“We are wasting time.” Yakov was sweating, his hand rubbing back and forth along the muzzle of the MP-5.
“We’re only going to get one shot at this.” Turcotte understood the Russian’s anxiety. With every passing minute people died and the Black Death spread farther. On a more personal note, the more time passed, the more the virus infiltrated their own bodies. “We have to do it right.” Turcotte stared at the old prison below. His adrenaline was starting to flow. He forced himself to calm down. They still had a while to go before things started happening. Another hour and twenty-five minutes.
At Area 51 Lisa Duncan looked at the latest imagery forwarded from the NSA of South America. There were now eight villages that were cold, all downriver from Vilhena. The next six were hot, indicating the disease was raging in those towns. The one farthest from the site where the satellite had gone down was on the Amazon. She knew that meant the disease would be down the river to the coast in the next twenty-four hours, if it wasn’t already. For all they knew, carriers, fleeing the disaster, had reached some of the major cities on the coast.
Focused on China and the shuttles, the media had not yet caught on to what was really happening, although some scattered reports were beginning to trickle in. She knew by the time the media was aware of the story, it would be far too late for anyone to do anything to stop the Black Death. The most chilling aspect of it all was that there appeared to be no survivors in the affected areas.
She turned to Major Quinn. “I’m going to Devil’s Island on one of the bouncers. You’re in charge here. If we don’t succeed in getting the cure, do your best to get someone to try to quarantine South America.”
Quinn stared at her in disbelief, but Duncan didn’t have time to discuss impossibilities as she hurried for the elevator.
Gillis looked at the fuel gauge. They were down to less than a third of a tank. He checked the map as the helicopter whizzed over a small lighthouse. “Checkpoint fifteen, on route and on time.”
Corsen nodded but didn’t speak.
Gillis checked the map again. “Turn right. Slop turn.” He peered ahead through his goggles. “The route goes slightly to the left.”
Corsen made the slight adjustment and the aircraft steadied on the new course. Gillis checked the time again. Another forty-five minutes to target.
Mickell looked up in dismay as he verified the abort code word. The other members of his force were still in their positions. His ops officer was looking at him strangely, wondering what the long conversation was about. Mickell gestured for him to come over. The man waddled over awkwardly and threw himself on the adjacent seat. He yelled in Mickell’s ear to be heard over the roar of the engines. “What’s up?”
“I just got an abort over the SATCOM from the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”
The ops officer rolled his eyes. “Damn! It’s a little too late for that. Tiger element is already past the point of no return. They don’t have enough fuel to make it back to Grenada.”
Mickell had talked personally with Lisa Duncan several times over the past two days, and he knew what was at stake. The fact that Mike Turcotte trusted her was more than enough for him, but someone in the Pentagon must have gotten wind about what was going on and wanted to pull the plug. He keyed the mike.
“NSA Seven, this is Eagle Leader. Over.”
He heard Duncan’s voice. “This is NSA Seven. Over.”
“We’ve received the order to abort from the Pentagon.”
There was a short pause. “Colonel Mickell, I’ve told you what the threat is. I would be lying to you if I told you I had authorization from higher for this mission. But I also believe that we would not get authorization until it was too late — if at all — given the fact that there have been compromises in security throughout our government.
“We just lost two space shuttles, one of them because of treachery within our own ranks. We don’t have the time to play games. Latest imagery shows the Black Death has reached the Amazon and is going downriver.
“I’m on my way to your location on board a bouncer and should be there shortly after you attack. I will take complete responsibility for everything that happens.”
Mickell looked down the cargo bay of the Combat Talon. His men were ready. Two helicopters were en route, one without enough fuel to get back. He had Mike Turcotte on the ground. Then there was the matter of his duty to his chain of command and his career.
“NSA Seven, this is Eagle Leader. I am having radio problems. You are the only station I can receive. Over.”
“I understand,” Duncan said. “Good luck. See you shortly. NSA Seven out.”
“Let’s go.” Turcotte took off the SATCOM headset. He had the plug for the FM radio on his vest in his left ear, a boom mike in front of his lips.
Together, Yakov, Kenyon, and he made their way downhill, staying under the cover of the jungle until they were as close to the wall as they could get. There was about ten feet of low scrub between the edge of the jungle and the ten-foot-high brick wall.
Turcotte was looking at the guard who was walking along the top of the wall, when there was a loud humming noise and his goggles blanked out. He ripped them off his face and saw the cause: lights had been turned on inside the compound and the glow had overloaded the light enhancement inside the goggles. The guard was clearly silhouetted now. Lights were also on at the docks.
“Time’s running out.” Yakov brought the MP-5 up and sighted on the guard. “Wail.” Turcotte gently laid his hand on the Russian’s arm. “Just wait another couple of minutes.”
A caution light appeared on the console of the OH-58. Gillis stared at it in concern. “What’s that?”
Corsen kept his attention fixed ahead. “Fuel warning light.”
“I thought you said we’d have enough fuel to make it to the target. Are we going to make it or not?”
“We should.”
“Should!” That answer didn’t please the sergeant.
“Relax. All that light means is that we’re low, not that we’re out. We should have about twenty minutes left. We’ll make it. And if we don’t,” Corsen added mischievously, “I’ll just autorotate.”
“Just great,” Gillis muttered to himself. “Checkpoint twenty-four. That’s the last one before we hit our final reference point.” He looked at the stopwatch. “Right on time.”
The ramp opened and air swirled in with a roar, Colonel Mickell pushed himself up tight behind the jumper in front of him. One minute out from drop. Mickell kept his eyes fixed on the glowing red light above the ramp. He took a few deep breaths. The light turned green and the ten men shuffled off the ramp in formation.
Mickell felt the plane’s slipstream grab him and buffet him about. He spread his arms and legs and arced his back in an effort to get stable. He had barely achieved that state when he pulled his rip cord. His chute blossomed above him and he oscillated under the canopy.
Quickly getting his bearings, Mickell spotted the other members of Eagle spread out below him. He dumped air and caught up with them.
The target island appeared on the low-light-television screen on the helicopter console. Corsen raised their altitude for the final approach.
“The prison is lit up big-time,” Corsen said.
Sergeant Gillis’s headset crackled as he heard Turcotte for the first time over the short-range FM radio. “Tiger, this is Wolf. I can hear you coming. Situation at target as briefed. LZ inside the south wall has one chopper on the pad and room for you to the east. Over.”