Matt Drake Book 9 - The Plagues of Pandora Page 7

  “The other reason I called this video conference,” Webb continued emotionlessly. “Is to officially announce that we’re ready to push the button on the Pandora project. I thought you all might want to be present the moment we start rolling on the three plague pits. This is a magnificent moment for the Pythians.” Webb swelled out his chest and gave the magnanimous wide smile. “All assets are in place. The factory is ready. The backup facility is prepared—” he glanced around. That last statement was a little premature, but hopeful. “Are we ready?”

  Excited nods and statements of approval told him he had chosen well.

  “Then let’s begin.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Alicia Myles felt the oddest moment of uncertainty when Crouch cut their connection with the SPEAR team. More than longing, she felt certain that she should be with those guys, a part of the team that had essentially saved her, changed her outlook on life. It was okay running headlong down an ever-winding road, but what if the people you left behind were the people you were meant to be with?

  She studied the faces around the jet’s enclosed cabin. Their boss, Michael Crouch, sat in deep thought, head in his hands as he studied a small laptop before him. The soldiers, Zack Healey and Rob Russo, sat behind Crouch, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Healey still looked fresh-faced and innocent—an appearance that invited many harsh ribbings—whereas Russo’s outer shell was as hard as a mountain and twice as craggy.

  Nevertheless the two were good friends, a comradeship born in warfare, liberation and adversity. Healey had recently been rescued by Russo and Alicia from the hands of a barmy African crime lord after helping locate the long-lost golden treasure trove of the ancient Aztecs, a mission that had brought action and mayhem to Mexico, Las Vegas and Arizona. Alicia had bonded very well with the two soldiers, already sure they would guard her back in any future situation.

  There should have been two more people aboard the plane. One was missing, an odd addition by any terms, Laid Back Lex, the misfit that had been a part of Alicia’s old biker gang and one of its only survivors, had been left out of this dangerous mission. With so much at stake, Lex’s inability to conform, and the lure of the motorcycling Nirvana around Vegas, Alicia had persuaded him to sit this one out.

  The last was a young girl, Caitlyn Nash. Though sporting a colorful, dubious history—she had already burned out once whilst working for MI6 at the tender age of twenty one—Caitlyn had proved herself during the Aztec Gold mission under intense torture and by helping solve the clues along the way. It was she that had coined the phrase The Gold Team for the group. Alicia felt a little protective of the girl, but couldn’t help but tease both her and Healey when the two showed signs of a budding relationship.

  And to Caitlyn’s credit, especially in Alicia’s book, she had started showing signs that she could not only take a good ribbing, but give it back too.

  Alicia sat back and listened to the discussions. The first decision had been made a few minutes ago; that they would divert from their planned Rome heading and set a new course for Paris. Caitlyn and Crouch were discussing plague pits and how many there might be scattered around Paris.

  “Several sites have been identified,” Caitlyn said, already tapping into surveillance feeds and analyzing the data—her prime function over at MI6. “Too many. And if we wait for the Pythians to strike, we’ll be too late to stop them. In addition to that, there may be other less famous sites. To pick up from where we were earlier, it is now widely believed by experts that not all the pits are full of the victims of the Black Death, Yersinia pestis, but that they also contain other diseases such as anthrax, leprosy, and something else that is particularly frightening—signs of extremely lethal and highly contagious viruses similar to the filoviruses that cause hemorrhagic fevers.”

  Crouch turned a horrified gaze upon her. “Are you saying . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Caitlyn nodded, “Ebola.”

  “These experts are saying Ebola could have been behind the Black Death epidemic?” Alicia asked with some skepticism.

  “It has been suggested at levels higher than this.”

  “We hear an awful lot about this Black Death,” Russo grunted. “The plague. But isn’t it just a disease that our ancestors didn’t have the technology to stamp out? Would it really be so damaging today?”

  “Hard to say,” Caitlyn said. “Depends on the strain, the virulence, and if it’s weaponized or not. The Black Death itself killed the majority of the population and rushed across the continent. Yes, they may not have had any prior exposure to this strain of the disease which inevitably makes the infection worse. But the first ever recorded outbreak of bubonic plague was in AD 541-542, later called the Justinian Plague and known as the greatest pandemic in history. There was a third pandemic that began in China around 1855, killed over twelve million in that region alone, and was still considered active until 1959.”

  Alicia let out a long breath. “Jesus.”

  “Absolutely. But again, this only helps dispute the belief that the Black Death was caused by rats. A plague outbreak is always preceded by the presence of a great many dead rats, since they are also susceptible to the disease. Now, unlike in Asia, in Europe there are no plague-resistant rodents that could act as a breeding ground for the disease and a distinct lack of accounts mentioning dead rats in any medieval literature. Also, despite two outbreaks of plague in Iceland in the fifteenth century rats did not settle on the island until much later.”

  “So if not rats . . .” Alicia said. “Humans?”

  “And we’re back to Ebola,” Caitlyn said.

  “What about all this talk of weaponization?” Healey interjected. “Is it even possible to weaponize an ancient disease?”

  “We were just coming to that,” a familiar voice interrupted, causing Alicia’s heart to race.

  “Jesus!” the Englishwoman said. “Have you been listening all along?”

  “Of course,” Karin said. “Why, were you missing us?”

  Alicia snorted. “Oh yeah, like I’d miss an ugly wart on my face. And speaking of that, how’s the Sprite?”

  “Ummm . . . very quiet. But you’re on speakerphone now, guys, so let’s move on. Obviously a million different theories exist as to the weaponization of most diseases so let’s start at the top. In the case of any bioterrorist event involving plague, the healthcare system of a region will be easily overwhelmed. Yes, I said will. Especially if strict isolation is implemented indiscriminately for most patients. The Yersinia pestis virus can be destroyed with drying, heat and ultraviolet light, making weaponization a very tricky process. Would you believe that in World War II the Japanese bred infected fleas by the billions and released them over northern Chinese cities, initiating unspeakable epidemics? Plague has been prevalent in those areas ever since.”

  Healey let out a long breath, fresh face screwed up. “How do these people get away with it?”

  Crouch stared over at his young protégé. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Zack. You may not have been around the block as many times as, say Alicia, but you know how governments work.”

  Alicia blinked in surprise. “Hey . . .”

  But Karin was already continuing. “Initially the United States dismissed plague as a bioweapon threat, because the disease endures in the area, and would cause deaths on all sides long after the primary attack. But . . .” she paused.

  Russo leaned over toward Alicia. “You gotta admit, you have been around a bit.”

  “Just makes me more experienced.”

  “Yeah, well, so long as that experience doesn’t come near me we’ll keep getting along just fine.”

  “Oh, Rock-Face, are you sure? Just imagine all that sweet rock music we could make.”

  Russo turned away, almost squirming. Alicia loved to embarrass the stand-offish, and—truth be told—rather prudish soldier, but then the same could be said of Healey for entirely different reasons. The younger man had fully intended to ask Caitlyn out on a date, meaning to
woo her in the “proper and correct” manner before shagging her brains out, as Alicia had put it. Healey had mentioned the fact as Russo and she rescued him from a hell pit in Africa. But then Drake had called and the Pythians had struck, upsetting everyone’s plans.

  Fucking megalomaniacs, she thought.

  She now leaned over to whisper in Healey’s ear. “Do you think she looks hot, tapping away on that computer? I know I do.”

  Healey squirmed away. That was two out of two. Alicia sat back, relaxing. Job done.

  Karin’s dialogue went on unbroken, “. . . reports that the Soviets developed a dry, antibiotic-resistant, environmentally stable variety of the plague organism. This brings us up to date and to the American CDC, who have now categorized weaponized plague as a Category A agent.”

  “Fucking boffins hiding away in their windowless labs and the soulless men that control them,” she heard Dahl say. “Wish I could get my hands on a couple of them.”

  “Maybe we will,” Drake answered, sounding equally disgusted.

  “Okay, well, according to this colonel the nastiest form of weaponized pneumonic plague was developed in Russia, employing canisters that released it in a powdered form from cruise missiles. Hard to detect.” Karin’s voice faltered as she spoke. “It’s . . . horrendous what the human race can concoct. In aerosol form pneumonic plague reaches its zenith, the most terrible, easy-to-deploy world killer out there, all down to the contagiousness of the disease, its resistance to dozens of antibiotics and, at least up to early 2000, no vaccine was available to combat the aerosolized form.”

  “So now they’re creating diseases without a vaccine?” Crouch shook his head.

  “Well, according to the CDC, plague has been used as a weapon since the Tartars catapulted infected corpses into the city of Kaffa in an effort to spread the disease. It is said . . .” Karin again wavered, “that the Soviets have fifteen hundred metric tons of the stuff.”

  “And what’s the casualty rate?” Hayden asked.

  Karin could be heard tapping away. “If fifty kilograms were released over a well-populated city in aerosol form, pneumonic plague would occur in roughly two hundred thousand people. And, Jesus, a footnote right here . . . no early warning system is in place.”

  Crouch chose that moment to stand. “Well, we’re a good few hours out from Paris yet. I suggest we use these hours to get some rest.”

  Alicia saw an opportunity for jest, but the last glut of information weighed heavy on her and she waived the pleasure. She met her boss’s eyes and nodded.

  “We’re gonna need it,” she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The moment Drake was in the air he knew the days of peace and quiet were long gone.

  The plane was abuzz, Karin and Komodo in full research mode, Hayden liaising with the UK authorities via Robert Price, Kinimaka realizing in that lovably clumsy way of his that he’d left DC about three minutes after his sister, Kono, touched down on her way to see him. Dahl hovered over everyone, taking stock and offering happily accepted advice, Smyth made eyes at Mai and Lauren, but in a rascally way. Only Mai stayed apart, quiet at the back of the fast jet.

  Drake was glad to see the team back in action.

  There were three more people aboard. Lauren, Yorgi and Grace. The team had decided they might need Yorgi’s services and Lauren’s memories. Grace was there on Mai’s insistence. The Japanese woman just couldn’t leave her new charge on her own—especially in light of yesterday’s new information.

  Drake focused on the flight and the flood of facts and figures. Preparation was an imperative. They would land and then hit London’s streets running, no holding back.

  Karin was at the forefront of the information charge, naturally comprehending what type of intelligence they would need and in which order.

  “Plague pits of London,” she said. “There are many, leading some to name it the city of bones. From one end to the other you need only dig a few yards beneath the surface to discover its many hidden secrets—tens of thousands of bodies are buried beneath the sprawling capital, a land of skeletons. In addition to the Knightsbridge pit I mentioned earlier we have another at the center of Soho—Golden Square. Now a charming little area, it has a secret history as a plague pit. In 1685 Lord Macauley described it as ‘a field not to be passed by without a shudder by any Londoner of that age’. Here, as the great plague raged, nightly cartloads of corpses were dropped and buried. It was believed that the earth was deeply infected and could never again be interred without the risk of infection.”

  “But all that has been proven wrong,” Smyth said. “Right?”

  Karin shrugged. “We thought so. The bacteria should have perished within weeks. But, as I mentioned, scientists have now noted the presence of other diseases too. Diseases that may not die.”

  Drake made a waving motion. “Any more pits?”

  “Plenty. An interesting one lies on the Bakerloo line. At the south end of the London depot there’s a junction. One line leads to Elephant and Castle, the other to a dead end and a runaway line for trains unable to stop. Behind the walls of this tunnel lies a plague pit.”

  Drake suppressed a shudder. “Think about that the next time you’re on the tube.”

  “Another exists at Green Park, discovered when they were building the Victoria Line. And more . . . so many more. Hayden, Drake, we can’t possibly cover every single one. Not by ourselves.”

  Hayden nodded. “Maybe the British police could help.”

  Drake held up a warning hand. “Be careful how you word it. London’s on a high alert. If we send squad cars screaming to every location we’re gonna cause mayhem, which will hamper our own search.”

  Hayden stared. “I’m FBI, Matt. I know how to be diplomatic.”

  Drake grimaced but said nothing. Dahl caught his eye with a similar frown. Hayden noticed the exchange and laughed. “Look at you two goddamn comedians. Do you have a better plan?”

  Dahl nodded slowly. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Kinimaka sat down next to Hayden, protective as ever. “Please share.”

  “We monitor the chatter,” he said. “And I don’t mean how the cops do it. I mean how Interpol and the NSA do it. We know the channels they use, the methods they employ. Code words. More importantly, we know the identities of dozens of mercenaries allied to the Pythians, though not their whereabouts since they dropped off the grid. If we can establish any kind of close proximity for them—” Dahl clicked his fingers. “Game on.”

  Drake thought about it. “Jesus Christ, Dahl, that’s not bad.”

  Dahl nodded toward Hayden. “Make the call. Let’s go get these bastards.”

  Drake let out a long sigh. “I just hope London’s ready for this.”

  “Not to mention Paris and Los Angeles,” Hayden muttered.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As they came in to land, Hayden called the team they had chosen to assist in Los Angeles. Recommended by Michael Crouch and Armand Argento of Interpol, and the team that had saved Kono Kinimaka’s life more than once, the so-called Disavowed were ex-CIA and an unlikely but competent bunch.

  Hayden spoke to their self-appointed but now universally accepted leader, Claire Collins. “Hi, again. If you’re up for some off-the-book, rollercoaster action where you’ll quite possibly get yourself killed at least twice then you’re one of the gang.”

  “We’re up for anything and everything.” Collins said. “At least twice. So tell us what you need in LA.”

  “Well, obviously you won’t be the only ones out there. But we need you guys to play to your strengths. The Disavowed team were the best in the business at what they do, and could still be. We need them on the ground, working this thing from the streets.”

  “We’ll get to it.”

  Hayden proceeded to impart all the information they had gathered, bringing Collins up to speed as her colleagues listened. When she was done their West Coast team sounded ready for action.

  Hayden spen
t a few more minutes briefing them and then signed off. “We’re counting on you guys. Don’t let the Pythians or their agents out of that plague pit alive.”

  “We’re right on it,” Collins said. “If there’s one thing we’re good at . . .”

  *

  “. . . it’s kicking terrorist ass.” Claire Collins ended the call and sat back in her seat, searching the eyes of everyone else gathered in the room, evaluating.

  “So . . . what do you guys think?”

  Aaron Trent perched on the edge of his chair. Trent was tall and dark-haired, spoke in a clipped manner, was slow to smile but always good-hearted. He had recently been fully reunited with his son after his ex-wife died at the hands of a Serbian whack-job called Blanka Davic. The readjustment, not to mention the grieving, was taking its toll.

  “Search and destroy. But I can’t leave LA for more than a day. Mikey’s just too fragile to be without a dad right now.”

  Adam Silk, an ex-child thief recruited into the CIA, a whip-like man able to finesse his way into almost anything, looked concerned. “Maybe you should sit this one out, Aaron. Take some time.”

  “If it were less of a threat, I’d say yes. But not after what I’m hearing.”

  Dan Radford, the playboy and techie of the group who had recently come to realize he was head over heels in love with the wife he’d once happily approved of having an open relationship with, poured himself a coffee. “We need a list of plague pits in LA. We need equipment setting up or access to an existing room where we can monitor the airwaves. We need an open line to the authorities and promises of response if we shout. Not only that, but somebody should be setting up a think tank to find these Pythians and their factory. We have their names, right? How hard can it be?”

  “Has there ever been a case of the Black Death in the States?” Silk wondered. “I’ve never heard of one.”

  Collins looked blank. “I guess we’ll find out. The Bureau’s already on high alert, concerned over the significant increase in terrorist chatter these last few weeks. Nobody’s sure what to make of the Pythians—a new group appearing out of nowhere and making such gigantic waves is unprecedented.”