In the next seat along, Sergeant William King shrugged.
‘Nothing,’ insisted Marlin, raising his fist. ‘You’ve told him twice already!’
King’s booming laugh shook the Pave Hawk. Bright white teeth flashed in his coal-black shaved head. King was built like a human bulldog. His hulking shoulders took up two seats.
Smirking at King’s big-grin reaction, Marlin looked like a movie-star slumming it with the grunts. His handsome features were painted on an olive canvas. His hair was just a tight black swimming-cap. Before joining the Special Forces, Marlin worked as a freelance security consultant.
By contrast, King studied structural engineering at college, played scholarship football, and then moved on to competitive body-building. A rising star in the body-building circuit, King had dropped out after allegations of performance-enhancing drug use. Three months later he joined the Marines.
King was the godfather of Marlin’s four year old daughter, Emerald. Both men kept a photo of little Emerald in their wallets. Everyone knew that the big, black body-builder and the Latino matinee idol were like brothers.
‘That is pu-ure gold,’ crooned Forest, sitting next to King. Corporal Kelso Forest made up the last member of this close-knit brotherhood. ‘I can never remember the good jokes.’
‘That’s because you suck at telling them,’ replied Marlin, leaning across King to thump Forest on the knee. ‘The cows on Daddy’s farm just don’t get em.’
Forest had light blond hair and those sharp blue eyes where the whites showed right around the iris. He looked wiry and lean all over. Before joining Special Forces, the young Corporal guided high-powered business executives on survival retreats. Back to Mother Nature with nothing but a pocket knife and a prayer. Unfortunately, on his last retreat, one participant carried a gun and a grudge. Three people received gunshot wounds, including Forest. Once recovered, he’d quit his job and enlisted in the Marines.
Smiling, Forest flipped Marlin the bird.
Coleman checked his wristwatch. It’s almost show time.
‘Weapons check,’ he ordered. Down both sides of the Pave Hawk, hands instantly leapt to weapons and ammunition.
Ironically, the weapons inspectors shifted uncomfortably.
They have every reason to feel nervous, reasoned Coleman. Sitting crammed among six armed Marines wasn’t everyone’s typical day at the office. Coleman had kept all the inspectors travelling together. Today, his platoon comprised of five task-organized units, designated First through Fifth Unit, each with eight Marines apiece. Coleman operated with Third Unit. Keeping the inspectors together meant two of his unit travelled in another Pave Hawk. The two bumped Marines would be dropped off just seconds behind Third Unit.
Coleman finished checking his assault rifle. The CMAR-17 (Caseless Modular Assault Rifle) was replacing the M16A2 among Special Forces.
The smooth, black, ergonomically designed CMAR-17 fired 5.56mm caseless ammunition. The high velocity projectile gave the small caliber round its armor-piercing capability and very low recoil. The modular design allowed useful secondary systems to fit snugly under the barrel. Today their CMAR-17s sported high-powered torches.
Strapped to Coleman’s right thigh rested a big silver colt M1911. The colt represented the strongest and most reliable automatic pistol ever made, its type having served the US Army from 1911 to 1985. This model, a Government Series 80, carried only seven rounds. Every bullet was a thumper. The .45 caliber round was far more devastating than an assault rifle bullet at short range.
Coleman’s uncle, the last of his living family, presented him with the pistol the day he reached the rank of First Lieutenant. Special Forces operatives chose their own backup weapon, so Coleman carried the heavy silver colt.
‘We’ve got a good visual,’ reported the pilot, winking over his shoulder at Coleman. ‘I just know you’re going to want to see this.’
Trying not to seem too eager, Coleman shrugged out of his seat harness and clambered forward. The sight through the Pave Hawk’s windshield left him speechless for three seconds.
‘Unbelievable,’ he breathed.
The Biological Solutions Research Complex.
His awe mixed with a guilty sense of adolescent fulfillment. For any professional dedicated to installation security, this represented the Holy Grail of missions.
From the air the structure resembled a giant cement plug embedded in the desert. Half a kilometer wide, three hundred feet deep, and all constructed snugly within the pit of an abandoned open-cut gold mine. A concrete pancake, the ‘plug’ really functioned as the roof of the underground Complex.
Coleman had studied satellite photos before the mission, but they hadn’t done the sheer scale of research installation any justice. At best, the photos gave the impression of a facility sunk in quicksand until only its giant cement roof remained exposed.
People actually live under there. The best and brightest. Geneticists from around the world competed to spend time working under that plug. Shops, dormitories, recreational areas, a swimming pool, the Complex had everything its community of international researchers and their families required to approximate the illusion of normal daily life.
Including his ex-wife and son.
Vanessa and David. Vanessa Sharp, Coleman repeated in his mind. She was back to using her maiden name now. Had been, in fact, for the last six years. It still sounded strange. Like she had gone back in time to be the person she’d been before they married.
But she wasn’t that person anymore. She’d come a long way.
Coleman’s platoon was chosen for this operation because of Vanessa. During his briefing on the USS Coronado, no one said, ‘We know you were married to Vanessa Sharp’, but it hung unspoken. This morning when her picture appeared on the briefing screen, all eyes flicked his way. A onetime weapons inspector herself, the brass flagged Vanessa as both a critical operational objective and a potential problem.
Because Vanessa Sharp hated the military.
Her outspoken views were common knowledge. She could argue the topic for hours — American weapons-research traded like shares. Fraudulent military claims of biological weapons. Cover-ups after botched weapon trials — the list went on.
It was just a shame, Coleman thought, that her feelings manifested themselves after they had been married. They’d separated eight years ago. It was hardest on David, their son, with Coleman and Vanessa’s constant terse negotiations over the boy.
Coleman doubted he’d be as useful as the brass obviously hoped.
How would she feel about her ex-husband leading an uninvited team of armed Marines into her research facility? Accompanying weapons inspectors, no less. Hopefully she wouldn’t take it personally.
Please, who are you kidding? Everything is personal with her.
Trouble between them seemed inevitable. If they couldn’t agree on how much time Coleman could spend with David, his own son, then what chance did they have with this? Their arguments before the break-up had been bitter, but always just between them. Today a lot more was at stake than just a marriage.
Coleman mentally shoved aside the looming problem of Vanessa. Things would unfold however they would, and there was nothing he could do about it now. On the bright side, he’d be seeing David and where Vanessa had been hiding him for the last eleven months.
That’s not fair. We agreed this was better than boarding school. Don’t be bitter.
He took the opportunity to scan the research facility again from the air. Still thinking about David, he found his eyes drawn over to the dome.