"Let's see what we got in here," Hill said as he ripped the key ring off Stan's belt. He hopped out of the van and headed for the door of the building. As he stepped inside, the bright white overhead lights flashed back on. Startled, he almost dropped the gun, then realized what had happened. Chico, tire iron still gripped tightly in his hand, and Parson joined him. Leslie stayed in the van, scrunched up in the passenger seat, staring behind her at the body.
"You stay there, woman!" Chico yelled as the glass doors swung shut.
The flash of the red warning light on top of the console, compounded by the strident beep of an alarm, drew their attention to the desk where Stan's last cup of coffee sat, half-finished. A new message scrolled up on the screen as they gathered around.
POWER RESTORED.
SYSTEM MALFUNCTION INTERNAL ALERT/ INNER CONTAINMENT BREACHED.
SECURE IMMEDIA
With the message still appearing, Chico swung the tire iron, smashing it into the screen. He pounded until the noise of the alarm stopped and the computer terminal was in shambles.
"See if there's anything we can use," Hill ordered, hitching the gun belt up to his belly, the weight of the pistol as comforting to him as the steel of the tire iron was to Chico. They went through the double doors into the main corridor. The sign on the door didn't indicate what was beyond, but did strongly suggest that whatever was in there was significant: WARNING: RESTRICTED ACCESS AREA. LEVEL FOUR CLEARANCE REQUIRED.
"What you think they got down there?" Hill asked out loud.
Chico's eyes still had a glazed look. "Let's check it out, man. Must be important. Maybe something we can sell."
Hill flipped through the keys until he came to the one labeled seventeen, matching the number above the lock on the side of the doors. He slipped in the key and turned it. The doors slid open, revealing a large freight elevator. Entering the elevator with Chico, he looked at the control panel. There were only two buttons: 1 and B.
"You coming?" Hill looked at Parson, who was still standing in the hallway.
"No, man. I'll check out these offices."
Hill looked the fat man in the eye. "Listen, motherfucker. You got any ideas of splitting with Chico's sister, you just better forget it. We'll track your ass down and blow your fucking brains out. You're in with us now. You killed that guard just as much as Chico did. Murder one, motherfucker. You got me?"
Parson nodded weakly. "Yeah, man, I understand."
Hill pushed B and the doors glided shut in front of him. The men felt their body weight lighten briefly, then settle as the elevator came to a halt. The doors parted open and they were facing a short corridor, ending in another set of sliding doors. Going up to the door, Hill read the number off the keyhole to the right: 18.
Hill slid in the appropriate key and turned it. The powered doors slid open and he stepped in, Chico right behind him. The room was dark. Hill's hand fumbled along the wall on the left before hitting the light switches.
As the fluorescent lights flickered on, the two men could see that they were in some sort of medical room. Two large tables covered with white sheets, with high-powered lamps looming over them, dominated the center of the room. Carts of sophisticated-looking machines ringed the walls.
Several doors led off to the side. Directly across from them, another set of double doors loomed. Unlike the other doors, these were solidly built of stainless steel. Squinting, Hill read the message painted on them: DANGER: OUTER CONTAINMENT DOOR. ENSURE INNER CONTAINMENT SECURE BEFORE OPENING.
Hill was checking out the medical equipment and cabinets of pharmaceuticals, judging their marketability, when he heard a noise from behind the far doors. It sounded as if someone had dropped some equipment.
Hill froze and pulled out the gun. "Anybody here?"
His words faded into the walls. Hill rubbed his forehead and considered the situation. Both men jumped as someone pounded on the doors. Hill edged up, signaling for Chico to move to the other side.
"Who's there?" he yelled.
He was answered with silence. The number above the keyhole on the control box to the right of the doors read 26. Hill found the corresponding key and slipped it in. He paused before turning it. For the first time, he felt fear. Some primeval sixth sense sent small tendrils of uneasiness through his stomach and tickled the hair on the back of his neck.
Fuck, ain't nothing to be afraid of, Hill decided. Not with Mister .38 in my hand. And there's no way I'm gonna show fear in front of Chico. He's one loco dude. Might as well turn the key and check it out.
"What the hell!" he muttered as the doors slid smoothly open. A short corridor, five feet long, appeared before him. The room beyond was strewn with equipment and papers. He stepped over the threshold between the open doors, Chico behind him.
Hill noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned left, but much too slowly. Hill was still futilely trying to bring his gun to bear when he felt something ice-cold rip into his gut. As the tear spread up to his chest, the coldness was followed by searing hot pain.
Hill still couldn't make out what tore into him as he was propelled onto his back, gun forgotten. His hands clasped his belly, fingers encountering something soft and wet. His unbelieving eyes saw intestines bulging against his hands.
That tableau stayed frozen for the long heartbeat of a second. A shadow loomed over Hill's right side and he could hear Chico screaming, as if from a very long distance away. Hill's own scream died in his throat as his trachea and carotid arteries were severed. Lying in a pool of his own blood, his last breath wheezed out of his slashed flesh.
Upstairs, Parson heard nothing. He was sitting at the security console, his hands trembling as he tried to figure out what to do. He was in for it now, he knew. Murder one. The big chair. Those dumb motherfuckers, he wanted to scream. The two had been idiots from the start — Chico's sister not having enough gas and Chico wasting the old man even though he said he'd give them some fuel.
Parson heard the doors to the elevator open behind him and spun around. He blinked and stared for a fatally long second, not believing what he was seeing. Then he screamed and leapt to his feet. He raced for the front door, but the figure jumped onto him from behind, the impact slamming Parson against the thick glass.
At the sound of Parson's scream, Leslie looked up from the guard's body. She watched the chase across the lobby with detachment, as if it were being played out on a movie screen.
The blood pulsing from Parson's cut throat splattered against the inside of the glass door, marking it with a cascade of bright crimson. Leslie finally reacted, jumping into the driver's seat and cranking the engine. The doors to the building were being opened and they were coming out. She pressed down on the gas pedal and tore out of the parking lot, the wheels almost losing traction on the wet pavement.
One of them almost caught up with her as the van roared onto Route 139, but she lost it as she turned left and desperately stomped on the accelerator. Low gas and the body on the floor behind her were forgotten as her eyes locked on the road ahead.
Chapter 1
The BMW sprinted through the storm-lashed darkness, its headlights glinting off the wet pavement and the rows of trees blurring by on either side. Enjoying the sensation of speed, Doctor Glen Ward caressed the steering wheel. Military police cars were rarely out on this stretch of road so early in the morning, which is why he chose this route across the sprawling training areas of the Fort Campbell Military Reservation to get from his home in Clarksville to the lab. At this time of day, the only other traffic on the two-lane road was the few soldiers who lived on the western side of the reservation driving to their jobs in the opposite direction.