“Jesus, Major.She’s right.” One of the SAS men put in, “She’s talking Wind Shear.”
The Major paused at that, his mind abruptly switching tracks as two magic words were stated. He knew Wind Shear, everyone who spent time in the skies either did know, or damned well should know, about the dangers of wind shear.
When a storm front clashed with a high pressure zone the cold rain was absorbed into the warm dry air of the front, causing it to suddenly and rapidly drop. The result was a dangerous zone of sudden downward winds that could swat an airplane, or an SAS man riding a para-foil, right from the skies. If it could be applied to the tower, they could possibly contain any outbreak to Tower City alone, maybe even to the facility.
“Will it work” He asked, frowning, trying to work it out in his head.
“It’ll work if the water keeps up, Major,” Inspector Dougal promised him, “The Israelis were planning on building a tower based on that very principle, they just had other worries side tracking them.”
“Alright,” He nodded, “Jack,”
“Sir” A blond man looked up.
“Get into the tower specs we’ve got here, give me the full details on her fire systems. If they’re up to the job, we’ve got us a containment plan.”
“Yes Sir.”
Officer Suvole raised a finger, “I’ll help out, I’m pretty decent with a database.”
“Alright,” The Major nodded, “Go to it.”
The two men nodded, then moved off to another terminal where they started to pull up more information from the depths of the computers.
Major Malcolm frowned as he checked the schematics again, then shifted the focus on the screen to the exterior facility and the twenty-five thousand acres of territory in which the terrorists could hold their hostages, or hide from any hunters looking for them.
“In the meantime,” He looked around, “We need to work out hostage rescue and a way to prevent Abdallah from releasing the virus.”
“Major!”
Malcolm twisted in his seat, “What is it, Tavish”
“We’ve got Comms!”
“Get me those supplies over to the blackhawks now goddamn it!” The man with the Lieutenant Colonel Brevets growled over the sound of the rotor wash, waving some men by as the base around him buzzed in a state of controlled chaos.
“Colonel!”
“What is it, Corporal!” He yelled again, cupping an ear against the noise and leaning into the other man’s personal space.
“The Old Man wants you in his office!”
“What! Now!” The colonel couldn’t believe it, “I’m in the middle of a rush deployment here!”
“Now, Colonel!” The Corporal yelled back nodding, “Major Malcolm just called in!”
The Colonel cursed, turning on his heal without another word and double timing it out of the loading area and back toward the base. He grabbed a Sergeant on the way, hooking the black man’s uniform by the shoulder and yanking him close enough so they could hear each other over the roar of rotors, engines, and hydraulic pumps.
“Get these birds loaded, McKenna!” He growled, “I’ll be back ASAP.”
“You got it Colonel!” The Sergeant nodded, saluting him, and the Colonel let go of his uniform and clapped him on the shoulder as he took off again.
“You heard the Colonel!” Sergeant McKenna yelled over the rotor wash as he strode into the man’s wake, “Get these Hawks loaded!”
Crossing the compound to the Officers HQ took only a couple minutes and a Land Rover `borrowed’ from a passing Private, leaving Lt Colonel Pierson a few quick moments to roughly brush away the dust and dirt from his fatigues in a most likely vain hope of also beating away some of the diesel fumes that tended to cling to a man’s hair, clothes, and skin.
The secretary, a female Warrant Officer Class One, waved him right in without saying anything or giving him the chance to even present himself. Inside, the Brigadier was talking earnestly into his phone as he nodded and waved Pierson in from over his computer screens.
“Hang on, Major,” Brigadier Genalde said quickly, “Colonel Pierson just walked in, I’m switching over to parley.
Genalde pressed a button, shifting the conversation over to a combination data-sharing/conference mode the military simply called `Parley’, and Major Malcolm’s voice instantly came over the link.
“.right, Brigadier, Sir.”
“Alright, Son,” Genalde said grimly, “You’re on with the Colonel and I, why don’t you go over it again”
“Yes Sir,” Malcolm said over the link, “We have a confirmed terrorist incident brewing here, Colonel. I’ve already told the Brigadier the details, so I’ll just give you an overview if that’s alright”
“Are the details logged into our computers” Pierson asked quickly.
“That’s affirmative, Colonel.” Genalde assured him.
“Well then, that will be fine, Major.”
“Well Sir, it looks like an unknown number of Tangos in possession of a biological that they apparently intend to use. Confirmed numbers are now in excess of sixty tangos, and estimated to be considerably higher. Weapons and equipment are unknown, however they are well dug in to the local infrastructure.”
“Do we have a threat assessment of the biological” Pierson asked grimly, noting that the Major’s information was slightly more defined than that which had come down from the brass when they ordered him and his teams up.
“Exact numbers are theoretical, but we’re looking at a worst case scenario of sixty to eighty percent fatality locally, plus the potential of Global delivery of the Vector.”
That caught Pierson’s attention.
“Could you say again, Major.”
“I say again, potential exists for global delivery. The Tower here creates a thermal plume which extends into the Jetstream. If the biological reaches the Jetstream, it will be delivered on an easterly vector at four hundred plus KPH.”
Pierson’s eyes flickered up to look at the Brigadier, wondering if this was a training mission after all. It sounded a little too fantastical to be real somehow. Genalde just nodded once, in grim agreement with the Major’s assessment.
“Understood, Major. I am deploying with my team in twenty minutes. That’s Two Zero minutes. Expect us to arrive to provide backup and support in less than one hour. Confirm, please.”
“That’s confirmed, Colonel. One Hour.”
“Can you hold on”
“We dare, Colonel.” Malcolm responded instantly, referencing the SASR motto of `Who Dares Wins’.
“Very good, Major. We’re coming in.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
“The Australians are denying our flight permission to cross over into their Air Space, Ma’am.”
Natalie Cyr grimaced, shaking her head as she spoke into the secured phone line. “Alright, I’m on my way up.”
“What do I do about the teams”
“Nothing. Get them in the air on schedule.” She ordered flatly. “I’ll handle this.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
She slammed the receiver down, taking a few seconds to grab up one of the anachronistic folders full of actual paper files from her desk, along with her own personal portable computer, and then pushed her way out of her office with her shoulder to the door as she balanced the load in her hand.
In the hall she had to dodge other analysts as they scuttled around the high traffic hallways of the Central Intelligence Agency’s Headquarters in Langley Virginia, nimbly dodging analysts assigned to desks from around the world who had been called in when the security threat for the entire planet had been raised to red in response to the developing situation in Australia.