It was beyond cruel, this method of death, even for a
man such as this.
area 7
Nevertheless, he tried to justify Subject One's grisly
death in the light of what Subject One had done during his
life. With a friend, Leon Roy Hailey had tortured nine
women in the back of his van, laughing at them as they
begged for mercy. The two men had recorded the girls' death
throes on a video recorder for later gratification. The President had seen those tapes.
He also knew that Leon Roy Hailey had been sentenced
to four hundred and fifty-two years in prison for his crimes
He was never to leave prison alive. And so, after five brute
years in jail, he--like every other test subject at Area 7, all
of them serving multiple life sentences--had elected to submit himself to scientific testing.
"Subject Two," Botha said tonelessly, "has been given
the vaccine in serum-hydrate form. Serum was mixed into
a glass of water he drank exactly thirty minutes ago. Subject is
a white, Caucasian male, six feet eight inches, two hundred
and fifteen pounds, age thirty-two. Releasing the agent now.
Again, the hissing came, followed by the sudden puff of
mustard-yellow aerosol mist.
The man in the second chamber saw the gas enter his
booth, but unlike the first test subject, he didn't do anything
in response. He was much bigger than the first man--broad
chested, too, with bulging biceps, enormous fists and a small
elliptical head that seemed way too tiny for his body.
With his gas mask on and the yellow mist falling all
around him, he just stared out through the one-way glass of
the test chamber, as if a painful agonizing death didn't worry
him in the slightest.
No coughing. No spasming. With the gas mask on, the
virus hadn't affected him yet.
Botha flicked the intercom switch: "Take off your mask
please."
Subject Two obeyed Botha's command without objection,
removed his mask.
The President saw the man's face, and this time he
caught his breath.
It was a face he had seen many times before--on television,
64
Matthew Reilly
in the newspapers. It was the evil tattooed face of Lucifer
James Leary, the serial killer known across America as
"the Surgeon of Phoenix."
He was the man who had killed thirty-two hitchhikers,
most of them young backpackers, whom he had picked up
on the interstate between Las Vegas and Phoenix between
1991 and 1998. In every case, Leary had left his trademark
--a piece of the victim's jewelry, usually a ring or
necklace, lying on the roadway at the spot where the victim
had been abducted.
A disgraced former medical student, Leary would take
his victims to his home in Phoenix, amputate their limbs and
then eat those limbs in front of them. The discovery of his
house by FBI agents--complete with blood-smeared basement
and two live but partially eaten victims--had horrified
America.
Even now, Lucifer Leary looked like the picture of evil.
The entire left-hand side of his face was covered by a black
tattoo depicting five vertical claw marks, as if Freddy
Krueger himself had slashed his razor-tipped fingers viciously
down Leary's cheek. The tattooed slash marks were
impressive in their detail--torn ragged skin, imitation
blood--designed to evoke maximum revulsion.
At that moment, to the President's horror, Leary smiled at the observation window, revealing hideous yellow teeth.
It was then that it hit the President.
Even though his gas mask was off, Leary didn't seem to
be affected by the airborne virus.
"As you will see," Botha said proudly, "even when the
virus is inhaled directly into the lungs from the air, an orally
administered vaccine delivered in serum-hydrate form is effective
in preventing infection. The vaccine neutralizes the
invading virus by restricting the release of the protein diethylpropanase by the virus, a protein which attacks the pigmentation enzyme metahydrogenase and the blood group
protein, DB--"
"In English, please," the President said tersely.
Botha said, "Mr. President, what you have just seen is a
Area 7 65
quantum leap forward in biotechnological warfare. It is the
world's first genetically engineered biological weapon, a
completely synthetic agent, so there are no natural cures.
have never seen before. It is a purely constructed virus, and
make no mistake, it has been constructed in a very particular
way.
"It is an ethnic bullet, designed to kill only certain races of people, people possessed of certain ethnically exclusive
genes. In this case, it attacks only those people who
are possessed of the enzyme metahydrogenase and DB
blood protein. These are the enzymes which cause white
skin pigmentation, the characteristic enzymes of Caucasian
people.
"Mr. President, the same enzyme that makes our skin
white makes us susceptible to this virus. It is extraordinary. I
don't know how the Chinese did it. My government in South
Africa tried for years to develop a virus that it could put in
the water supply which would make only black people sterile,
but we never succeeded.
"But from the look of this agent, it would not be difficult
to adapt the genetic makeup of the virus so that it would
also attack African Americans, since their pigmentation enzyme
is a variant of metahydrogenase--"
"Bottom line," the President said.
"The bottom line is simple, Mr. President," Botha said.
"The only people safe from this virus are people of Asian
origin, because they do not possess these pigmentation enzymes at all. As such, they would be immune from the agent while Caucasians and African Americans everywhere would die.
"Mr. President. Allow me to introduce you to the latest
Chinese biological weapon. Meet the Sinovirus."
"I'M TELLING YOU, THERE'S SOMETHING NOT RIGHT HERE,"
Schofield said.
"Bullshit, Captain." Ramrod Hagerty waved his hand
dismissively. "You've been reading too many comic books."
"What about Webster, then? I can't find him anywhere.
He's not allowed to just disappear."
"Probably in the John."
"No, I checked there," Schofield said. "And Nighthawk
Three? Where are they? Why hasn't Hendricks called in?"
Hagerty just stared at him blankly.
Schofield said, "Sir, with all due respect, if you would
just look at where these 7th Squadron guys are standing ..."
Hagerty turned in his chair. He, Schofield and Gant
were in the southern office of the main hangar, with the
small group of White House people. Hagerty casually
looked out through the office's windows at the 7th Squadron
commandos spaced around the hangar outside.
"Looks like they're guarding every entrance." Hagerty
shrugged. "To stop us going into areas we're not supposed
to."
"No, sir, they're not. Look closely. The group to the
north are guarding the regular elevator. The middle group
are guarding the aircraft elevator. They're both fine. But look
at the group over by the control building, the group in front
of the door."
"Yeah, so ..."
"Sir, they're guarding a storage closet."
Area 7
67
Hagerty looked from Schofield to the Air Force commandos.
It was true. They were standing in front of a door
marked "storage."
"That's very nice, Captain. I'll put your observations in
my report." Hagerty resumed his paperwork.
"But sir ..."
"I said, I'll put your observations in my report, Captain
Schofield. That will be all."
Schofield straightened.
"With respect, sir, have you ever been in combat?" he said.
Hagerty froze, looked up. "I'm not sure if I like your
tone, Captain."
"Have you ever been in combat?"
"I was in Saudi during Desert Storm."
"Fighting?"
"No. Embassy staff."
"Sir, if you'd ever been in combat, you'd know that those
three groups of Air Force commandos are not standing in defensive
positions. Those are offensive positions. More than
that, those men are perfectly placed to rout these two offices--"
"Rubbish."
Schofield grabbed the sheet of paper Hagerty had been
writing on and scribbled a quick map of the hangar:
c=3<)
c=>r--)
68
Matthew Reilly
"This is where they are now," Schofield tapped the three
big black dots on the diagram. "Twelve o'clock, ten o'clock
and four o'clock. But when they move like this ..."
Schofield added some arrows to his diagram:
K
C>
"... we've got serious trouble. All the Marines and Secret
Service people over in the northern office will face the
full force of the attack, while the White House people here
in the southern office will naturally run the other way--right
into the third unit of 7th Squadron soldiers."
Hagerty looked at Schofield's diagram for a long moment.
Then he said, "That has got to be the stupidest thing I've
ever heard, Captain. These are American servicemen."
"For Christ's sake, just listen to me--"
"No, you listen to me," Hagerty spat. "Don't think for a
moment that I don't know who you are. I know all about
Wilkes Ice Station. I know what happened there. But just because
you were some kind of hero once doesn't give you a
license to spout out fucking conspiracy theories and expect
to be believed. I've been in this Corps for twenty-two years
and I have risen to where I am by--"
"--what? Pushing pencils?" Schofield said.
Hagerty fell silent. His face grew beet root red.
Area 7 69
"That's it, Schofield. For the sake of the Corps, I won't
make a scene here, but when we get back to Quantico, as
soon as we touch down, you will be taken into custody and
held for court martial on charges of gross insubordination.
Now get the fuck out of my sight."
Schofield just shook his head in exasperation and left.
"AND THESE, SIR, ARE THE MEN WHO BROUGHT BACK THE
Sinovirus," Colonel Harper said, guiding the President
around the test booths on Level 4.
A giant thirty-foot-long quarantine chamber stood before
them. Through a small glass window set into the side of the
reinforced chamber, the President saw four men, all seated
on sofas watching a television and bathed in blue ultraviolet
light. All of them, he noted, were of Asian extraction.
As soon as they saw the President, two of the men inside
the chamber rose to their feet and stood to attention.
"Mr. President, meet Captain Robert Wu and Lieutenant
Chet Li from the 7th Squadron--"
Just then Harper's cell phone buzzed.
The colonel excused himself and stepped away to take
the call.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both, gentlemen," the President
said, stepping forward. "Your country owes you a debt
of gratitude."
"Thank you, sir."
"Thank you."
"How long do you have to stay in there for?" the President
inquired, asking the obligatory personal question.
"Another couple of hours, I think, sir," the one named
Wu said. "We got back yesterday with the new strain, but we
have to stay in here for twenty-four hours. The chamber is
operated on a time lock. Can't be opened until 0900 hours.
So they can be sure there are no other bugs on us."
"Well, I won't be here come nine o'clock," the President
said, "but rest assured, you'll be receiving something
from me in the very near future."
"Thank you, sir."
jo Matthew Reilly
"Thank you, sir."
Having finished his call, Colonel Harper returned.
"And that concludes our tour, Mr. President," he said.
"Now, if you'll come this way, I have one last thing to show
you."
SCHOFIELD AND GANT STOOD INSIDE MARINE ONE, BEHIND
Brainiac.
Brainiac was seated at the helicopter's communications
console, typing quickly on a keyboard.
"Anything from Nighthawk Three or the two advance
teams?" Schofield asked.
"Nada from Nighthawk Three," Brainiac said. "And just
the beacons from the Secret Service teams."
Schofield thought for a moment. "Are we plugged into
Area 7's local network?"
"Yep. So the President can collect secure transmissions
by the landline."
"Okay then, can you bring up the complex's security
camera system for me?"
"Sure."
the president was led up a set of stairs to level 3,
the living quarters of Area 7.
With his nine-man Secret Service Detail he was brought
into a wide low-ceilinged common room--couches, coffee
tables, kitchenette and, taking pride of place over by the
wall, a big-screen Panasonic TV.
"If you would just wait here for a moment, Mr. President,"
Colonel Harper said, "I'll send someone down in a
minute."
And then he left the room, leaving the President and his
Detail alone.
A SERIES OF BLACK-AND-WHITE MONITORS FLICKERED TO LIFE in the communications bay of Marine One.
Each monitor depicted a grid of views from the multitude
of security cameras around Area 7.
Area 7
"We have contact," Brainiac said.
From various angles, Schofield saw empty stairwells--
the main hangar--something that looked like a subway
station--the interiors of the glass-walled offices in the
main hangar, one of them filled with Marines and Secret
Service people, the other containing White House staff
members--and, in grainy black-and-white, the inside of an
elevator--
Schofield froze at the final image.
The elevator was packed with ten fully armed 7th
Squadron commandos.
And then suddenl
y movement from one of the other
monitors caught his eye.
It was the view from one of the stairwell cameras.
A whole stream of armed 7th Squadron commandos was
storming down the stairwell.
"This is going to be very painful," he said flatly.
schofield stepped out of marine one onto the hangar
floor, Gant and Brainiac close behind him.
Although nothing physical about it had changed, somehow
the hangar now looked very different.
Now it looked menacing.
Dangerous.
Schofield saw the three groups of 7th Squadron commandos
arrayed around the enormous interior space--saw
the commander of one of the groups touch his ear as he
caught a radio transmission.
"Stay here," Schofield said.
"Okay," Brainiac said.
"Hey," Gant said.
"What?"
"Try not to look so spooked."
"I'll do my best," Schofield said as he stepped out from
the cover of Marine One and started walking casually across
the hangar floor, toward the northern glass-walled office.
He was about halfway there when it happened.
Loud and sudden.
72
Matthew Reilly
Boom!
Like a curtain falling at the end of a stage show, a giant
piston-driven titanium door thundered down in front of the
hangar's main doors. Its leading edge--lined with nasty
looking toothlike protrusions--lodged firmly into the series
of boxlike indentations that ran across the entry to the
hangar.
And with the falling of the massive armored door,
Schofield gave up any pretense of trying to appear calm.
He broke into a run just as the two nearest groups of 7th
Squadron commandos--the ones at twelve o'clock and ten
o'clock--raised their P-90's and the air around him became
awash with sizzling bullets.
IT HAD BEEN FIVE MINUTES NOW AND NOBODY HAD COME FOR
them and the President of the United States was not accustomed
to waiting.
The President and his protective Detail just stood in the
common room on Level 3, looking about themselves, waiting
in the silence.