Chapter Five
W
hen Sam reported in, Commander Sykes surprised him by making it a conference call. John Petit, the CIA operative who was working on their team, was pulled into the call to fill Sam in on some research he’d been doing.
“I figured out why your girl is pinching pennies,” John said with no preliminaries.
“Do tell.” Sam was more interested in the information about Emily than he really should be but it couldn’t be helped. If she was in trouble, he wanted to help her if at all possible.
“Seems her little brother got cleaned out by a femme fatale who is now doing twenty to life for doing the same thing to a few other witless young men. She got convicted on a manslaughter wrap when one of the men came after her. Seemed he’d finally figured out what she was doing, raiding her boyfriends’ bank accounts for all they were worth. He brought a knife to a gunfight and she killed him. That’s what finally brought her down.”
“So Emily’s supporting her brother because he got swindled? What about the rest of the family?”
“Nobody else seems to know about it. From what I pieced together, baby brother didn’t want to face his dad or the rest of the family but he did confide in Emily. She’s been paying his tuition—he doesn’t qualify for financial aid and the banks won’t loan to him based on the way his girlfriend ruined his credit. Emily’s been supporting him for a little under a year now. To his credit, he’s got two part-time jobs in addition to being a full-time grad student, but his sister is still paying for the big ticket items.”
It was noble, if stupid. Emily was sacrificing to help her brother save face. No doubt he’d feel like a fool if his stupidity became known. So she’d come to his rescue and bailed him out. Little brother probably had no idea how much strain he’d put on his sister financially and Sam bet she’d never tell him. He needed help and she was there to give it. It was a nice thing for her to do and it only made him like her more.
“She’s a regular Girl Scout. Nothing else on her public records and no other files that I could access. She’s not on the radar of any government agencies as far as I can tell. I don’t think she’s involved in anything illegal—or if she is, she’s either new to it or damn good at hiding her tracks.”
Sam liked the sound of that. It echoed what he’d been thinking. Where Emily was concerned, it was good to have a conscience check from an objective source. He’d gotten too close to her and wasn’t sure he could look at her coldly, without seeing the beautiful woman that had so captivated him from almost their first moments together.
“What about her other brother, the Air Force jet jock?”
“He flies all kinds of black ops, Sam. A real special operator. He’s done work for the Agency, which is the only reason I was able to find out that much. I called in a favor from a friend who’d worked with him. They call him Shotgun. No idea why. He came in with the handle and managed to keep it through flight training.”
Sam smiled on the other end of the phone line. He knew Emily was responsible for that nickname and it said something for her twin that he’d kept it. Often, pilots didn’t really have a say in what people dubbed them. Henry Parkington had to have tried really hard to keep the name his sister had given him and reject all the others his crewmates tried to stick him with.
“I’m putting his name on my reserve list,” Matt chimed in. “I spoke to his commanding officer and if his sister stays clean and we need another pilot, I believe he’d be a good choice.”
Now that was saying something. Sam knew what it took to get on Matt Sykes’ short list. He wasn’t one of the most respected Special Forces commanders in the services for nothing. Before he’d gone totally underground with this mission, operators had vied for spots on his team. Sam was proud to serve with the man and take his direction. He’d bet good money Shotgun Parkington would feel the same.
Sam only hoped they managed to resolve this mission before it became necessary to add more personnel to the team. The sooner this problem was eradicated, the better as far as he was concerned.
“I’m sending John out to see you. He’ll bring new gear for you. The techs have come up with some improvements that will enable you to carry in plain sight.”
“That’ll be most welcome, sir.”
Sam had been carrying a regular sidearm, as many charter pilots—many of whom were ex-military—routinely did. But the ammunition it held was strictly conventional. If he met up with a zombie, he’d have one hell of a time trying to destroy it without the special toxin they’d been using to dissolve the creatures on a cellular level.
“He’s arranged some private shooting range time so you can get familiar with the new weaponry. Expect him tomorrow.”
Sam wasn’t on the schedule to fly again until the day after, so it worked out perfectly. He looked forward to seeing his teammate. He’d been in the field alone for a while now and it was a new and sometimes awkward feeling for a man who was used to functioning as part of a team.
“I look forward to it.”
“Frankly, I’m getting nervous,” Sykes admitted, surprising Sam with his candor. “We haven’t seen any of the creatures in a while now and I’m not fool enough to think the rogue scientists have packed up their toys and gone home. Something’s brewing out there and you’re in the best position to find out where and when. Keep your eyes open, Sam.”
“Yes, sir.”
They ended the call and Sam went over the mission in his mind one more time before falling asleep with a renewed sense of urgency and thoughts of Emily Parkington in his head.
John Petit showed up on Sam’s doorstep around noon the next day, holding a case of beer and a package of steaks. The rented condo he was living in came with a small patio and basic charcoal grill. To any observer, it looked like two old friends getting together for a day of sports, beer and steaks.
John informed him they’d get to all that—after they took a little trip to the private shooting range John had lined up. Sam got into John’s rental car and welcomed the small talk about various team members as they made their way to the secure location. John did the driving and Sam noted the careful way he watched his mirrors to be certain they weren’t being tailed.
When they reached a dirt road that led to a large steel building set back in the distance, John didn’t hesitate.
“We keep places like this in various parts of the country and abroad,” he said as they approached the plain structure.
A man walking a big German shepherd met them as they neared the gated steel fence that surrounded the property. The man wore no uniform but he had a military stance that was unmistakable.
John flashed his credentials and the guard let them through the gate with little fanfare. There was no one else in sight, and after the guard had closed and locked the gate behind them, even he and his dog had disappeared.
“We’ve got the place to ourselves for the next couple of hours,” John said as they pulled up to the building.
John stashed the rental car inside a small lean-to on one side of the structure, where it wouldn’t be easily visible. They got out of the car and John stopped to grab a large duffel bag out of the trunk before he preceded Sam inside the building.
To say Sam was amazed by the interior of the building would be an understatement. After a rather plain lobby-type area, the hall John led him down opened into what looked like an apartment, complete with a state of the art communications suite. John bypassed it all, leading Sam down two flights of stairs to a shooting range that must’ve taken up the entire length of the building and then some.
Sam began to get the idea that the building above ground was only the tip of the iceberg. What lay beneath was much more extensive. John was only showing him the area they needed—the fully equipped shooting range. Sam was impressed despite the abbreviated tour. He could only guess what other surprises this building housed, but he’d bet they were substantial.
John took it all in stride, dropping his duffel bag on a table located conveniently at the shooting end of the range. He unzipped it and began sorting through the equipment stashed inside.
“I’ve got a present for you.” John grinned as he pulled a black holster from the duffel and tossed it toward Sam.
He caught it, noting the weapon it contained.
“I already have a handgun.”
“Not like this. And especially not with the ammo I brought. This new stuff will take down a zombie. No need for dart guns anymore.”
Now that was good news. Sam could carry a normal looking gun. The dart gun, on the other hand, was too hard to explain should someone see it.
Many pilots were ex-military and liked to be armed, though it was difficult for commercial pilots going through TSA in big airports to carry. Charter pilots though, that was a different story. On the routes he was flying and the airports they visited, Sam could easily carry the Ruger SR-9 John had just given him.
“Why the Ruger? The Glock is standard issue.” Sam examined the unloaded weapon closely.
“The Ruger has metal magazines and a new style safety.”
That made a lot of sense. The metal magazines had to be safer for carrying toxin than the plastic mags of the Glock. And Sam had heard the stories of guys who stuffed a Glock in their pants and accidently shot themselves in the leg because they screwed up the safety. Looking at the safety on this weapon, he could see it was a bit more secure.
“Nice.” Sam sighted down the barrel experimentally.
“The four inch barrel on this makes it about the same size as the Glock 19, which is considered a compact. There’s a three and a half inch version of this weapon that takes a ten round magazine. The seventeen round mags fit, but they hang out the bottom a bit so we thought we’d go for the full size.”
“Good decision. I’d rather have more rounds in the clip than a half inch off the barrel length. The weight feels good.” He tossed the unloaded weapon from hand to hand, checking the grip on either side. He’d trained himself to shoot both right and left handed with accuracy.
“That was the consensus of the team. Even the girls liked the slightly larger version. It had less kick for them.”
“What about the bullets?”
“Frangibles with a special payload.” John took a large metal ammo box out of his duffel bag and placed it gently on the table. “The science team refined the toxin. This new stuff—they call it T2—is a gel and it only takes a small amount to dissolve one of the creatures. Each bullet contains enough to do the job.”
“T2? No kidding.”
“Yeah.” John smiled. “Seems the lab ladies have a sense of humor. They said it stands for Toxin Number Two, but a few posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger have recently started showing up on the walls of their lab.”
Sam laughed at that. He liked both of the medical doctors on the team and had been under their care when he’d been infected. Both ladies were serious, dedicated medical professionals but he knew first hand they had good senses of humor.
“Has T2 been field tested?”
“Not in a real world scenario but all the lab tests indicate it should be five times as potent as the liquid T1. This ammo is one shot, one kill, and you can use it in an airplane, if you have to.”
Frangible rounds didn’t punch holes in the fuselage of a pressurized airplane. Instead, they broke up on impact. The tech guys back on base must have taken that technology one step further to develop a bullet that could hold a small quantity of the more potent T2 toxin.
“These frangible bullets deliver the payload into the target, breaking apart and spreading the toxin on impact,” John went on. “From there, the toxin will spread rapidly through the target. It used to take four T1 darts to dissolve a target, each loaded with a couple of milliliters of liquid. This new stuff has a higher viscosity and fits nicely inside the frangible bullet housing.”
“Ingenious.” Sam examined one of the bullets, handling it carefully. The toxin was deadly to all human tissue. It would kill an uninfected person as easily as it killed a zombie. “How safe are these to carry?”
“Safe enough. Just keep them in the metal mags and store the mags in two or three layers of heavy plastic. You’re the field tester on this unless we have another outbreak somewhere.”
“Hopefully I won’t have to use them.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” John agreed. “But we know the remaining scientists are actively trying to sell the technology. Sooner or later the creatures will show up again. You’re the best bet we have of finding them before they become a real problem.”
They spent the next hour in target practice with dummy frangible rounds. No sense contaminating the range. All Sam really needed was some practice with the new firearm. He wanted to get the feel of it before he might possibly have to use it in the field.
Once Sam was satisfied he’d become competent with the new weapon, they headed back to his rented condo. John didn’t have to leave for a few hours yet so they would put the steaks on the grill and kick back for a while. Even operatives had to eat sometimes.