"Our interests … my interests coincide with others'. Believe it or not, Major Gant, there are some people on this planet who actually think about the long term."
"Let me guess," Gant decided to throw up a trial balloon. "Are you working for The Tall Company?"
Like it often did for Gant, the very mention of that name made Monroe make a face that resembled a person biting into a sour lemon.
"Tall? They are the antithesis of everything I stand for. They are part of the problem. No, I'm speaking of people in government; in various organizations and positions. People with a global perspective."
"I can only imagine," Thom said, easing back in his chair and folding his arms. "I can only imagine what some countries thought when they saw you coming. Do you really believe the Chinese, or the North Koreans, or some rogue state is funding you because they want to save the Earth? To combat overpopulation? No, when you are done with all your tests and experiments, they will move in and take over."
"Major Gant, you have no idea what you're talking about. But I've spent far too much time playing games with you. Maybe there was a part of me that thought I could convince you, and particularly Dr. Stacy, that what we're doing is right. You are, after all, a soldier, and soldiers sometimes make hard decisions and sometimes have to do bad things to get good results. It's obvious that I was wrong."
Thom figured this was the moment when the guards would come through the door and put a bullet in his head.
"You're going to help this project, one way or another. I want to know exactly who you are and how you got to Tioga so fast. I know there was a Secret Service detail on the island, and I was receiving some rather good information from its surviving member until he realized we weren't exactly with the U.N."
Thom glanced over at Dr. Stacy and she returned his stare.
Costa survived but these people have him, Gant thought and knew Stacy understood the same. But Monroe does not know we met up with Costa, or at least the agent did not reveal a whole lot before clamming up.
"So what about it, Major?"
Stacy asked, "Why is that so important to you? Why do you care? Aren't we just another couple of causalities to you?"
Thom, however, provided the answer.
"This was an experiment, but not for the organism itself. They already knew the parasite would spread. They were testing the response of the people on the island. They wanted to see how a civilian population would react to zombies and if they could check the spread or avoid it. We were an unforeseen variable. We were armed and trained and managed to knock down a fair number of the things. He has to know our level of capability and training in order to gauge whether we represent your typical military or if we are something different. All of Dr. Waters's bioengineering will be useless if a local militia can gun down the things before they reach critical mass."
"Who are you, Major Gant? When did you arrive on the island, and how many of the units did you engage?"
Gant remained silent. Monroe looked to Stacy. She stuck her lower lip out.
"I hate this part of all this," Monroe said. "If you cooperate I promise you will be kept safe, albeit relegated to this base until the project is completed."
"And when is that?" Gant asked.
Monroe pushed his glasses higher on his nose, ignored the question, and went on, "The truth is, I'm going to get those answers one way or another. You can tell me, or you can show me."
"Show you? We're not going to show you anything," Stacy replied.
"Yes you will, Dr. Stacy. Come with me and you'll see what I mean."
The Tarawa-class amphibious assault ship Peleliu stretched more than eight hundred feet from stem to stern. On its flat top waited a compliment of rotary and fixed-wing aircraft, starting with Harrier jump jets and including Super Cobras, Sea Knights, Sea Stallions, and UH-N1 Iroquois transports.
Captain Richard Campion traveled through the interior of the superstructure until reaching a blue door with a paragraph reading, "PELELIU BRIDGE 04 AND BELOW BALL CAP REQUIRED. REQUEST PERMISSION TO ENTER AND STATE YOUR BUSINESS."
Campion wore a ball cap as usual, but it differed greatly from the ones worn by the crew. His was straight black, as were his BDUs, making him — and the other Archangel members traveling onboard — stand a distance apart from the ship's compliment.
The door to the bridge was opened for him by a sailor serving as his guide, and Campion did not need to state his business. That business had been stated to the ship's captain by others of a higher pay grade.
He entered the bustling nerve center, weaving around two men working on a sea chart and finding his way to the skipper, who looked out over his domain toward the blue horizon through a pair of binoculars.
Campion had come in answer to a summons, but the Peleliu's CO remained focused on his observation of the calm seas ahead, pretending to be indifferent to the soldier's presence or importance.
As a part of Archangel, Campion had grown accustomed to this treatment, although he disapproved. He had grown accustomed to officers and other soldiers treating his team like unwelcome intruders. He had grown accustomed to the disdain for the secretive nature of their work.
This situation grew most acute on board naval vessels, where ship captains were used to being gods of their worlds. Indeed, the captain of a ship was the final authority for what happened aboard his vessel.
But then Archangel landed on the Peleliu with little notice and a call from the Pentagon that essentially gave Captain Campion — an army grunt — carte blanche to access and direct the assets of the ad hoc naval task force any way he deemed fit. Of course, that did not sit well with the Peleliu's skipper, nor with any of the other three captains of the group.
Campion just did not understand the attitude. They were all a part of the armed forces. They all knew what it meant to follow orders and they all understood the concept of operational security. Campion might be a little younger than most officers he served with, but he had been on the other end of the equation plenty of times and had never once complained or given anyone grief.
This was no slight; just a fact of service.
Sometimes human behavior just eluded his grasp.
Whatever the case, he stood silent next to the skipper for several seconds before the man finally said, "Phone call for you."
Campion sighed, frustrated by the game, particularly from a man who commanded such a powerful vessel.
In any case, he picked up the receiver from its cradle and answered, realizing immediately that it was General Friez on the other end.
"Report."
"General, sir, we had a little help from the Washington, sir. She's not in our task force but was close enough to send a couple of fast movers over the target area. Their report suggests that the island's volcano erupted. The pilots visually identified what appeared to be lava flows moving across the island."
"Any sign of survivors? Of people?"
"Negative, sir, although the pilots report poor visibility on the ground. They also said that if there were any people down there they might be running out of land soon."
"Okay. What is your status?"
"Navy Task force Able Fury has assembled and is en route. We count three surface ships and an attack sub plus a small expeditionary force."
Campion noticed that the skipper kept his eyes in his binoculars but had cocked an ear to the conversation.
"So far no word from the team?"
"No, sir. The pilots did not find evidence of interference, either. Is it possible that the buildup to the eruption could have affected phones and radios?"