Ross zoomed in on the map, then switched to a satellite view. The circle was in a wide valley with mountains blocking off the western end, and rolling hills to the north and south. Trees and meadows took turns filling the valley, but from the height the image was taken, the DOP could see no roads.
Ross removed the dot and pushed in again, focusing on an area near the center. Suddenly, several things came into view at once. There were roads, though none appeared paved. The more interesting item, though, was the large building right in the middle of where the dot had been.
The magnification increased one more level.
Large was not right, the DOP realized. Huge was more accurate. This was no mountain mansion. This would have been a big building in any city in the state. And yet, the only way to get there was by dirt road.
“Look at this,” Ross said.
He was pointing at a spot that had to be a mile or two from the building. At first, the DOP didn’t see anything important about it, but when Ross moved his finger back and forth in a line, it became clear.
A runway. Either covered with grass or painted to look that way.
Was this really it? Had they found it?
If so, he and the other Directors were going to be very, very happy.
It was, he knew, not a discovery that was necessary for their success. The people who lived there would all die just as quickly as those on the rest of the planet once KV-27a was released. If he could help it, though, that wasn’t the kind of death he wanted for them. He wanted a more direct hand in what they would suffer. He wanted them to scream in pain, then beg and plead for their lives. These were the gnats who had been dogging Project Eden for years, never enough to throw things off, but causing annoyances just the same.
Definitely unnecessary, but wholly satisfying.
“Excellent work,” he said. “Come up with a plan on how we might best deal with them.”
“Yes, sir.”
7
I.D. MINUS 13 DAYS
ALGONA, IOWA
The ball flew past the boy’s glove, hit the ground, and rolled across the sidewalk into the grass-lined drainage ditch that ran along the road.
“Should have dived for it,” his father said.
The boy retrieved it, and threw it back. It hit his dad’s glove with a wet slap. Muddy water sprayed out from the impact, hitting his father on the cheek.
“Sorry, Dad,” the son said, laughing.
“I’ll bet you are.”
Across the street, their neighbor Charlie Newcomb had just come out of his house. “Your boy’s got quite a spitball, Adam.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” the boy’s father replied as he tossed the ball back to his son.
“Hear we might be getting some snow this weekend,” Charlie called out. “You guys need anything, you just let us know.”
“Thanks.”
Charlie gave him a wave, then got into his car.
“Snow. That’ll be cool,” the boy said.
His dad smiled knowingly. “Tell me what you think in a couple months.”
They had moved to Algona, Iowa, just before the school year began. The man had taken a job teaching math and P.E. at Algona High School. In addition to his son, he also had a daughter, currently inside the house and, no doubt, lost in a book. She’d become quite a reader in the last several months, exhibiting a growing interest in vampires and ghosts and worlds that existed beyond the one she lived in. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He knew a lot of other girls liked the same thing, but most of them hadn’t lost their mother recently or had their lives completely upended. His fear was that the books were keeping her from facing reality and accepting it, but he couldn’t bring himself to question her on it. Maybe escaping reality for a thirteen-year-old wasn’t a bad thing.
As far as the people in town knew, Adam Cooper was a widower who’d moved with his family to Algona from Florida. “Too many memories back there,” he’d say when asked, though he seldom was. The people of Algona were too polite to push the issue.
The boy, known to his classmates as Scott, had made the adjustment quickly. He was doing well in school and had lots of friends. Mary, as the man’s daughter was called, was not faring as well. Her grades were fine, but she was withdrawn socially. There were a few girls she’d hang out with now and then, but for the most part, when she wasn’t in school, she was in her room reading.
At some point, he would have to do something about it. Just…not yet.
After they threw the ball around for a bit more, the father said, “Getting a little too cold for me, buddy. How about some lunch?”
The boy nodded. “Grilled cheese?”
“If that’s what you want. Last one in has to cook.”
They raced to the front door, the boy getting there a split second before his dad did.
“You’re it,” the boy declared.
“Two out of three?”
“No way.”
They removed their shoes in the mudroom, and entered the toasty confines of their small house.
“Sweetie,” the man said, raising his voice so his daughter could hear him. “I’m making grilled cheese. You want one?”
No answer.
“Honey, grilled cheese?”
Still nothing.
He looked at his son. “Go see if your sister wants one.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “She’s just going to yell at me.”
“She’s not.”
“She is.”
“Just go ask her.”
The man walked into the kitchen, washed his hands, and pulled out the fixings for lunch. As the cast-iron skillet warmed on the grill, he began buttering the bread. He was only halfway through the second slice when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” his son called out.
By the time the man had wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked into the living room, his son had the door open.
“Is your dad home?” a male voice asked from the porch.
“Just a second.” The boy turned toward the kitchen, then stopped when he saw his father approaching. “He wants to talk to you, Dad.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
As he reached the door, he gave his son’s hair a tousle and looked outside.
There were two men on the porch. He had never seen one of them before, but the other he had-once, on the night he’d escaped certain death from a cell in the Mojave Desert.
His one-time rescuer nodded in mutual recognition. “Afternoon, Captain Ash.”
Daniel Ash, Alias Adam Cooper, let the men wait in his living room while he finished making lunch for his children.
Once the sandwiches were ready, he gave one to his son, Brandon, and poured him a glass of milk. “Treat today. You can eat it in my room and watch TV.”
“You just don’t want me to hear what you’re going to talk about,” Brandon said.
“Smart boy. Now go, or I won’t even let you turn the TV on.”
He carried the other sandwich into Josie’s room, and set them on her nightstand.
Without looking up from her book, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”
“No crumbs in the bed, okay?”
“Ugh. Disgusting.”
He wasn’t sure if she was referring to what she was reading or the idea of crumbs in her bed. “You want something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“I’ll come get your plate in a bit.”
Back in the living room, he motioned for the two men to follow him into the kitchen. It was farthest from the bedrooms, and provided the most privacy.
“We’re sorry to bother you like this, Captain,” the one he knew said. “Pax sent us.”
“You can call me Ash. I’m not in the army anymore.” Technically, that might not be true. If the army knew he was still alive, and not, as they believed, dead from an intentional car crash and subsequent fire in Nevada not long after the Sage Flu outbreak had passed, then he would probably still be considered part of the service. Long enough, at least, to be court-martialed and sentenced to death for what they erroneously believed to be his part in the spreading of the disease. “I don’t know your names, though.”