NanoStrike (29 page)

Abdul stood behind Quinn with one arm wrapped around Adiba. His free hand held the plastic carrier with the flask. David sat calmly in his seat.

“Welcome back, Miss Keisha.” The man from the Jeep spoke with a soft Southern accent, but when he keyed his two-way radio, the hairs on Quinn’s neck bristled. The driver flirted with Keisha, who had changed into a tiny red skirt and a tight, revealing top. She coyly covered her mouth with one hand and laughed at his patter. A few minutes passed before a second Jeep arrived and collected the driver, leaving them with a vehicle.

Quinn opened the cabin door. “Let’s go.”

Keisha drove them across the concrete apron to the heliport.

Quinn considered his options. He could shoot her, take the Jeep, drive to the terminal, and surrender. But he was public enemy number three. His travelling companions were numbers one and two, and, if Scott had done his job, the authorities would know he had a WMD. He didn’t recall much conversation happening when SEAL Team 6 met Osama bin Laden. No, too many unknowns. He needed to speak to Scott first. Learn the lay of the land. For now, they were safer with Eudon’s people;
they
didn’t see the flask as a weapon.

They abandoned the Jeep and walked, heads bowed, to a waiting helicopter, rotors already spinning. The pilot was a large black man. Quinn gauged his threat potential. He didn’t seem hostile.

The cockpit was cramped. Quinn sat next to David. Abdul and Adiba took the seat behind. Keisha rode shotgun. She passed a set of cans to Quinn, and he monitored Keisha and the pilot’s small talk.

Quinn needed a plan, but he didn’t know where to start. He trusted Scott, but couldn’t risk calling him on the cell phone and giving away their location. Once they reached the plant, he might get access to a landline. With so many unknowns, he’d have to wing it. Perhaps David was right. Perhaps Allah
was
managing the show.

As they approached the refinery, Quinn spoke into his mic. “Is that all Nazar’s?”

“Amazing, eh?” the pilot said. “I’m Sam, by the way. I often fly out here, shocks the heck out of me every trip.”

They landed on a concrete pad near a domed building.

Two golf buggies came toward them, each driven by a man in a green-and-gold uniform—security, Quinn assumed. He took the bag containing the flask from Abdul, and they rode the carts to the building. Quinn let Keisha climb out of the cart first and whispered to David.

“Stay close to me. Think of it as Allah’s will.”

David smiled. “You are a good man, Mr. Quinn, but you are an unbeliever. You can never know the will of Allah.”

“But whatever I do is Allah’s will anyway, right?” David frustrated him, but he had no way to influence him. Heck, he hardly knew the man. He followed Keisha and kept a tight grip on David’s arm. When they arrived at the open door to the building, he stalled so Abdul and Adiba could catch up. They walked in together with the two security guards behind them.

Keisha led them down a hallway and through a door into a laboratory. Fifty feet away, at the center of the lab, four men and two women in lab coats stood in front of a couple tables holding computer equipment and a glove box. Nazar Eudon stood to the right of the group. Quinn turned to Adiba and spoke softly, but loud enough so Abdul would hear.

“I understand how you two feel, but don’t do anything about Eudon until I’ve figured a way out of here.” He glanced behind. The two guards stood at the door. Quinn scanned the room for another exit. There wasn’t one. They moved across the lab and stopped in front of the glove box. Keisha stood close to Nazar. He stroked her hair as though she were a favorite pet.

“David,” Nazar said, a broad smile on his face, “I’m happy to see you again; also Abdul and Adiba. I am delighted you escaped captivity, with your assistance no doubt, Detective Chief Inspector. Thank you. I’m pleased my two young friends are unharmed.” Adiba glared at Nazar. Abdul kept a firm grip on her shoulder.

A tall, nervous-looking man in John Lennon spectacles spoke. “David, d . . . d . . . do you have the virginbots?”

“Hello, professor,” David said, “Mr. Quinn has them.”

All eyes moved to Quinn’s face, then down to the plastic carrier in his right hand.

“Mr. Eudon,” Quinn said, “my friends and I have some immigration problems to resolve. I would appreciate your help.”

Nazar grinned. “Mr. Quinn, if that bag contains what I hope it does, I will help you and my two friends any way I can. But first, we must examine the goods.”

The smile stayed, and Quinn saw the steel behind Nazar’s eyes. He didn’t have much choice. Ironically, they were safer with Eudon than they would be with the authorities, and at least
he
didn’t want to murder people with the nanobots. He handed over the carrier. The professor’s hand shook as he placed the flask inside the glove box and closed the door.

The professor pushed his hands in the sleeves and used gloves to open the thermos. Wisps of vapor escaped the top. He pulled out a glass tube and put the flask to one side. He positioned the tube in a holder at the center of the box. One of the techs punched some keys on the computer keyboard, and the box flooded with red light.

While everyone focused on the glove box, Quinn scanned the room again; definitely only one exit, where the guards stood. All the white-coats and Nazar stared at the monitor. David stood back, lips moving in prayer, eyes squeezed shut.

Nazar spun around and glared at David. “Is this a joke? These nanobots are the same as the ones you left here. They have less than a week of life!”

Quinn checked the display, trying to understand the problem:

Target –          C2H5OH (Ethanol)

Inhibitor –      C2H5OH*30% (Ethanol)

Feedstock –    Bio

Catalyst –       Photon

                        ss:mm:hh:dd:mm

Activate -        00:00:00:00:00

Terminate –    59:59:23:31:07

The data didn’t mean a damn thing to him, but Nazar was pissed.

David said, “I can reset the parameter.”

“You b . . . b . . . built a backdoor, didn’t you?”

David smiled at the professor, and he smiled back. The man obviously admired whatever David had done. The group opened a space. Before David stepped forward, he turned to face Abdul and Adiba.

“
Allahu Akbar
,” David said.

“
Allahu Akbar
,” Adiba and Abdul replied simultaneously.

Quinn studied David as he nodded to Abdul and smiled at Adiba. He recognized the expression on David’s face.

He’d seen that expression before.

As a police officer, more than once, his life had depended on recognizing that expression.

David had made a decision.

The professor stepped away from the computer keyboard, allowing David access. The technicians followed his every move.

Quinn moved behind Abdul and Adiba and put a hand on each of their shoulders. Adiba turned to say something, but Quinn shook his head and eased them toward a large conference table set against the wall, fifteen feet from the door. Quinn smiled at the security guards, who studied him but didn’t smile back.

“I’m beat,” Quinn said, loud enough for the guards to hear. He sat on the table, legs swinging. He patted a space next to him, and Abdul and Adiba joined him.

Quinn spoke in a low whisper. “Abdul, what’s going on over there?”

“David has programmed a backdoor. It’s like putting a combination lock on the computer. Only someone who knows the code can get in. David is going to pick the lock and reset the termination date on the nanobots.”

David punched a series of keys into the computer. After a few seconds, the white-coats started applauding.

Nazar turned, looking for them. He caught Quinn’s eye and smiled broadly. Then he put an arm around Keisha’s waist, pulled her to him, and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him and laid her cheek against his shoulder.

While the technicians were clapping and staring at the computer display, David opened the door to the glove box and plucked the tube of nanobots from the induction chamber.

He unscrewed the top, faced Nazar, and raised the tube as if in a toast.
“Allahu Akbar,
” he said.

Then.

Like a man downing a shooter at a redneck bar, David tipped his head back and slid the contents of the tube into his mouth.

He dropped like a rock, screaming and writhing, onto the floor. The professor knelt beside him. “David, what’s wrong?”

The technicians, Nazar, and Keisha looked on. It took a few seconds before the group understood what had happened. The professor jerked upright. David had stopped moving, and his head was melting like a block of butter in a hot pan. Already, half his skull was missing. Orange liquid pooled on the floor around his body as if he were bleeding out, except it wasn’t blood.

The liquid spread quickly across the floor. The white-coats began hopping, like cowboys in a western movie, dancing while a drunk shoots bullets at their feet.

The professor grabbed his left knee, screamed and stumbled sideways as if he had been tackled; in seconds, his leg was reduced to a stump. The liquid pooled at the technicians' feet. They ran for the door. One by one, they fell as their feet and legs were devoured by nanobots and turned to orange ethanol solution.

Nazar, standing furthest from the group, climbed on the computer table and pulled Keisha up after him.

“The flask. Get me the flask!” Nazar screamed at his assistant and pointed at the empty thermos flask inside the glove box affixed to the table next to theirs.

Keisha clambered across the table. The box's door faced away from her, so she lay on top, swung her arms over the front, and reached through the opening.

“Hold my feet, I can’t reach.”

Nazar grabbed her legs. She slid forward, bent at the waist over the edge of the box, and grasped the flask. He pulled her back and she held the prize high.

“The liquid contains unlocked nanobots.” Nazar pointed to the orange puddle on the floor below them where David had stood a few moments before; a glass test tube was all that remained of the young man. The liquid pooled under and around the front of Nazar’s table. The nanobots were consuming the vinyl floor tiles, spreading fast,

“Scoop some into the flask. We only need a small amount. I’ll hold your legs.” Nazar slid to the far side of the table and braced himself. Keisha, flask in hand, lay on her belly, stretching toward the liquid while Nazar anchored her feet. She touched the open mouth of the flask to the floor and scooped in liquid.

Nanobots reached the front legs of Nazar’s table. They began to disassemble the carbon compounds in the steel, and the table tilted and sank to floor. Keisha, flask in hand, slipped forward, dragging Nazar with her. He released her feet and scrambled to the rear of the table saving himself.

As she fell headfirst off the table, Keisha looked in disbelief at her mentor, who had sacrificed her life for his. She landed head-first in the pool of nanobots and emitted a chilling, high-pitched squeal, which lasted only a few seconds before her face and mouth were no longer sufficiently formed to sustain the sound.

Nazar balanced on the edge of the tipping table, but the nanobots had reached the rear legs and the table wobbled. He slid down the tabletop toward the spreading pool of deadly orange liquid and leaped at the last moment onto what was left of Keisha’s back. Then, using his loyal assistant as a stepping-stone, he jumped clear of the liquid.

Abdul tightened his grip on Adiba, who glared at Nazar as he stood at the center of the lab scanning the floor, searching for a pathway to the door.

Everything in lab was tipping, falling, melting, like a waking nightmare. Quinn shouted, “Abdul!” and pointed to the exit. The security guards had gone and closed the door behind them. One of the lab technicians had almost escaped. A pool of orange liquid marked where he had fallen, and it blocked their path to the door. A rapacious monster waited for something or someone to feed on.

Quinn pulled at Abdul’s arm. “The table. Slide the table. We’ll climb along and jump through the doorway.”

The conference table was twenty feet long with a polished oak top. He and Abdul braced against the narrow edge, and Adiba jammed in beside them. They pushed, and the table screeched and jerked across the floor until it reached the door.

Abdul clambered up, slid along, and grabbed the door handle, but they’d overshot and table had jammed the door shut. “Pull back!”

Quinn looked behind. The nanobots fed on chairs, tables and equipment, transforming them into more liquid, adding to the spreading orange pool that moved toward him, an incoming tide pushing up the beach. He grabbed Adiba and threw her onto the table.

The table juddered and tipped as the far end, beneath Abdul, dropped two inches. Adiba lost her balance and Abdul grabbed her just before she toppled off. Her eyes remained fixed on Nazar, who had picked his way across the lab and stood close to the center of the table, focused on the pool of liquid swelling behind Quinn’s feet.

Quinn pulled with every ounce of every muscle in his body. The table moved, but slower with Abdul and Adiba on top.

“Two more inches!” Abdul screamed.

Quinn yanked again. The deadly liquid pooled six inches behind his feet.

Abdul opened the door.

“That’s it. Climb up!”

The table legs nearest the door sunk lower as Adiba grabbed Quinn by the back of his shirt, and he slid and wriggled his belly onto the sloping tabletop, panting and gasping like a landed fish.

Adiba screamed and pointed. “Your shoes!”

Quinn’s legs still hung off the end of the table, and orange liquid dripped from the melting soles and splashed to the floor. “Ahhh!” he screamed. A primal sound, born of terror.

Quinn flipped off his shoes, then tore off his socks, threw them down, and turned on his back with arms and legs held high, like an upturned beetle.

For a few seconds, he stopped breathing and stared at his feet, waiting for them to melt.

Then he shouted in a voice tinged with hysteria. “I’m okay . . . I’m okay. Let’s go!”