It was a stainless steel airlock with nozzles built into the ceiling and walls that could spray water and bleach or Lysol for decontamination. It was called the Decon room on the technical specs, though everyone who worked HL4 called it Styx. Liz didn’t know who had called it Styx first, but the name of the mythological river one crossed into the afterlife had stuck for the Decon room. Black humor, to be sure.
At the far end was another heavy metal door. Liz unlatched the door, thinking, Welcome to Hades, and stepped into the hot zone.
The vans’ attacks were so closely coordinated that two vehicles hit the front gate at almost exactly the same time the solo van hit the rear gate. Pulling up to the gates, the side door of the vans slid open and fully geared men fired their Colt XM-177s into the guard house, the 45mm rounds immediately shredding the security guards. Roaring forward, splintering the gate arm, the vans raced to the entrances. The two vans in the front pulled to the front door and five armed men dressed in white biohazard suits exploded through the main doors. They fired their machine guns at the shocked guards at the main entrance, racing through the main corridor at a dead run, hitting the elevator in seconds. Two white-suited men stayed outside the elevator and fired at anyone who stuck their head out of their offices as his three companions rode the elevator to the second floor.
The rear van took a similar approach, only two men went in through the loading dock, emptying their weapons at anyone they saw, breaching the main building and setting up perimeters at two crossways so no one could get to the elevator.
Hot Level 4 opened into a small, concrete block room, about ten feet by sixteen. The walls were covered with metal cabinets that contained a variety of laboratory materials and were lit by UV lights. Everywhere was the red biohazard symbol. At the opposite end of the room was a long concrete corridor with rooms jutting off it. Some of those rooms contained laboratories with microscopes and hoods and centrifuges while others contained animals — caged monkeys in three of the rooms — while yet others were autopsy suites.
Momentarily unhooked from the air supply, Liz shouted, “We need to feed the monkeys, then check the Marburg cultures. Frank said—”
Above their heads a yellow light began to strobe. There were two lights, one yellow, one red. The yellow one indicated someone was entering HL4. That was unexpected, but they had just a moment to be glad it wasn’t the red strobe light. The red light indicated the negative pressure air system had been compromised and any bugs in the area might be able to get to the outside world.
Their relief was short-lived as two figures in white Tyvek biohazard suits burst into the hot zone. Both carried machine guns. One had a bulky bag slung over his shoulder.
“What the hell?” Michael stepped forward, hands held out in a STOP gesture. “Who the hell—”
The machine guns chattered. Michael flew backwards, blood spattering his blue suit. Clumsy in her spacesuit, Liz spun and began to sprint down the hallway, hoping to dive into one of the rooms. She could lock herself in. She was into the corridor when a massive impact struck her back and she was flung to the ground, slamming into the concrete block walls.
She heard the two men shouting to each other in a foreign language. She didn’t move. Didn’t want to bring their attention to the fact she was alive.
Alive!
She didn’t know why she was alive. Her back hurt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer, but she otherwise seemed unhurt. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breathing fogging her faceplate. Oh God! she thought. Don’t let them see the mist on the faceplate.
Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the two figures disappear into the first room on the left, the storage room for the frozen samples of all the Level 4 pathogens. It contained refrigerators, freezers and liquid nitrogen containers.
Who were they?
She heard one of the men say something. It sounded… Asian? She didn’t know. Foreign. She tried to focus on the words. Tried to remember, but her brain wasn’t working right. Her usually nimble mind seemed to be stuck in a pit of thick tar. There was a dim rumble and clatter, then a hissing sound. A moment later she heard the sound of footsteps as the figures left Hot Level 4.
She tried to take a deep breath, but found she couldn’t. When she tried to inhale, a blistering shot of pain seared across her back and shoulder blades. She was getting sleepy, her eyes barely able to open. God, she thought. Maybe I am dying. And then she realized that without an air hose hooked up, she was rapidly depleting the remaining oxygen in her suit. Staggering cautiously to her feet, she noted that the yellow strobe light had stopped, but she could hear klaxons going all throughout the building. Reaching over, she snagged an air hose and hooked it up to her spacesuit. Her suit inflated again, the roar in her ears almost a comfort. She looked down at Michael, lying still in a puddle of blood, and began to shake. Then it hit her, hit her hard, the shock, the fear… and she crumpled to the hard floor.
2
Derek Stillwater leaned forward and dug his paddle into the flat surface of the Chesapeake Bay. He was far out in the bay on his ocean-going kayak, the afternoon sun beating down hard, spangles of reflected light like silver fish darting along the waves. Only three miles into a fifteen-mile workout, his tank top beneath the life vest was already soaked with sweat. In the distance he heard the beat of helicopter rotors, not unusual in this very busy body of water. He knew from living on the bay that Coast Guard helicopters routinely flew overhead, as well as military, private and tourist choppers.
He aimed the prow of the kayak toward the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and paddled hard. He was only starting to warm up, the muscles in his shoulders and back starting to loosen as the blood and oxygen flowed. Sucking in the salt air, Derek felt good. Life was good. A beautiful day, gorgeous water, the sun on his face, skimming across the waves like a dolphin.
The sound of the helicopter grew louder. Turning his head, he saw a red, white and blue Coast Guard chopper sweep around him, very low.
Jesus, he thought. The prop was kicking up so many waves he was afraid he might capsize.
The helicopter’s loudspeaker boomed: “Are you Dr. Derek Stillwater?”
He gave a thumbs-up.
The voice from the helicopter: “We’re dropping someone down to help you up.”
Stillwater sighed. This was not good news. So much for the beautiful day. From the open door of the helicopter a figure in a black wetsuit began to descend on a rope. When the officer hit the water he swam over to Stillwater, rope towed behind him.
“Secretary Johnston ordered us to find you ASAP and deliver you to an investigation site, sir. There are cops at your boat and cutters cruising the bay. We got to you first. You’re going to need to take off your vest and put this harness on.”