"This is the exciting part," Jeffrey said, sweating in the built-up heat. "We know the biosafety four containment's at the other end of this level. We don't know what else is down here or how many personnel."
"I'm worried they'll have school kids," Clayton said. "Experiment subjects, for hostages."
"This thing ain't over," Jeffrey said.
"We're just about finished," Nine said. A small lip in the middle of the top cut held the square chunk of door in place. SEALs Nine and Eight held the lances to the side. The thermite kept sparking and smoking, and the air stank from burned steel.
"We can fit the peeper through here," Eight said. "It's cool enough now, LT." He pointed to one spot where the jagged gap flared slightly.
Clayton went to the door. He bent the tip of the fiberoptic wand and pushed it through the cut. He looked through the viewer. "The lights are on inside, but I don't see people or weapons. The front walls and partitions are heated and insulated. They're opaque to IR … I don't see any booby traps, but I can't be sure." Jeffrey took Clayton's place at the viewer. He twirled the wand between thumb and forefinger, to make the lens pan around.
"You're right," Jeffrey said, "more shielding. Another layer of security, even in there." Jeffrey could see worktables covered with papers, different kinds of cabinets, big black binders on bookshelves, a few desktop PCs. Then he saw a TV monitor, hooked to a VCR.
Something was showing on the screen, but the angle was too oblique. Several chairs were grouped in front of the set, empty, one knocked over, as if people had been sitting and watching and then scattered with the attack. That meant they were still down here somewhere, farther in. Jeffrey saw a central corridor with doors off to both sides. The corridor ended in some kind of air lock with a porthole. Through the porthole he saw stainless steel. Above the air lock a red light was flashing.
Behind Jeffrey, Ilse came down the stairs. "The fires are out," she said. She smelled distinctly of smoke. She crouched on the concrete floor, her black wet suit snug around her thighs. She clutched her pistol in both hands, pointed toward the overhead. She looked incredibly sexy.
"What now?" Ilse said.
"Look through the viewer, get oriented," Jeffrey said. Ilse put one eye to the ocular. " Memorize what you see," he told her. "Visualize going in."
"Okay," Ilse said. "I'm ready."
Jeffrey let the two SEALs take a peek. "Everyone change to hollow point only," he ordered. "No armor-piercing rounds near the containment." He pulled from his vest an ammo clip color-coded green, with distinctive ribbing. He cleared his pistol and reloaded with the clip. Ilse and the others did the same.
"Finish the cut," Clayton said. "After we go through, fan out. Don't damage computers or notebooks. Shoot only when you have targets, kill everyone you see. If they have a child, he won't make much of a shield. Aim for the bad guy's eyes, like we trained. His fingers'll go slack instantly."
"What do we do with the hostage?" SEAL Nine said. "We'll worry about that if it happens," Jeffrey said. "Any second now," Eight said, working his torch. "One, Six," Clayton called. "One, Six, how you making out?"
There was a pause. "Six, One, I'm cold, and thirsty."
"Pull up your wet-suit hood," Clayton said. "You'll feel warmer. And drink from your canteen. If you need more water, just call me." Clayton sounded choked up.
"One, Four," Jeffrey said. He had to clear his throat. "You did a great job going in there. We're on the next-to-last phase now. We'll be back to you soon. Hang tough."
"Yeah," One said, obviously in pain.
"Two and Seven, Six. Any outside activity?"
"Six, Two, negative."
"Six, Seven, no unusual radio traffic, nothing at all from the lab … I think the rain might be stopping."
Ilse watched SEAL Nine give the metal slab a shove. It fell inward with a clank. Eight dashed in, Nine followed. Jeffrey went after Clayton, then Ilse duck-walked through. Jeffrey held back, protecting Ilse now as the rest of the team moved forward. Ilse pulled empty equipment bags and two digital cameras from her pack and started rifling the desks. The SEALs advanced, covering each other methodically, shouting "Clear" as they checked each office in turn.
"Shit," Ilse said, eyeballing several computers. "The backs are off. They took out the hard drives themselves."
"I don't see any floppies or CD-RWs either," Jeffrey said. He pointed to empty spaces on the desks, where disk holders had probably been. Bullets hit the door and Ilse and Jeffrey ducked.
"They've been destroying the evidence," she said, "the whole time we were breaking in."
"You're the expert, Ilse. What do we do?"
"I don't see any lab notebooks either." More bullets clanged off the door and the TV monitor imploded.
"Shaj," Jeffrey shouted — inside the lab his radio was jammed. "Shaj! We need to take a prisoner!"
"Look for an older bald guy!" Ilse yelled at the top of her lungs. "I have a feeling he'll be in charge!"
"Come on," Jeffrey said. He and Ilse dashed forward, pistols drawn. They passed two dead Boer soldiers, one with sergeant's stripes. They caught up with the SEALs.
"No one else in sight," Clayton said. "We searched all the offices, and this whole wall's shielded … The encapsulated diesel generator's over there."
"Keep it running," Jeffrey said. "We need the power in the bunker." Ilse peered around. "They've wrecked every PC and took the laptops with them. They must have gone through the containment air lock."
"Wouldn't they be killed?" Jeffrey said.
"No," Ilse said. "This outer lock's a precaution. Up to level three's a shirt-sleeve environment. You only need space suits in BL-4."
"How do we get this thing open?" Jeffrey said. Ilse worked the air lock.
"Let's go," Jeffrey said. He yanked the handle of the inner door and pushed. The door gave a fraction and stopped. He put his shoulder to it. Nothing. "It's barricaded," he said.
"The Halligan tools," Clayton said. SEAL Eight pulled two special crowbars from his pack. Eight and Clayton jammed the forked ends into the crack. Using all their strength, they forced the door open an inch, then lost their points of leverage.
"Jaws," Clayton said. SEAL Nine handed him the tool. Nine worked the hydraulic foot pump while Clayton held the expanding tips to the jamb of the door. Jeffrey covered the opening from above Clayton's head while he worked, using Nine's weapon. Eight covered the opening from floor level, aiming between Clayton's legs. When there was enough clearance, Clayton dashed through. Again Ilse went last.
A floor-to-ceiling freezer rested against the door. It was unplugged, but her visor told her everything inside was still frozen. The team was in an area of marble-topped lab benches, centrifuges, polymerase-chain-reaction machines. They double-checked under the tables — the area was clear. "Keep going!" Ilse shouted.
The wall in front of them was shielded. They went through another door, with no barricade this time. Two men in white lab coats turned to face them, unarmed. Four others fed diskettes and papers into fires blazing in the exhaust hoods of biosafety three. SEALs Eight and Nine made them move aside.
"Save whatever you can," Jeffrey said. Eight and Nine closed the hoods to smother the fires.
In the middle of one wall was another air lock, much heavier and with a different mechanism. A big red 4 was painted on the hatch. Jeffrey looked through the porthole.
"Someone's in there," Jeffrey said. "He's putting on a suit."
"He'll try to lock himself in," Ilse said, "then wait until we leave. Let me get this thing open." She peeked through the porthole, then worked the door mechanism and yanked the handle. Suction fans began to roar.