Sara Purinam.
She stood at least five-foot-ten, maybe just a bit taller if you counted her crop of tousled, short blond hair. Light blue eyes were little pinpoints of electric light embedded in her freckled complexion. Just like the last time, Colding didn’t see a trace of makeup. Anything covering that skin would only detract from her natural beauty. She looked the very picture of a surfer girl gone air force.
She walked down and stood right in front of Colding. She looked pissed. From the mission? Or from the way he had treated her? Probably both.
He felt an instant and powerful sexual attraction, the same one he’d felt the last time they’d met. He had acted on it and betrayed the memory of his barely cold wife. The thought of Clarissa dredged up a fresh scar of guilt. He had more important things to do than ogle this woman.
“Mister Colding,” Sara said in an even tone. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Purinam,” Colding said, nodding.
Sara turned to Magnus. “So what the hell is going on? This looks like a war zone.”
Rhumkorrf stepped forward. “Yes, what happened? If Erika did want to hurt me, why now? Why is Colonel Fischer after us again?”
Magnus looked at everyone, one by one, seeming to weigh the value of spending more time on the ground. “Novozyme had a virus jump species. Seventy-five percent lethality.”
Rhumkorrf’s eyes widened. “Seventy-five percent? I always knew Matal’s method was flawed. That is horrible. Did the virus get out?”
“Contained,” Magnus said. “The Americans were on it fast. Fischer fuel-bombed the lab, then moved on to shutting down all transgenic projects. That includes us.”
Rhumkorrf shook his head. “No. No, not when we are so close. We have to keep going.”
“So get in the fucking plane,” Magnus said. “We’re taking the project underground. All your competitors will soon be offline. All of them. If you don’t get out of here before Fischer arrives, your Nobel Prize will be forever lost in the mail.”
Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is Colonel Fischer? Are we talking U.S. military? And there’s a fucking dead body right there. We didn’t sign up for this shit.”
Magnus turned fast and took a step toward her, the motion bringing him toe-to-toe with Sara. She had to look straight up to meet Magnus’s eyes.
“You signed up to do whatever we tell you to do,” he said. “You’ve certainly cashed enough of our checks. Now, unless you want to lose your business, get your crew moving and load this plane. You’ve got four minutes.”
Sara held his gaze for just a second, then turned away and shouted in a voice that momentarily drowned out the idling jet engines. “Let’s move, boys! Wheels up in four minutes!”
Three men wearing black Genada parkas descended the loading ramp. Colding recognized the short, Hispanic Alonzo Barella. Behind him, Harold and Cappy, the black and white “twins.”
“Weapons,” Sara said. “The only people armed on my plane are me and my crew, so give your weapons to Harold.”
Harold stepped up, hands out. Colding ejected his magazine, checked the chamber, then handed the Beretta and magazine to Harold. Gunther quickly did the same.
Andy laughed at Sara, then grabbed his crotch and shook it. “I’ll keep my pistol and give you my gun, flygirl. How ’bout that?”
Sara shrugged. “Then you’re not getting on the plane. Stay here and fuck a cow or something.”
“Enough!” Magnus snapped. “Andy keeps his weapon. Get this damn process moving.” He stared at Sara. “That okay with you, Captain?”
Sara glared at Andy, who was still laughing, then she turned back to Magnus.
“Fine,” she said. “You’re the boss.”
Magnus checked his watch. “You all have two minutes to grab any personal effects.”
Andy and Gunther sprinted for the main building. Colding didn’t bother. Neither did Rhumkorrf.
Jian came out the front airlock, night winds rippling her clothes as she struggled to push a dolly loaded with a thick aluminum canister. Alonzo ran to help her. Cappy got under Tim Feely’s arm and helped the drunk, sleepy scientist up the ramp. Gunther and Andy soon came back out. Gunther hauled a duffel bag stuffed with books while Andy carried a beat-up brown paper bag. Great. The Asshole thought to save his porno mag collection. The two guards ran up the ramp and into the C-5.
That left Colding alone with Magnus. “So where are we going?”
“An island in Lake Superior called Black Manitou.”
“Lake Superior? How in the hell are we going to get that thing,” Colding jerked his thumb toward the C-5, “through the Canadian air defense grid and then U.S. air defense?”
Magnus looked away, as if the questions annoyed him. “We have a contact at the Iqaluit Airport and a flight plan that shows us as a 747 cargo plane going from Iqaluit to Thunder Bay Airport. We have another contact at Thunder Bay—they don’t pay air traffic controllers that much, it seems—and he’s going to log us as landing. Flight is about three hours, Bubbah. Once past Thunder Bay, Sara puts the C-5 into night mode: no lights, she flies below the radar deck. There’s nothing between Thunder Bay and Black Manitou. It’s twenty minutes of low-level flying.”
Colding nodded. That sounded like it could work. “Still, isn’t Black Manitou a little close to civilization for what we’re doing?”
Magnus laughed. “Close to civilization? We’ll see what you think when you get there.” He unzipped the black canvas duffel bag a quarter of the way, reached in and pulled out a manila folder. He zipped the bag before Colding could get a look inside.
“Here’s everything you need to know,” Magnus said, holding out the folder. “There’s only five people on the island and they all work for Genada. Clayton Detweiler runs the place for us. When you see his son, Gary, tell him to make sure my snowmobile is ready.”
Colding took the folder.
Magnus continued. “You’re off the grid as of now. No outside communication of any kind, other than a secure comm link to Manitoba. No wireless security gear, no Internet, no nothing. You guys don’t exist anymore.”
As disturbing as that sounded, Colding also knew it was the only way to keep the project alive. Hell, the C-5 had been his idea, a way to keep the project going if anyone tried to shut them down.
He thought about the way Magnus had looked at Brady’s corpse, and the deadly vibe he’d given off when he asked who did it. If Colding flew off, he’d leave Erika alone with this man.
“What about Doctor Hoel?”
“You mean the old woman who single-handedly fucked up your operation and killed my friend?”
Colding let out a breath that clouded in front of his face, then nodded slowly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”
“Magnus, she didn’t mean to hurt Brady. Fischer got to her, she just wanted to destroy Rhumkorrf’s work and—”
“You think I’m stupid,” Magnus said softly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You think you’re smarter than me?”
Colding shook his head, a little too quickly.
Magnus smiled. “Sure you do, Bubbah. You think I’m dumb enough to kill a woman who works for Fischer. This conversation is over. Now get on the plane, or stay here and have a chat with your old buddy Paul Fischer when he lands.”
Colding paused one more second, unable to shake a feeling of dread. What choice did he have? If he wanted the project to succeed, he had to trust Magnus. Colding turned and walked up the C-5’s loading ramp.
The ramp led into a large cargo bay. At twenty feet across, it was almost wide enough for a two-lane highway. He’d reviewed the engineer’s schematics, helped design them, in fact, but he’d never seen the finished product. Once inside, all he could do was stop and stare at the cows. The cows all stared back at him.