Jason Moore did not reply. Wolfe pulled on the cumbersome suit, gloves and boots before donning the helmet. Moore then turned to Wolfe and sealed his neck lining before Wolfe did the same for him. As soon as they were both satisfied that their suits were impermeable, Moore spoke through a filter attached to the helmet’s perspex view-shield.
‘Walk through the site and don’t touch anything. The decontamination cubicle is at the far end of the tent. Just stand there and let the showers do their work.’
Wolfe did not acknowledge him, turning instead and pushing through the plastic partition. In front of him was a solid transparent shield door that opened onto a small cubicle. Wolfe slid the door open and stepped inside as Moore followed him and shut the door behind them. They waited, and a moment later a simple vacuum-motor sucked air in from outside and then sealed the outer door shut. A rudimentary low-pressure system was maintained within the interior of the study cubicle to contain contamination, much like the more sophisticated laboratories at USAMRIID.
And if the world had any idea of what was inside, Wolfe reflected, they would have been relieved.
Moore opened the inner door, and Wolfe stepped inside and looked around.
They were standing in a cubicle of two-inch thick perspex ten feet wide, twenty feet long and eight feet high, constructed from simple panels with the joins sealed with thick layers of duct tape. Even the floor was perspex, the tundra crushed flat beneath the weight of the cubicle resting upon it. In the center of the floor an eight foot by two foot panel was missing, exposing an excavation into the permafrost. On one side of the opening was a row of steel tubs filled with recently removed mud and ice. On the other side, a large object partially concealed beneath plastic sheets. Wolfe walked across and looked down into the cavity.
He recognized it instantly as a grave, dug some five feet deep into the ice-encrusted earth. Beside the cavity, lying under a thin plastic sheet nailed into the frozen soil, was an exhumed corpse. The face of a woman stared up at him, her long black hair matted and dirty, her eye sockets sunken and shriveled and her skin leathery. Her jaw hung slackly to expose yellowed teeth.
‘How old is the corpse?’ Wolfe asked as Moore came to stand alongside him.
‘She’s confirmed as having died in the year 1918,’ Moore said. ‘Tissue samples were tested earlier this week, and we even know the person’s name. She still has relatives living at Brevig Mission.’
Wolfe nodded.
‘And the tissue samples?’ he asked. ‘Were they viable?’
Jason Moore nodded.
‘Perfectly so,’ he replied. ‘They’ve been preserved by the permafrost conditions, and I’ve already tested a small culture of them. They’re alive and they’ll be perfect for study by your laboratory, sir. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for hiring me. The virus, if it ever got out again, could kill millions, perhaps billions. I’m real proud to be a part of preventing that, sir.’
Wolfe did not hear Moore as he stared down at the corpse below them.
‘Where are the samples?’ Wolfe asked.
‘Over there,’ Moore said, pointing to a large metal case sealed with warning tapes and a pair of heavy padlocks. ‘It’s lung tissue from the deceased’s body. The casing will maintain the temperature of the tissue for at least forty-eight hours.’
Wolfe nodded and looked around at the tents.
‘And you’ve ensured that this operation has remained discreet?’ Wolfe asked. ‘There’s no chance that anybody could have come here and been infected, or seen this exhumation?’
Moore proudly shook his head.
‘No, sir, not a chance. I set up the tents and the cubicles myself, as agreed, to ensure absolute safety. This won’t get out until your team have completed their studies and developed the vaccine.’ Moore smiled. ‘Then we can tell everyone.’
Wolfe nodded, and then turned to face him.
‘Not quite everyone, Jason.’
Wolfe’s hands had warmed enough for him to reach into his jacket and produce the small pistol nestling in his pocket. He saw Jason Moore’s face register neither fear nor surprise but confusion. Wolfe fired twice, the blasts deafening in the confines of the tent. Jason Moore screamed briefly before losing consciousness as the rounds impacted his chest. His arms flailed wildly as his legs crumpled beneath him and he crashed down onto the hard earth at Wolfe’s feet.
Wolfe slipped the pistol back into his pocket before shifting his position slightly and shoving Moore’s body with his boot so it rolled over the edge of the grave to thump down at the bottom. Wolfe turned, and tipped over two of the metal bins, spilling soil down into the grave to cover Moore’s corpse. He clambered down into the cavity and jumped up and down on the soil, felt it give beneath his boots and heard the muffled cracking of breaking bones.
He climbed out of the grave and walked over to the corpse beneath the plastic, pulling the pins from the frozen earth and then with his boot shoving the infected remains back into the grave on top of Moore’s inert corpse. He then reached into his other pocket and retrieved a satellite phone, dialing a number from memory. A rattling voice answered.
‘What news, Donald?’
‘I’ve acquired the samples,’ Wolfe replied. ‘You’ll have them within twenty-four hours. Rest assured, there will be nobody willing to investigate this site after what’s been buried here in the past.’
‘Are you sure, Donald?’ Jeb Oppenheimer rasped. ‘Nobody knows?’
‘Nobody,’ Wolfe replied. ‘My associate here maintained absolute discretion, something he’ll be continuing to do for eons to come. What have you gotten from the remains of the man killed in Glorietta Pass?’
‘There is much promising research within, but there is also a problem.’
‘Which is?’
‘We’ve been maintaining a watching brief on the Los Alamos Laboratories and the Aspen Center in New Mexico. Apparently, there was an explosion at the center earlier today.’
Wolfe stared into the middle distance. ‘What kind of explosion?’
‘Activists, according to local police sources. Somebody broke in, started shooting at people and then blew up the mainframes within the laboratories. There were no serious injuries and the police investigation is ongoing, but that’s not the main problem.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Wolfe moaned. ‘It’s something to do with Saffron.’
‘It’s who the local police are working with on the case,’ Oppenheimer said. ‘Two investigators who are not state police were seen nosing around the scene, apparently working alongside the police.’
‘Do we know who they are exactly?’
‘No names yet,’ Oppenheimer admitted, ‘but they’re backed by someone powerful enough for them to be assisted by state troopers. My guess is FBI, at the least.’
Wolfe cursed silently to himself.
‘This is exactly what we needed to avoid,’ he hissed. ‘If you can’t keep things under control out there then this whole thing will be for nothing.’
‘Calm yourself, Donald. All you need to do is use your military connections to find out who they are and apply pressure where it’s needed.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Wolfe muttered, and then smiled grimly. ‘Of course, it’ll cost more.’
A throaty chuckle cackled down the line.
‘Worry not, Donald, you’ll be compensated for your inconvenience. Once you have identified the investigators, I expect them to be eliminated. We wouldn’t want your little detour up there to become common knowledge now would we? Who knows who might investigate what you’ve been up to?’
Wolfe was about to retort when Oppenheimer hung up. He looked down at the frozen grave at his feet for a moment, then turned and grabbed the edge of another of the mud-filled bins. Moments later, the infected corpse had vanished beneath the soil and ice.