffrey shouted to Two and Seven. Then they pulled well back. "Fire in the hole!" Jeffrey screamed. SEALs Eight and Nine stopped shooting—they must have gone up the stairs.

There was a huge eruption, the loudest explosion so far, and Jeffrey's visor screens blanked out the glare. Jeffrey was deafened; he choked on the fumes and the sand. Rubble was burning and the museum displays were a mess. Pieces of shark skeleton were scattered all over the place. Every window on the first floor was blown out—Jeffrey could feel the breeze. It was helping clear the smoke.

The Boers' enclosure was wrecked. Two bloodied soldiers took cover behind fallen piles of sandbags, firing viciously, one of them now using a light machine gun on a bipod. Six other figures lay limp, some of them dismembered.

"Eight and Nine," Jeffrey said, "open fire again—make them keep their heads down." Just then Clayton

arrived, crawling up beside Jeffrey. Both men winced as ricochets zipped by.

"One isn't going to make it," Clayton said.

"The chief bought it too," Jeffrey said.

"I saw," Clayton said. "Let's give them a taste of their own medicine." Clayton took two fragmentation grenades from his vest. More enemy slugs snapped overhead, pulverizing the walls. Clayton held a grenade in each hand and Jeffrey pulled the pins. Clayton popped the spoons. "One, two, three," he counted. Then he yelled "Grenade!" and tossed them both at the Boers.

Jeffrey hugged the floor, his arms protecting his head. There was a stabbing flash and a sharp double crack, brief screaming and writhing, then stillness and silence, except for more painful ringing in Jeffrey's ears. He saw Eight and Nine rush the Boers, firing into their bodies, long past when they were dead.

Jeffrey turned to Ilse. "Get some fire extinguishers and put out whatever's burning!" Ilse nodded. "Don't forget the bodies!" Jeffrey shouted after her. "We don't want their ammo cooking off!"

Jeffrey and Clayton threw concussion grenades down the stairs, then clambered into the basement. They took a bend in the debris-strewn concrete hallway, then came to a door. Clayton examined it carefully. "It's solid steel, no lock we can reach, the hinges are on the inside."

"Crap," Jeffrey said. "They'll be trying to signal for help." Clayton turned to his men. "Get the thermite lances!"

SEALs Eight and Nine came down, carrying rods

three feet long, and wearing asbestos gauntlets. They

put on dark goggles, then donned their gas masks, then

pulled out igniters for the rods. The rods began to burn,

a hissing, brilliant white. Eight and Nine held the rods to the door, starting to burn their way through. Soon Nine said, "It looks like three-inch armor plate." He and Eight kept working. SEAL Two set up a battery-powered fan on the steps, for ventilation.

"Two and Seven," Clayton said. "Police up the bodies outside, dump them in the workshop. Establish perimeter security, the amphitheater, the road." The two men nodded and left.

"This'll go faster if we help," Jeffrey said, then he coughed from the fumes. He and Clayton put on their gas masks and lit two more lances. Above the thermite's eager, potent hiss Jeffrey heard Ilse working upstairs, the squirting sound of extinguishers. They were all on their third set of lances, the last they had. They were almost done making a hole at the base of the door, big enough to run through at a crouch.

"This is the exciting part," Jeffrey said, sweating in the built-up heat. "We know the biosafety four containment's at the other end of this level. We don't know what else is down here or how many personnel."

"I'm worried they'll have school kids," Clayton said. "Experiment subjects, for hostages."

"This thing ain't over," Jeffrey said.

"We're just about finished," Nine said. A small lip in the middle of the top cut held the square chunk of door in place. SEALs Nine and Eight held the lances to the side. The thermite kept sparking and smoking, and the air stank from burned steel.

"We can fit the peeper through here," Eight said. "It's cool enough now, LT." He pointed to one spot where the jagged gap flared slightly.

Clayton went to the door. He bent the tip of the fiberoptic wand and pushed it through the cut. He looked through the viewer. "The lights are on inside, but I don't see people or weapons. The front walls and partitions are heated and insulated. They're opaque to IR. . . . I don't see any booby traps, but I can't be sure." Jeffrey took Clayton's place at the viewer. He twirled the wand between thumb and forefinger, to make the lens pan around.

"You're right," Jeffrey said, "more shielding. Another layer of security, even in there." Jeffrey could see worktables covered with papers, different kinds of cabinets, big black binders on bookshelves, a few desktop PCs. Then he saw a TV monitor, hooked to a VCR.

Something was showing on the screen, but the angle was too oblique. Several chairs were grouped in front of the set, empty, one knocked over, as if people had been sitting and watching and then scattered with the attack. That meant they were still down here somewhere, farther in. Jeffrey saw a central corridor with doors off to both sides. The corridor ended in some kind of air lock with a porthole. Through the porthole he saw stainless steel. Above the air lock a red light was flashing.

Behind Jeffrey, Ilse came down the stairs. "The fires are out," she said. She smelled distinctly of smoke. She crouched on the concrete floor, her black wet suit snug around her thighs. She clutched her pistol in both hands, pointed toward the overhead. She looked incredibly sexy.

"What now?" Ilse said.

"Look through the viewer, get oriented," Jeffrey said. Ilse put one eye to the ocular. " Memorize what you see," he told her. "Visualize going in."

"Okay," Ilse said. "I'm ready."

Jeffrey let the two SEALs take a peek. "Everyone change to hollow point only," he ordered. "No armor-piercing rounds near the containment." He pulled from his vest an ammo clip color-coded green, with distinctive ribbing. He cleared his pistol and reloaded with the clip. Ilse and the others did the same.

"Finish the cut," Clayton said. "After we go through, fan out. Don't damage computers or notebooks. Shoot only when you have targets, kill everyone you see. If they have a child, he won't make much of a shield. Aim for the bad guy's eyes, like we trained. His fingers'

ll go slack instantly."

"What do we do with the hostage?" SEAL Nine said. "We'll worry about that if it happens," Jeffrey said. "Any second now," Eight said, working his torch. "One, Six," Clayton called. "One, Six, how you making out?"

There was a pause. "Six, One, I'm cold, and thirsty."

"Pull up your wet-suit hood," Clayton said. "You'll feel warmer. And drink from your canteen. If you need more water, just call me." Clayton sounded choked up.

"One, Four," Jeffrey said. He had to clear his throat. "You did a great job going in there. We're on the next-tolast phase now. We'll be back to you soon. Hang tough."

"Yeah," One said, obviously in pain.

"Two and Seven, Six. Any outside activity?"

"Six, Two, negative."

"Six, Seven, no unusual radio traffic, nothing at all from the lab. . . . I think the rain might be stopping."

Ilse watched SEAL Nine give the metal slab a shove. It fell inward with a clank. Eight dashed in, Nine followed. Jeffrey went after Clayton, then Ilse duck-walked through. Jeffrey held back, protecting Ilse now as the rest of the team moved forward. Ilse pulled empty equipment bags and two digital cameras from her pack and started rifling the desks. The SEALs advanced, covering each

other methodically, shouting "Clear" as they checked each office in turn.

"Shit," Ilse said, eyeballing several computers. "The backs are off. They took out the hard drives themselves."

"I don't see any floppies or CD-RWs either," Jeffrey said. He pointed to empty spaces on the desks, where disk holders had probably been. Bullets hit the door and Ilse and Jeffrey ducked.

"They've been destroying the evidence," she said, "the whole time we were breaking in."

"You're the expert, Ilse. What do we do?"

"I don't see any lab notebooks either." More bullets clanged off the door and the TV

monitor imploded.

"Shaj," Jeffrey shouted—inside the lab his radio was jammed. "Shaj! We need to take a prisoner!"

"Look for an older bald guy!" Ilse yelled at the top of her lungs. "I have a feeling he'll be in charge!"

"Come on," Jeffrey said. He and Ilse dashed forward, pistols drawn. They passed two dead Boer soldiers, one with sergeant's stripes. They caught up with the SEALs.

"No one else in sight," Clayton said. "We searched all the offices, and this whole wall's shielded. . . . The encapsulated diesel generator's over there."

"Keep it running," Jeffrey said. "We need the power in the bunker." Ilse peered around. "They've wrecked every PC and took the laptops with them. They must have gone through the containment air lock."

"Wouldn't they be killed?" Jeffrey said.

"No," Ilse said. "This outer lock's a precaution. Up to level three's a shirt-sleeve environment. You only need space suits in BL-4."

"How do we get this thing open?" Jeffrey said. Ilse worked the air lock.

"Let's go," Jeffrey said. He yanked the handle of the

inner door and pushed. The door gave a fraction and stopped. He put his shoulder to it. Nothing. "It's barricaded," he said.

"The Halligan tools," Clayton said. SEAL Eight pulled two special crowbars from his pack. Eight and Clayton jammed the forked ends into the crack. Using all their strength, they forced the door open an inch, then lost their points of leverage.

"Jaws," Clayton said. SEAL Nine handed him the tool. Nine worked the hydraulic foot pump while Clayton held the expanding tips to the jamb of the door. Jeffrey covered the opening from above Clayton's head while he worked, using Nine's weapon. Eight covered the opening from floor level, aiming between Clayton's legs. When there was enough clearance, Clayton dashed through. Again Ilse went last.

A floor-to-ceiling freezer rested against the door. It was unplugged, but her visor told her everything inside was still frozen. The team was in an area of marble-topped lab benches, centrifuges, polymerase-chain-reaction machines. They double-checked under the tables—the area was clear. "Keep going!" Ilse shouted.

The wall in front of them was shielded. They went through another door, with no barricade this time. Two men in white lab coats turned to face them, unarmed. Four others fed diskettes and papers into fires blazing in the exhaust hoods of biosafety three. SEALs Eight and Nine made them move aside.

"Save whatever you can," Jeffrey said. Eight and Nine closed the hoods to smother the fires.

In the middle of one wall was another air lock, much

heavier and with a different mechanism. A big red 4 was

painted on the hatch. Jeffrey looked through the porthole.

"Someone's in there," Jeffrey said. "He's putting on a suit."

"He'll try to lock himself in," Ilse said, "then wait until we leave. Let me get this thing open." She peeked through the porthole, then worked the door mechanism and yanked the handle. Suction fans began to roar.

The bald man took hold of the inner door. "Get back or I'll open it."

"You can't," Ilse said, "not while this one's ajar. The interlocking won't let you." The Boer turned. "You," he said, staring at her. He held the space-suit hood under one arm.

"Otto," Ilse said, covering him with her gun. "I somehow knew you'd be behind all this." The man grabbed a ring hung by a chain from the ceiling and pulled. Nothing happened.