She strode through the outer chamber and then through the decontamination compartment, without bothering with the procedure. It was useless, she knew; they were hardly working with anything that could harm humanity. And besides, the alien diplomats on the ship shouldn’t know anything about what was happening in the lab. If they did come to visit, they’d wind up being used as test subjects. It felt odd not to have live test subjects — she’d used political prisoners and other undesirables in Russia — but the computer simulations were excellent. The bioweapon was completely lethal — and completely incurable. Or so they hoped.
Dropping her lab coat in a rack, she pulled on a tunic and settled back to wait. It wouldn’t be long now.
The interior of Ark Royal was confusing as hell, but Peter had one advantage the British might not realise he possessed. It hadn’t been that long since a team of Russian commandos had deployed on the ship and they’d taken the opportunity to map the ancient craft’s interior as thoroughly as possible. Some details were lacking — the commandos hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the bridge or main engineering — but it was complete enough for him to mentally fill in the blanks. And besides, as an observer, he had been given a tour of the ship along with the ambassadors.
He glanced into a compartment and smiled as he saw a junior crewman inside, folding clothing. It was one of the details of military life civilians never considered; someone had to wash the uniforms and do the ship’s laundry, after all. Peter slipped inside, came up behind the crewman before he had a change to blink and snapped his neck effortlessly. The crewman let out a groan and collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Peter hastily undid his uniform jacket and trousers, removing them from the corpse, then pulled them onto his own body. A quick glance in the mirror revealed that he looked like a sloppy but passable crewman. His nametag read BUCKLEY.
Picking up the laundry basket and positioning it to cover the nametag, he walked out of the compartment and headed up towards Officer Country, passing several other crewmen on the way. Hardly anyone paid attention to him, which wasn’t surprising. No one ever noticed the help, he knew; the FSB had always learned more from janitors or maids than it had from higher-profile spies. It was astonishing what people would say when they considered themselves alone, as if their servants were far from human. He passed through the hatch into Officer Country, then paused and checked his watch. He was five minutes ahead of schedule…
He hesitated. Timing was everything; it wouldn’t be long before their actions were very noticeable, no matter how much they sneaked around. And then all hell would break loose. The ship would go into lockdown, the Royal Marines would search the interior inch by inch for the Russians and they’d be wiped out. Eventually. They could do a great deal of damage before they died, he knew, but destroying the carrier had never been part of the plan. The human race was going to need Ark Royal.
He pushed the thought aside. There was no time for woolgathering.
Can’t afford to waste time here, he thought, as he strode towards the Captain’s cabin. I’d be noticed and ordered to go find something else to do.
He stopped outside the solid hatch, then keyed the switch.
James had been reading the latest tactical report on the system when the hatch opened. It didn’t sit well with him to consider ending the war on such poor terms, but he was starting to think the human race didn’t have a choice. The aliens might well have a larger industrial base than humanity and, if they did, the war would be ended when they drowned humanity in carriers, starfighters and other warships. If the aliens hadn’t been so diverse themselves, he suspected, the war would have been lost by now. Instead, they had a chance for peace.
The Russians will be furious, he thought. But what choice do we have?
Uncle Winchester would probably be relieved, he considered. And so would most of the British population. They needed time to rebuild, to establish more colonies and learn the lessons of the war. Then, perhaps, they could renegotiate the terms of the treaty. Or find other ways to work with the aliens. If both sides had learned a great deal from merely fighting each other, who knew what they could discover in peacetime?
The hatch bleeped. James frowned, then called “Open.”
He looked up, surprised, as a crewman stepped into his cabin, carrying a laundry basket. But his steward handled his laundry… and the crewman was wearing a very ill-fitting uniform and…
It was too late. He saw the gun in the man’s hand an instant before the intruder fired.
Chapter Thirty
“Major,” the tech snapped. “Someone attempted to use the codes!”
Major Charles Parnell swore. He’d hoped to have more time to get his forces organised before the shit hit the fan. As it was, he was still badly undermanned and he’d barely managed to get a handful of armed crewmen rounded up to reinforce the Marines. Against alien boarders it might not have been a problem, but against humans it was just asking for a friendly fire incident. That was the last thing they needed.
“Shit,” he said. “What did they try to do?”
“I’m not sure,” the tech said. “I think they tested the codes and discovered they weren’t responsive.”
Charles thought, fast. “Declare a security alert,” he ordered. “And put the entire ship into lockdown. No one goes anywhere without the right authorisation.”
“Aye, sir,” the tech said.
“Then call the deployed platoons,” Charles added. “They are to move in and secure the diplomatic zone. Treat the diplomats gently, but firmly.”
He looked down at the display as the ship’s alarms started to howl. There were seven Russians on the ship — eight, if one counted the researcher assigned to the bioweapon… he swore, violently, as he realised what the Russians might have in mind. The bioweapon was humanity’s ace in the hole, the secret weapon that could be used to threaten the aliens with utter catastrophe if they didn’t agree to reasonable peace terms. And the Russians had been very involved with producing and testing the weapon.
You fucking idiot, he told himself. How the hell did you miss that?
“Redeploy Platoon Two,” he ordered. Armed and armoured, Platoon One should have no problem handling unarmed diplomats. “They are to secure the biological research laboratory and put it into complete lockdown. I want every one of those damn scientists accounted for.”
Peter muttered a curse under his breath as the alarms started to howl, an automated voice informing the crew that a full internal lockdown was now in effect. He’d assumed they wouldn’t remain undetected indefinitely, but the British had caught on faster than he’d expected. They must have been watching their computer network for signs of trouble, he thought, as he knelt down next to the badly wounded Captain. Or perhaps the virus had triggered a security alert. Using it had always been chancy.
“Hold still,” he muttered, as he produced the monofilament knife and held it against the Captain’s palm. “This will probably hurt.”
He sliced into the palm, digging through blood and gore for the implant. It was tiny, no larger than a penny, but it was the key to the operation. He pulled it free and pressed it against his own hand, making sure it was still covered in the Captain’s blood. As long as it thought it was still working for its rightful owner, using it shouldn’t trigger alarms. Peter straightened up, pointed his gun at the Captain’s forehead, then decided against it. There was no point in wasting more bullets. The Captain would bleed to death if he didn’t get medical assistance quickly, in any case.