Now though, her red hair was tied in a ponytail and her blue eyes were closed as he watched her try to collect thoughts and pull herself together. It wasn’t every day an operative played a part in unleashing a plague of biblical proportions — responsible or not, like it or not, they’d failed to stop a catastrophe. They’d been close, so close, but failure was failure. The only thing they could do now was pray containment held and hunt the last of those responsible.
At this point, Scott didn’t really care what part the director played in everything that happened. Whether he’d just been a man in the right — or depending on view, wrong — place at the right time didn’t matter. What mattered was the fifty cent bullet he intended to put in the man’s brain.
“Three clicks out,” the pilot said through headsets.
“Roger that,” Scott said on Edie’s behalf.
As Edie stirred and took assessment of her gear, the eight members of her assault team readied their automatic weapons. Scott flexed and rolled up on the balls of his feet, looking out the window he saw the abandoned airfield now and the twin-engine Dauphin.
“Team, you know what to do,” Edie said. “Twelve on site that we know about, including four former Royal Marines Commandos, two pilots, the target and his female assistant. Deadly force authorized. The target, alive if possible.”
Moments later, the chopper was coming in hot, taking ground fire while the assault team members repelled out four at a time, their guns blazing as they went. When the first four touched the ground, they dropped down to provide cover fire while the final four made their way down. It was military speed precision at its finest and Scott watched in awe of what he saw.
As the chopper touched down momentarily, Edie and Scott followed, each having to fight their way out the door.
While the fire teams moved off two by two, some to lock down the perimeter and others to go after the director’s associates, Edie and Scott hugged the ground and kissed the grass while doing their best to stay alive. The steady rat-a-tat-tat of Edie’s light machine gun was a stark contrast to the slow but steady fire of Scott’s pistol.
A steady stream of calls and reports came in through his headset. What mattered most were the captures and the confirmed take downs.
“There,” Edie said, snaking off through the grass toward the director’s helicopter.
Scott followed at her side. “Keep your head down,” he hissed.
“Want the honors,” she said, a grenade in her outstretched hand.
“Wait till we see the S.O.B,” Scott whispered.
“Suit yourself,” Edie said, jumping up and sprinting off.
Scott ran at her side. They were headed toward a support building — the director’s last known location.
Approaching the side door, they paused and glanced over at each other. Edie’s fixed stare said she was ready for whatever was on the other side. On a three count, they kicked in the door.
“Drop the gun, hands up,” Edie shouted, twisting her way inside, surprising the director and Mila.
Scott a step behind her, shouted, “Kneel, kneel!” He put the gun to Mila’s head and then the director’s. “Tell me why I shouldn’t pull the trigger?”
He realized too late that putting his back to Mila was a mistake. She launched off the ground, tackling Edie. Edie went flying, her gun firing as she went down.
“No, Mila, no,” the director said, his eyes wide.
Scott spun around the director. When he was standing behind the other man, he saw what the director saw: Edie heaving Mila’s body away from her and the bright red trail left behind. Mila’s moaning told Scott that she was alive, for now.
“I’m sure you think me a vile man,” the director said, tears real or feigned in his eyes, “but Mila’s an innocent in all this.”
“Innocent?!” Scott exclaimed. “You’ve doomed hundreds, maybe hundreds of thousands. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”
“Not all of it,” the director said softly. “Save her and I’ll tell you whatever you want. Everything.”
Scott glanced at Edie who shook her head slightly. Scott didn’t believe the director and she didn’t believe him either. “Tell us everything now and we’ll see what we can do. Remember, every moment you waste is another moment less to save her.”
At the same time Scott was talking, Edie heard something over her private command channel that put a big smile on her face. Scott didn’t know what was said, but he knew it was good news. “What is it?” he said.
Edie walked over to him and whispered in his ear, “You were right about Blake. They found the antiviral. Two vials in a protective pouch, discarded outside the President’s Palace. This changes everything.”
Stepping back from Scott, she pointed and said, “Now, you can put a bullet in his brain.”
“It’s not going to be enough,” the director said raising his hands higher in the air.
“What’s not going to be enough?” Scott asked, his Storm Special Duty pressed against the director’s head.
“Whatever you found or think you’ve found,” the director said quickly. “It’s not enough. I have a hundred ready doses of the antiviral.”
Over comms, Edie said, “Urgent medical assistance needed in support building three.”
“No doubt ready for sale to the highest bidder,” Scott said as he reached out with his foot and kicked Mila to see if she was still alive. More moaning confirmed she was. “Keep talking and faster if you want her to live — and forget about the millions and billions you thought you were going to make from death.”
“There so much you don’t know,” the director said. “Most of which is moot now that everything’s been set in motion. Where to start?” He paused. It was a rhetorical question. Scott said nothing. “The man you think is David Blake isn’t. I know who he really is.”
“I’m listening,” Scott said.
“The real David Owen Blake was a private man with few friends, many theories and even more resources. Some of which appear to have been worth killing for. A doctoral student named Logan Sebastian Christensen is responsible for Blake’s death.”
“Responsible or the killer?” Scott said.
“Logan waited until the professor was set to leave on sabbatical and then killed him. Afterward, he assumed the professor’s identity, mostly while traveling abroad. Discretely, he’d already been using the professor’s credentials in residence at the University of Chicago. It’s how he recruited the like-minded to his cause.”
Two members of the assault team entered. One carried a medic kit. Edie pointed to Mila, but Scott shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said. He took a long breath. “Why? Why would anyone do this? Why would anyone try to exterminate the human race? How much did you know about this beforehand?”
The director’s hands had been lowering subtly as he talked, but now he raised them back up as high as he could. “You have to believe me when I didn’t know what Logan planned. I was pulled into his schemes just as you were and I was as surprised as you are. He’s a zealot, a transhuman futurist, who planned to change the world by ushering in a new age.”
Scott brandished his weapon. “I don’t believe a word you say.”
“And I don’t blame you,” the director said. “Most of what I know about Logan I discovered after I learned who you thought he was — and you are the ones who gave me the professor’s name.”
“That can’t be true,” Scott said, his growing anger showing on his face. “You were behind everything from the beginning. Alexis Gosling and Peyton Jones are your operatives.”
“I don’t own my operatives, Mr. Evers. They are freelancers. Like I told you, I was betrayed — and like you have perhaps guessed, I am not a man who takes betrayal easily. I’ve worked on the fringe for many years. I have contacts and resources, networks all over the world. I used those networks in the hours I had to piece together what I’ve learned, based on your own intelligence.” The director paused, his eyes fixed on Mila. “Not another word until you help her.”