Ward was confident that once Freeman got here with some of his people, they would be able to track down the Synbats. Of course, that would be after he got through explaining to Freeman why he hadn't terminated as ordered. Confronting Freeman didn't worry Ward very much. He was more concerned about whoever flew in later today from D.C. representing General Trollers. Then there would probably be some questions asked that Ward didn't particularly want to answer. The only thing he could use in his defense was the argument that security was the DIA's responsibility, not his.
With that thought still foremost in his mind, Ward heard the distant chatter of helicopter blades pulse through the walls of the building. He got up from the desk, gesturing for Merrit to take his place. "Monitor the computer. Let me know if they move."
He made his way to the front door and unlocked it. A small civilian helicopter swung around and slowly descended into the parking lot. A tall black man with a briefcase got out and ran over to Ward's location. The helicopter immediately lifted and flew off to the south.
The site chief stuck out his hand. "Doctor Ward."
The DIA agent returned the handshake. "Agent Freeman. Let's go inside."
As soon as they stepped inside, Freeman walked over to the body and knelt down. He stared at it for a while, then finally stood, going with Ward to the security console. Merrit stood up to meet the two approaching men and Ward made the introductions. "Agent Freeman, this is Doctor Merrit. She's my primary assistant here at Biotech."
Freeman briefly shook her hand and then looked at Ward. "Give me an update on what you have."
Ward gestured at the desktop. "We've got their azimuth. I've hooked up the portable computer to the cable from the roof antenna." He pointed at the topographical map. "They're somewhere along this line, between here and the lake and not moving. Less than five kilometers away."
Freeman nodded, a slight look of relief softening his face. "So they're still in the vicinity. Good. All we have to do now is go in and scoop up the bodies."
Ward briefly glanced at Merrit, then returned his attention to the DIA agent. "I've got tranquilizer guns down in the lab that we've used to — "
Freeman cut him off. "What do you mean, tranquilizer guns? They're supposed to be dead."
Ward faced the larger man. "I didn't terminate them. They're too valuable to waste." He held up a hand to forestall Freeman's reaction. "They're one of a kind. I'm not sure we could ever produce such creatures again. We need data we can only get from them alive." He stabbed a finger at the map. "They're in an uninhabited area. We go out and tranquilize them and bring them back."
"I told you to terminate." Freeman pulled a folder marked top secret out of his briefcase and slapped it on the desktop. "This is what you agreed to with my predecessor when you set up this place. It was one of the security stipulations behind this project. It's not a decision you and I can make. It's a requirement." Another thought struck Freeman as he remembered something from the file he'd read on the flight here. "What about the backpacks?"
Ward sighed. "They're gone. The backpacks need to be kept below freezing to remain static. As soon as they get above freezing they will begin to initiate. Outside the controlled environment of the lab, I doubt that will happen successfully. Which makes it even more imperative that we get the Synbats back alive."
Freeman was working himself into real anger. "You didn't tell me that the backpacks were gone too! That should have been in your phone call. That makes it all the more important you terminate." Freeman took a step closer to Ward. "Terminate them now."
Ward stood his ground. "No."
"I'll do it." The two men swung around in surprise. Merrit sat in front of the portable computer.
"You can't!" cried Ward, reaching toward her.
Freeman reached out one massive hand and grabbed Ward's arm in a vicelike grip. "Leave her alone."
Merrit looked at Ward, her face set. "After seeing those bodies, we can't allow them to run around out there. We don't know what they're capable of. We can't take the chance."
Ward and Freeman looked over Merrit's shoulder as she entered her level four authorization and the screen glowed with the final termination prompt.
TERMINATION REQUIRES LEVEL FOUR AUTHORIZATION.
ENTER LEVEL FOUR CODE:
Merrit's fingers flashed across the keyboard: PARLOR CRISIS. The screen cleared and then new words formed:
TARGETS ARE ON AZIMUTH OF 202 DEGREES MAGNETIC.
ENTER TERMINATION CODE WORD:
Merrit looked up briefly and then tapped in eight letters, replacing the empty spaces one by one: CAULDRON.
Her right index finger slid over the keyboard and hovered above the ENTER key. Merrit never even looked up at Doctor Ward as she hit the key. The electronic message was beamed from the antenna on the roof to the radio transceiver in the collars. The transceiver tripped a fuse that ignited the explosive charge built into the radio collars. The azimuth on the screen disappeared as the homing devices were destroyed along with the collars.
Freeman released Ward. The Biotech chief slumped wearily down into a chair. It was all over now. Nothing left to do but collect the pieces.
Freeman headed out to the front door. "Let's get the lobby cleaned up before we start receiving visitors."
Once the alert reached the full colonel in charge of DPTM, the reaction process speeded up. The colonel, still wearing his sweat-soaked PT uniform, opened up his office safe and pulled out the classified DIA contingency files. He leafed through until he found plan 17.
There wasn't much information — just a few basic instructions. The plan called for a small armed reaction force to be airlifted to a grid coordinate just to the west of the Fort Campbell Military Reservation. The colonel frowned at the requirement for all personnel involved to have security clearances. That ruled out sending a squad or platoon of infantry from the 101st.
The colonel picked up his phone and dialed five numbers.
The commander of the 5th Special Forces Group answered the phone on the first ring. "Colonel Hossey," the stocky officer growled into the phone.
Since breaking his left arm on a parachute operation a month ago, Hossey had been using the PT hour to finish some of his daily paperwork. That freed up time later in the day for physical therapy at the hospital, but it didn't do much to improve his normally gruff temperament.
"Karl, this is Mike Lewis over at DPTM. I've got a priority alert from the Defense Intelligence Agency in Nashville and I need to borrow some of your soldiers."
Hossey frowned. "What for?"
"We're not cleared to know that. All I've got is the alert and a contingency plan tasking for a squad-sized element — all of whom must have at least secret level clearances — to get on helicopters as soon as possible and be airlifted to a set of coordinates. I'm also not cleared to give you the location. We're behind the power curve timewise reacting to this because of screwups on my end, so I'd appreciate it if you could put this together as soon as possible. I've already alerted a couple of choppers and they'll be at PZ twelve by 0800."
Bullshit, was Hossey's unspoken reaction. In his book DIA meant dumb insolent assholes because of previous encounters over a twenty-four-year career. Bullshit, but he knew that there was nothing he could do about it. His men had been used on more than one classified reaction mission since he'd been in command, and one of the banes of commanding a Special Forces unit was that even the commander sometimes didn't know what his own men were doing. And Hossey had firsthand knowledge of what could happen when a commander didn't keep personal track of his men. He had learned that harsh lesson in his previous command of the Special Forces Detachment in Korea; memory of that fiasco made his blood pressure rise every time he got a message like the one that had just been relayed.