Carnival of Mayhem (Gray Spear Society) Page 2

  "Oh."

  He looked at her pretty, young face. He would've sacrificed anything to find a cure for this horrible disease, which killed so indiscriminately. However, all his best efforts had failed so far while the body count climbed and climbed. The morgue was already full to capacity. He had no idea what treatment to try next because he had already tried so many.

  "Will you pray for me?" Sally said.

  "I don't..." Smythe cleared his throat. "I'm a scientist and a doctor, not a priest."

  "Please! Just a short prayer."

  "Here? Now?"

  She nodded. The eagerness in her eyes was impossible to refuse.

  "I'll try," he said. "God, grant me the means to cure this child. She is innocent and kind, and she deserves a happy life. If you perform this miracle, I swear I'll be your servant forever."

  "Thank you." She smiled. "That was nice."

  "I'll see you tomorrow. Try to sleep." And please don't die.

  He left the room and went down the hall to see his next patient. This one was a middle-aged man in apparently good health, except for the fact he couldn't breathe. A thick, plastic respirator tube was stuck down his throat. His eyes turned to look at Smythe and there was fear in them.

  The secret official name for the disease was Progressive Respiratory Failure Syndrome, but most people just called it "PRooFS." Sally was in the first stage, and the middle-aged man was in the second. The third stage was marked by repeated cardiac arrest, eventually leading to total heart failure. Patients in the fourth stage wore toe tags.

  Smythe went through the ritual of checking the chart, expecting no surprises and finding none. PRooFS was notable for its grim, relentless predictability. Once a patient was diagnosed, the date of death could almost be written on a calendar in pen.

  A nurse entered the room, wearing a full biohazard suit with a filtered air supply. When Smythe had started here, he had taken the same extreme precautions. However, it had become clear that the disease was barely contagious, if at all. There wasn't a single proven case of a symptomatic patient infecting anybody else. These days he just wore a surgical mask. Yet somehow, despite the apparent lack of contagion, outbreaks kept occurring, each worse than the one before. What had started as a medical mystery had exploded into a national crisis. The government was in a panic, so naturally, they were lying to the public about everything.

  Smythe quickly finished his rounds. As he made his way through the ward, he found three empty beds that had been occupied yesterday. He was sure new patients would fill the same beds by tomorrow.

  * * *

  Aaron and Marina stood before the Saint Athanasius Hospital in Naperville. Many years ago it had started as a modest suburban hospital serving a mostly rural community. The original three story building with its limestone façade stood at the center of the sprawling campus like an elderly matron surrounded by her taller, better dressed children. As decades had passed, extensions had been added again and again, each in a different style, creating an architectural octopus with many tentacles.

  Despite the complexity of the campus, Aaron had no trouble guessing where the important action was taking place. Police warning barriers completely encircled a building apart from the rest, and more than a dozen policemen stood guard. The police also had a mobile command vehicle parked in front as if on public display.

  In a clear case of male rivalry at the institutional level, the National Guard was protecting the same line. Men wearing green camouflage and armed with M16's stood in groups of two or three. An antiquated but functional tank was parked off to the side. Oddly, the Guard had also brought a military excavator. Maybe they were anticipating the need to dig a defensive moat on short notice.

  According to information Aaron had received, the Army had also sent a contingent but he saw no sign of them. Maybe they were trying to keep a low profile.

  Outside the police line, the news media had assembled into an impressive horde. A line of news vans with telescoping satellite uplinks ran along the edge of the hospital parking lot. The crews had set up tents and folding tables in the grass. The reporters stood around with steaming cups of coffee and chatted with each other in the chilly air. Apparently, there was no news to report.

  "This is a nightmare," Marina said. "Too damn many people here. I really hate crowds."

  Clumps of curiosity seekers were standing around in the parking lot. Judging from their age, Aaron guessed most were retirees with nothing better to do. Some had even brought binoculars, as if they had come to watch birds.

  "At least nobody will notice two more people in the parking lot," Aaron said. "We could wait for this Smythe guy all day without attracting attention."

  The building at the center of the excitement was six stories tall and made of silvery glass and polished steel. Exposed vertical supports ran the entire height of the building. Snipers on the roof weren't trying to hide their presence.

  Aaron looked around and picked out an elderly couple who were standing by themselves. The man wore a hunting jacket and a fishing cap in a failed attempt to appear rugged. The woman had a white winter coat that went down to her knees.

  "Let's talk to the locals before we settle into surveillance mode," Aaron said.

  He walked over to the couple with a broad smile on his face.

  "Hi!" he said. "What's going on? I didn't hear the news. Did I miss something?"

  "It's the tuberculosis," the old man said in a raspy voice. "Made a lot of people real sick. At least that's what they say."

  "You don't believe it?"

  "Doctors don't know anything. They just want money. Medicine is a scam." The man wheezed.

  "You're right." Aaron nodded. "I hate doctors. Still, this looks like a big deal. Do you actually know any patients in this hospital?"

  "My neighbor's son," the woman said in a sad voice.

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's terrible. He's a real good kid. Strong as a horse until he suddenly fell ill."

  "What were the symptoms?"

  "He got tired and dizzy," she said, "and he had trouble breathing. His mother told us it felt like an elephant was standing on his chest."

  "Coughing?"

  "No." She shook her head.

  "Strange." Aaron furrowed his brow. "That doesn't quite sound like tuberculosis."

  "See!" the old man said. "I know what it really is."

  "What?"

  "Space dust. Forty tons a day lands on Earth. It's getting into people's lungs."

  "Interesting theory," Aaron said. "Any news about the boy? Is he recovering?"

  The woman shrugged. "We don't know. Nobody knows, not even the family. It's all a big secret. I didn't think they could just take a child away from his parents like that, but the government did it."

  "That's awful. I think I'll stick around and see what happens. Nice talking to you."

  Aaron and Marina walked back to the car.

  "Definitely a cover-up," she muttered. "This disease sure as hell isn't tuberculosis."

  "You're right. Let's find Smythe."

  They had chosen a small, four-door sedan for today's assignment. The brown paint had buckled in places where road salt had sprayed onto the body. One of the door panels was a slightly different color. The antenna was bent. In other words, it was a car nobody would look at twice. The Society liked to maintain the lowest possible profile at all times.

  Aaron opened the trunk and sorted through duffle bags full of supplies—mostly espionage gear. None of the equipment was illegal, but most of it would raise eyebrows and invite questions if discovered by the authorities. In accordance with Ethel's directive, they had brought only a few light guns and did not expect to use them. He found two pairs of regular binoculars and gave one to Marina.

  He sat on the warm hood of the car, and she sat beside him. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close so she could share his body heat. She happily snuggled against him.

  "In the spy biz," she said in a tone of authority, "they cal
l this the 'sit and watch' surveillance technique. It's very sophisticated."

  "Obviously." He peered through his binoculars.

  * * *

  Two hours later Aaron said, "There he is, coming out the front door now."

  Smythe was a tall, muscular man with a round face and an impressively masculine jaw. He had reddish hair, cut very short. Aaron guessed his ethnic background was Nordic. Smythe stood very straight, as if always at attention. According to the background check, his list of accomplishments was impressive, but he still looked fairly young and energetic.

  Instead of an Army uniform, he wore ordinary slacks and a green shirt. He carried a red and white cooler with orange biohazard symbols on the sides. Police at the front door checked his paperwork twice and made a phone call before allowing him to exit the building with the cooler.

  "I wonder where he's taking that cooler," Marina said. "Does he look tired to you?"

  "Very. He must be working late every night."

  Aaron watched through binoculars as Smythe shuffled his feet across the parking lot. When he stepped into bright sunlight, he paused as if startled.

  "Let's move." Aaron stretched his neck and started walking.

  Marina slid off the car hood and walked beside him. "Careful," she whispered. "Don't let him know we're interested."

  Instead of walking directly into the parking lot, Smythe went around the hospital building. Aaron and Marina increased their pace as much as they dared. The police barricade forced them to make a wide detour, and they almost lost sight of their target. Smythe made his way to another lot behind the hospital. He entered what looked like an oversized mobile home. White, plastic barriers created fifty yards of open space on all sides.

  Aaron and Marina approached cautiously. The "mobile home" was actually four green trailers stuck together to create a temporary building. There were no windows. Large fans produced a loud, annoying hum, and oversized air filtration systems were stacked in series.

  "That's a lot of air-conditioning," she said. "A laboratory?"

  He nodded. "Classified work requires a separate facility with special security. I bet this is where the Army doctors do their research."

  From where Aaron stood, he saw four guards posted around the small facility. They wore civilian suits but their perfect postures were pure military. Bulges under their jackets suggested they carried compact assault rifles.

  One of the guards looked over. Aaron and Marina casually turned and walked away.

  "We'll find answers in there," she said.

  "Then we'll come back late tonight," he said. "Hopefully, everybody will be gone."

  "We won't be that lucky. There will be a couple of guards at least."

  "That won't be a big problem for us. What should we do until then?"

  "Let's get a hotel room. We can relax for a few hours." She caressed his chest. "And have a little fun."

  He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the lips. "I like that idea."

  * * *

  Aaron parked the car in a rear parking lot of the Saint Athanasius Hospital. Hundreds of lamps cast yellowish light across the enormous lot, negating most of the advantages of working at night. He parked in a spot where a tree cast a long shadow, so they could step out without being seen.

  He looked over at Marina. Like him, she wore a black and gray camouflage pattern over her entire body. The skin tight material hugged her shapely hips and breasts nicely. Both of them also had utility belts, and all the items were stored in cloth bags so no shiny surfaces would catch the light. Camouflaged Kevlar vests completed the stealthy ensemble.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Let's go."

  They pulled hoods over their heads, leaving only their eyes and mouths exposed. They slipped out into the night.

  The secret Army laboratory was about two hundred yards away, and there were plenty of brightly lit areas between here and there. Marina took the lead and chose a meandering path that passed through as many shadows as possible. Aaron had to stay in a crouched position most of the time, which made his back sore. She was a lot more nimble than him.

  They neared the white barriers and could go no farther without becoming completely exposed. They ducked down behind a car to observe.

  It appeared only two guards were posted at this time of night. The two men walked together as they circled the laboratory continuously.

  "Two minutes per round," Marina whispered. "Enough time for us to sneak across."

  "We'll ambush them there." Aaron pointed at a dark corner where two trailers came together.

  They waited until the guards were on the far side. Then Aaron and Marina ran across, staying low and quiet, and crouched in the shadows.

  She massaged her long black fingernails. Years ago, God had granted her a supernatural ability as a reward for outstanding service. She could produce venom within her fingers and deliver it through her nails, which acted like syringes. Depending on the dosage, the venom produced a range of effects from paralysis to unconsciousness to death. Massaging helped the venom flow.

  The two guards came around a corner, oblivious to the threat.

  Marina attacked the first man immediately. She clamped a hand over his mouth and jabbed her fingernails into his neck. Aaron knew he would be asleep within seconds.

  Aaron wanted to make sure the second guard didn't cry out, so he kicked him in the gut. The guard wheezed like an old man. Aaron swept the guard's legs, and he fell flat on his face.

  By this time Marina was finished with the first guard. She sat on the second guard's back and injected venom into his neck. With a soft sigh he passed out.

  She and Aaron did their best to conceal the unconscious bodies.

  "Now take care of the alarm." She pointed up.

  Aaron looked up at the side of the laboratory and saw an alarm bell. It was painted the same dull green as the wall.

  God had granted Aaron a gift also: the ability to spit acid. This supernaturally potent liquid could dissolve anything except living tissue, and he could hit targets with great accuracy. He spat a blob of yellow goo at the bolt that held the bell. After a few seconds of vigorous foaming, the bell fell off. He caught it easily.

  They walked around the laboratory and discovered three more alarm bells. He disabled them all similarly. He also cut the overhead power and phone lines by spitting at the wires.

  "One last detail, to be extra safe." Marina took a black metal box from her utility belt. "A wide spectrum radio jammer. No communication will get in or out." She set the box on the ground and pressed a button. A little red light came on.

  "Ready to go in?" Aaron said.

  She nodded. "I think so."

  They went to one of the doors. It was made of steel, and the sophisticated lock used a key card plus a combination. For most people it would've been impossible to open, but he had the universal key. He spat at the lock. Armor plating, wires, and plastic dissolved into foul smoke, producing a large hole. He reached through and opened the door from the other side.

  "After you, my dear." He stepped aside and allowed Marina to enter.

  With a sophisticated little smile she walked inside.

  * * *

  Captain Smythe woke up in darkness. He realized he had fallen into a deep sleep on the cot in his office. He had intended to take just a short nap, but exhaustion had got the better of him. The other staff members must have turned off the lights before going home. He could barely see anything.

  There was a sound like a drawer being opened. He checked his watch, which had a backlight, and he saw that it was 2:30 AM. Somebody is here, he thought, and they're working in the dark. Not good.

  The laboratory was guarded day and night by armed soldiers. There were alarms and all the doors were always locked. To get inside, an intruder had to be sophisticated, forceful, and dangerous. Smythe's heart beat faster.

  He slipped off his cot, taking care not to make any noise. There was just a trickle of light coming f
rom the hallway. Working mostly by touch, he took a 9mm Beretta semiautomatic and a box of bullets from the bottom drawer of his desk. He loaded the gun carefully.

  He preferred not to confront the intruders alone, so he decided to call for reinforcements first. He found his cell phone on his desk, but the display showed no signal. Something was jamming it. His office phone was also dead. Shit.

  Smythe needed to trigger the alarm manually. The sound of ringing bells would get the attention of police in the area, and there were plenty around the hospital. Also, the security system would transmit a call for help on a special radio channel to nearby military units. In just a few minutes he would have all the backup he could want.

  The nearest alarm button was in the hallway outside his office. He didn't have his shoes on, so it was easy to walk silently. He reached into the hallway, found the button with his fingers, and pressed it.

  Nothing happened.

  Fuck!

  The ventilation system was totally silent, implying the electrical power for the entire laboratory had been cut. The only light came from emergency exit signs, which ran on batteries.

  He realized the situation was even more perilous than he had assumed. His adversaries were conducting a planned, military-style operation, which meant they probably carried military gear. His little Beretta wouldn't be much use against assault rifles and body armor.

  He had two choices. He could hide until the intruders finished their business and left. If questioned, Smythe could claim he had slept through everything. Nobody would be able to prove otherwise. Given that he was probably outnumbered and outgunned, it wasn't an unreasonable option.

  His other choice was to fight. An unknown enemy had penetrated a United States research installation. He had a sworn duty as a soldier and a citizen. He could not allow classified information to fall into the hands of terrorists or foreign governments, even if the battle cost him his life.

  Really, he had no choice at all.