“Sir, most of the objects are stratified roughly one hundred ninety to two hundred thirty feet underground. There are a few less than one hundred fifty feet beneath the surface, but digging them out would be a time-consuming endeavor. With all due respect, sir, I’m not very comfortable with the thought that time is on our side. If they should emerge at nightfall—”
“I hear you, General.”
Jessie, seated to the president’s left, spoke. “Mr. President, I think General Smythe makes a good point. If they emerge before we have a chance to complete the evacuations, we could be facing another night like last night.”
“We don’t know if they’re going to emerge. We don’t know if they’re going to stay there for an hour, a week, or a goddamned month, for that matter.” The president paused. “But I do agree if they were to emerge right now, we’d be hard-pressed to keep them from doing what they did last night. What’s the status on the evacuations?”
“It’s not going smoothly, Mr. President,” Hugo McIntyre said. “The highways out of each of the threatened cities are hopelessly snarled. We’re losing a lot of people just trying to get them away from the immediate area.” He looked down at the surface of the table in front of him, as if looking for a better answer hidden in the highly polished mahogany. Only his reflection stared back. “If they were to emerge tonight, we’re in a better situation than we were just twelve hours ago, but it’s not good, Mr. President.” He didn’t know what else to say.
“Hugo, you’ve got to get those people out of there. Period. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The president turned his attention back to General Smythe. “Ray, is there any motion whatsoever? Inside the casings?”
“No motion, sir, but we’ve detected sounds. Faint, but audible. We don’t know what to make of it yet.”
“Okay, so we can assume since they’re making noises, they’re alive and well inside these casings. We don’t know if they’ve encased themselves in these things as a protective measure or if it could be something else.” The word the general had used initially to describe the casings—cocoons—made the president’s blood run cold. “You said cocoons, General. Is that what you’re supposing these things are?”
“Uh, no, sir. It was just what came to mind when I first saw the images, and—”
“If they are cocoons — which is a possibility that’s just as reasonable as anything else right now — then we must assume they’ll emerge again. Our task, ladies and gentlemen, is to kill them right now, before they have the chance to come back to the surface. I need to know how. Have we analyzed any of the bodies yet?”
“Sir, we’ve flown the first bodies we recovered to the Dugway Proving Ground in Utah, some of the rats, and one of the peop — humanoid things. Initial field tests by the CDC on the bodies revealed traces of a level 5 contamination — a biological warfare agent present in the tissue. The Vanguard team will be doing the full analysis.”
Andrew had learned of Vanguard shortly after assuming office. They’d played a major role in the ongoing war on terror, pinpointing sources of chemical and biological weapons, helping trace possible locations of production, and developing countermeasures designed to keep the armed forces, and the American public, safe.
“You’re telling me that this whole event was the result of a biological warfare agent? Why didn’t the sniffer teams detect it? And why the hell am I only hearing about this now?”
“Sir, the traces were minuscule enough to prevent detection by the sniffer teams. There were also other substances present in the tissues that the CDC couldn’t identify. I’m being told the level 5 traces are just one piece of a puzzle that still needs to be put together — the CDC can’t put the puzzle together by themselves. Dugway can perform a more thorough analysis.” Ray Smythe paused, his face showing an uncharacteristic degree of frustration. “I believed you’d been made aware of these findings, Mr. President.”
“No, General, I was not.” Andrew took a deep breath and calmed himself. He knew information flow didn’t always work as advertised in rapidly evolving situations such as this. Most of the time, the information he needed would make it to his level, but sometimes, someone dropped the ball. He knew ripping into the general would serve no purpose — Ray Smythe was a fine officer who knew what his president needed to know. He’d obviously sent the information up the chain, and that particular ball had simply been dropped. Now was not the time for a tirade. “I want to hear the results as soon as they come in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing, Ray. I want one of those casings. I don’t care how you get it, but I want it dug up, cracked open, and taken apart molecule by molecule until we can determine exactly what we’re up against. And I want it fast.”
“Yes, sir.” Smythe paused for a moment, formulating a course of action. “Sir, we could use penetrating munitions — bunker busters — to get close to the most shallow of the objects, but we’ll still have to do some digging to get to it.”
“Your call, Ray. Just get me one of those casings.” The president knew he was taking a risk. It was going to take time to analyze the bodies, and it was going to take even more time to get to one of the casings. In his gut, he knew it might be time wasted if the things emerged before they’d figured out a way to kill them while they lay deep in the ground.
Jessie spoke up again. “Mr. President, we can kill them now. We have the weapons that will do the job.” She sounded oddly impatient.
The voice of Vice President Allison Perez filled the situation room, transmitted from NORTHCOM. “You’re suggesting the use of nuclear weapons, Ms. Hruska, on American soil?”
Jessie turned toward the image of Allison Perez staring at her from another plasma screen. The national security advisor’s eyes flashed bright green, full of fiery determination. “Yes, Madame Vice President. That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”
CHAPTER 27
It was three o’clock in the afternoon when the C-21’s wheels barked on the runway at the Dugway Proving Ground.
Carolyn slept for most of the flight from Offutt and felt remarkably better than just a few hours before, which, considering she’d barely escaped being eaten alive by a rampaging horde of monsters — not once, but twice — and survived a horrible helicopter crash, was a darn good way to feel. All in a day’s work, she thought. Yeah, right.
She peered out of the small cabin window and saw General Derek Rammes standing next to a Humvee parked at the edge of the ramp. She could tell by the look on his face that she was going to have a lot of work to do. And fast.
“That must be General Rammes?” Garrett asked.
“Yes, that’s him. He’s the director of—” She caught herself before saying it. Even the term Vanguard was classified, and she didn’t know if Garrett was cleared to hear it, much less know what the team actually did hundreds of feet under the Utah scrub brush.
He completed the statement for her. “General Rammes is the director of BSL-4 Vanguard. It’s okay — I was in-briefed when I was ordered to bring you here. I’m cleared.”
“Sorry. Security, don’t you know.”
“Yeah. Loose lips sink ships.”
“Something like that. You’d be hard-pressed to find a ship out here.”
“Gotcha. Not a very attractive place,” Garrett said, taking in everything the surroundings had to offer, which didn’t look like a whole hell of a lot.