Reaping The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 3) (2 page)

Jack felt an unpleasant tingle in his gut. “Okay, let’s have it.”

“Harvester outbreaks have been reported in every country in the northern hemisphere, and many in the south,” Terje told him. “Russia, as you can imagine, is in complete chaos, with infestations in every major city west of the Ural Mountains. As best we know, their leadership has retreated to an underground bunker, and they have put their strategic forces on alert.”

“Oh, hell.”

“There has been talk of trying to contain the outbreaks with nuclear weapons,” Cullen answered, shaking his head. “The crazy bastards. The President has put our forces on alert, because no one is comfortable with the Russians having their proverbial finger on the big red button. The strategic forces of the United Kingdom and France have gone on alert, as well. No one’s sure about the Chinese.”

“I hate to say it,” Jack said slowly, “but the Russians may not be as crazy as you think. The harvesters are supposedly very sensitive to ionizing radiation, far more than we are.”

“You can’t mean that!” Morgensen stared at him.
 

Cullen looked down at the floor, pursing his lips.

“What would they be saving by destroying their own cities?” Morgensen demanded. “They would be killing hundreds of thousands of people!”

“More likely millions,” Terje corrected quietly.

“Once the harvesters get a foothold in a heavily populated area where the civilian population has no idea how to deal with them…” Jack shook his head. “A pack of a hundred or so harvesters annihilated half a Russian airborne battalion, men who were heavily armed, well disciplined and well led, and who had at least some clue what they were up against. Imagine what they can do against civilians. Then there are the larval forms.” He paused, licking his lips and wishing the cup of water had instead been filled with a double shot of whiskey. “Fighting these things on the ground in an urban environment isn’t much short of suicide under the best of circumstances.”

Morgensen scowled. “What are you saying, that we should just give up?”
 

“Of course not. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t think the Russians are insane for considering nuking the most heavily infested areas. It won’t stop the harvesters in the long run, but it might slow them down and buy us some time.”

“What about the people in the target areas?” Terje asked.

Jack looked away. “It won’t be long before there isn’t anyone left to save.”
 

He was about to say something more when a cat that was nearly as large as his own, Alexander, bounded up onto the bed. Her long fur was an unruly mix of black and gray-brown. She regarded him for a moment with her yellow eyes before marching up onto his stomach and butting her head against his chest.
 

“That’s Lurva,” Terje said, his dark expression momentarily broken with a smile as the cat began to purr with a deep rumble as Jack gently scratched under her chin. “She belongs to Frode Stoltenberg, the commando leader whose team brought you out of Russia. He’s loaning her to you as a get well present and guardian while he’s off on a mission.”

“Tell him thanks,” Jack said as Lurva curled up on his chest.

“What Jack was saying,” Cullen went on, folding his arms across his chest and favoring the cat with a frown, “tracks with what’s been happening in Los Angeles. The entire metro area is overrun and the rest of southern California is in a panic. We’ve quarantined the Los Angeles basin, although that hasn’t done much good. We just don’t have the manpower to cordon off every mile of the infected zone. They’re spreading into northern California, Arizona, Nevada, and south into Mexico, and outbreaks have been reported in most major cities across the rest of the country. The President ordered the stock market closed when it went into free fall last Monday, and the economy’s coming apart at the seams. People aren’t showing up for work, they’re hoarding everything from ammunition to disposable diapers, and consumer prices are shooting through the roof.”

“Christ.” A blade of cold steel twisted in Jack’s gut. “What about Naomi? The last thing I heard was that she was trapped in LA.”

“She made it out,” Cullen reassured him. “She’s safe. Beyond that, I can’t say much.”

“Why the hell not?”

With an apologetic glance at the Norwegians, Cullen said, “Because everything else about where she is and what she’s doing has been classified. I was authorized to tell you she’s alive and safe, but that’s all.” Before Jack could say more, Cullen held up his hand. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can say until we can get you to the embassy.”

“Then let’s go.” Jack propped himself up, only to be rewarded with dizziness and nausea.
 

Annoyed, Lurva hopped off the bed.
 

“Jack,” Terje protested, “you’re not ready to get back on your feet. Remember, you have a concussion!”
 

“I’m not staying in this goddamn bed. I need to talk to Naomi.”

“That may not be as easy as it should be,” Cullen warned.

“Why?” Jack ignored the hammer banging in his head as he forced himself up into a sitting position. “Did someone steal the embassy’s phones?”

Cullen grimaced. “Global telecommunications have gone to hell.”

“But surely the embassy can get through?” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took a moment to catch his breath. He took the time to glare at Cullen.

Morgensen came to his rescue. “Communications with our embassies have also suffered, but the dedicated military links through NATO are still functioning. We should be able to provide what you need with reasonable privacy.”

“My orders…” Cullen began to say before Jack cut him off.

“I’m not under anyone’s orders. I just want to talk to Naomi and make sure she’s okay. And has anyone bothered to tell her that I’m alive?”

Cullen shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Right,” Jack growled. To Terje, Jack said, “Got any clothes I can borrow?”

***

Dressed in a Norwegian Army uniform, Jack looked out the window of the Royal Norwegian Air Force Sea King helicopter as it flew east from Bodø over the shores of the Saltfjorden. The view was breathtaking, the jagged snow-covered mountains framing the waters of the fjord as they reflected the gunmetal gray clouds above. A light snow was falling, making the scene even more enchanting.
 

Lurva, wearing a collar and leash, sat in his lap, surprisingly docile in the noisy helicopter.

With a sigh, he turned away from the window. Terje sat beside him, while Morgensen and Cullen, who had insisted on coming along to chaperone Jack, sat in the seats on the opposite side of the cavernous helicopter. Six soldiers accompanied them, along with the helicopter’s crew chief.

Terje had told him it would be a short trip, and it was. Less than ten minutes after the white and orange helicopter of 330 Squadron had taken off from Bodø Airport, it was coming in to land at a helipad near the center of a small complex of buildings nestled in the forest not far from the fjord. As the wheels touched down, the crew chief slid open the door and the soldiers nimbly jumped to the ground to take up defensive positions around the aircraft.

Jack gathered up Lurva and followed Morgensen and Cullen out the door, with Terje bringing up the rear.
 

Morgensen headed through the billowing snow tossed up by the helicopter’s rotor blades toward two military vehicles that looked similar to the American Humvee. A gauntlet of soldiers stood in front of the vehicles, their weapons trained on the new arrivals. In front of them were two open frame crates containing a pair of cats. The defense minister presented her hand to each cat for approval, and after shaking the hand of the stern-faced two-star general who led the reception detail, she got into the rear seat of the lead vehicle.
 

Jack repeated the procedure, holding out his free hand to each cat while he held on to Lurva with the other. The general gave her what might have passed for a smile before waving Jack through.
 

Behind him, Cullen and Terje took their turns through the receiving line.

The general took the front seat of the lead vehicle, while Cullen got in next to Morgensen. Jack and Terje hopped into the rear seat of the second vehicle.
 

“This is the new
Forsvarets operative hovedkvarter
, our Joint Forces Headquarters,” Terje explained as the driver started off along a snow-covered road that led into the forest.
 

They passed through a heavily guarded check point, then a few moments later pulled up in front of a tunnel entrance that was heavily reinforced with concrete and had thick steel blast doors.
 

“The Joint Forces staff moved here in 2010 from Oslo,” Terje said. “The old headquarters facility would have been indefensible.”

Jack shook his head in dismay. “Has it ever occurred to you that this could be a death trap? You could have larvae oozing their way down the ventilation shafts or eating through gaskets.”

“We have taken steps to prevent that,” Terje said. “All the organic materials used in the door and ventilation seals and other penetration points have been removed and replaced. We have cats patrolling the facility in company with soldiers armed with weapons loaded with incendiary ammunition.”
 

“That makes me feel a little better,” Jack admitted. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather be at home in bed.”

Getting out of the vehicles, they were checked by the guards at the tunnel entrance. Once cleared inside, the group climbed aboard a large electric cart that took them into the tunnel.

Jack looked at Terje. “How many harvesters do you think have made it into Norway?”
 

“Enough to cause trouble,” Terje said, “but not enough to start a panic. Not yet, at least. The government acted quickly by closing the borders and airspace, along with the ports. The reserves have been mobilized and formed into quick reaction teams to respond to any harvester sightings. So far, the incident rate seems to be stable, so we like to think we’re killing them as quickly as they are identified.” He reached over and rubbed Lurva on the head. “Cats are also in very short supply after thousands were requisitioned for the military.”

“The civilians have been told that cats can recognize harvesters?”

“Yes.” Terje’s nodded, his grin fading away. “We have passed on as much information as we can about how to combat harvesters without heavy weapons. We have given instructions on using lighter fluid or even combustible aerosol sprays with lighters as makeshift flamethrowers. That was a tip your FBI sent to us. We have also tried to make incendiary ammunition available to owners of firearms, but it is in short supply after the military’s needs. And of course, we have told them to use cats for warning, and explained how to spot harvesters for those lucky enough to have a thermal imager. Unfortunately, some people have tried to gather up as many cats as they can to sell at outrageous prices. I know how ridiculous it may sound, but His Majesty is expected to declare all cats as state property through the duration of the emergency. Selling them will be a very serious offense.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all,” Jack said as he stroked Lurva’s fur. She took in her new surroundings from the vantage point of his lap, and he could hear her purring over the whine of the cart. Alexander would have been meowing and fidgeting the entire time.

The cart finally rolled to a stop before another set of blast doors. Yet more guards checked everyone’s identification. Jack thought it odd that no cats were posted there until he spied one curled up, sound asleep, against the steel bulkhead that held the blast door.

He nudged Terje, then pointed to the snoozing cat. “Your hard-earned tax dollars at work, I see.”
 

“We let some roam loose through the corridors. It’s obviously very boring duty.”
 

Jack only shook his head as Morgensen and the general led them into the heart of the facility, a sour-faced Cullen bringing up the rear.

REUNION

The
Forsvarets operative hovedkvarter
was dominated by a spacious two-story operations center. An enormous multi-panel display covered the front wall, running the width of the room and from roughly six feet above the floor up to the ceiling. Men and women in combat fatigues manned the four rows of workstations facing the giant screen. Many were quietly but intensely watching their consoles or tapping out instructions on their keyboards, while others were talking on phones or headsets. Above them, overlooking the operations floor, was a glassed-in mezzanine.

Terje and Jack held back as Morgensen, Cullen, and the two-star general went to the front to join a small group of high-ranking officers. One of them, an older but well-muscled man with silver-gray hair, had four stars on the front of his uniform. He had deep worry lines carved in his face. Morgensen said something, and the man shook his head emphatically before pointing up to the display.

Jack couldn’t read the Norwegian text, but there was a fundamental universality to the military map symbols that allowed him to understand what the screen was showing. A map of the Scandinavian peninsula, together with the Baltic countries and western Russia from the White Sea south to Moscow, occupied the bulk of the display. Blue icons tagged as Royal Norwegian Air Force F-16s were flying in race track ovals near the borders with Russia and Finland, with a pair orbiting over Oslo. Other tracks showed P-3 Orion maritime surveillance aircraft patrolling the long coastline along the Norwegian sea and the Skagerrak, the channel that separated the Scandinavian peninsula from Denmark. Icons shaped like ships and tagged with names like
Thor Heyerdahl
and
Steil
patrolled the entrance to every major port, while more plied the waters up and down the coast in concert with the P-3s.
 

A smaller map, taking up one corner of the display, showed the Svalbard Archipelago. A pair of F-16s flew in a large figure eight over Spitsbergen, the largest of the islands in the archipelago, and a commando unit protected the SvalSat communications facility.