Paths of Courage (16 page)

Grace followed the woman along the corridor to where the freezers were kept at the entrance to Level 4. When they arrived, the virologist pointed out the large liquid nitrogen freezers in which the super virus was stored and watched as a technician lifted the circular lid of the waist-high, drum-shaped unit, emitting a cloud of white vapour, which poured down the side of the drum and onto the concrete floor. The technician carefully removed a rack of vials from a trolley and placed it inside. Less than a minute later, the lid was replaced to avoid the reservoir of nitrogen in the bottom from heating up and creating a fog-like atmosphere in the room.

“Does that hold the entire stocks of IL-4 smallpox here?” Grace asked innocently, wanting to find out if more was stored elsewhere, while glancing around to see if a furnace was nearby. There wasn't.

“Yes, this is the only place where it is manufactured. Once it is full, the contents are sent to Chongju for weaponization,” replied the virologist, guiding Grace away.

She decided it would be futile to attempt to find a furnace and empty the contents of the freezer into it – firstly, because there were too many vials; and secondly, a furnace could be some distance away making it impossible to transport the freezer contents without discovery. Her priority now: to get out with a vaccine.

Expecting to be shown another freezer, or at least a refrigerator holding the vaccine, Grace was surprised and greatly relieved when the woman opened a door close to the air-lock and both entered a smaller workroom that housed lab testing equipment on one side and shelves containing an assortment of vials on the other, next to a stainless-steel bench and sink unit. At the sink stood a technician siphoning liquid from the racked vials into small stainless-steel tubular containers. The containers, explained the woman, held stocks of the vaccine for experimental purposes and were vacuum-designed to maintain the potency of the vaccine for up to three weeks without refrigeration. She added that this was necessary to inoculate the population in the more remote regions of the north. Manufacturing for mass use, she said, was carried out in Pyongyang. Grace eyed the six-inch long, two-inch diameter tubes and wondered just how she was going to steal one, or maybe two, and get them out. She worried too if they would have sufficient time to get back to the sub and to a refrigerator. The virologist showed her how to siphon off the liquid into the vials, excused herself, then left.

Grace went out shortly after and milled around in the freezer area with other personnel until the technician came out of the room pushing a trolley of vials. Grace sidled back into the room, took two tubes from the rack, checked that they held the vaccine and, with adrenaline pumping, left and headed straight for the exit. Unsuccessfully attempting to conceal the containers in the palms of her hands, she unplugged the air-hose and entered the small ante room. Here she removed boots and pushed the air-lock operating pad praying no one was coming through or waiting on the other side.

The air-lock decontamination doors slid open – the room was empty. She stepped in, turned on the shower with difficulty and hoped it was Lysol spraying the space suit clean. One minute later, she exited the chamber and went back into the common changing area. Thankfully only a handful of people were there, all on the far side. She clambered out of the suit, removed her gloves, tape and socks and binned them, wrapping the tubes in a surgical cap before heading for the female locker room, her heart in her mouth.

Grace entered the Level 2 decon chamber, stood under the ultraviolet light for several seconds, trembling with stress, then hurried to the locker where she quickly changed back into the uniform with the yellow badge and strapped the holster with gun back onto her calf. The vials were too big for the metal container she had brought so she placed the two tubes in breast pockets of the jacket, put on the medical smock and cap and headed for the exit.

Grace was extremely relieved to step out of the Level 2 air-lock into Level 1. She was now effectively out of the hot zone and the horror it held, but felt conspicuous without the space suit. Making straight for the Level 1 air-lock, ignoring everything else around, she arrived and mingled with others waiting to leave through the air-lock.

Suddenly, a hand rested on her shoulder and a male voice instructed her to follow him. Grace almost collapsed with panic when she turned and stared at a young man also dressed in smock and cap. She began to protest, but he gripped her firmly by the arm and guided her towards a room a short way back down the corridor.
My God! Had she been discovered?

On the other side of the air-lock, Ryder could wait no longer. He decided to enter Level 1; it was time to throw caution to the wind. The door slid open, the lock emptied and he and the others moved forward together with several technicians, too busy talking to seemingly give them much attention.

Grace, entering the room, stopped short, fear spiking when she came face-to-face with the woman scientist encountered in the Level 4 lab sitting at the only desk. The man took a seat alongside her. Grace was left to stand.

The woman stared hard at Grace, then came sharply to the point. “You told me you had just arrived here, yet on checking I find that no new lab personnel have been assigned within the last month. Can you explain?”

Grace was not prepared for this and after some hesitation blurted out a story that there must be some mistake as she had been assigned here by the camp commander at Haengyong.

“His name?” she shot.

“Colonel Chang-su.”

“Strange. He does not recall sending you,” the woman replied, cold eyes fixed on Grace like a predator about to finish its victim. “What have you to say?”

Grace knew she was caught and stammered, “There must be…”

“Enough!” The woman cut her short and turned to the man. “Bring a guard.”

The man hurriedly stood and went out.

Grace, in her despair, decided to kill this wretched woman. She reached down, but suddenly stopped when the woman raised a gun from below the desk.

In the corridor, the man sent out to find a guard saw three uniformed men standing by the air-lock and called to them.

Ryder, Bom and Song froze, staring as he approached.

The man came up, briefly explained what had happened and pointed to the room. Ryder immediately realized he was talking about Grace and all three followed the man. Frank entered the room whilst the others remained outside.

He could see Grace's relief. The woman behind the desk put down her gun and repeated what he had already been told, ending with, “Take her away and interrogate. Find out who sent her. Inform the commandant and let me know the result.”

Ryder wasn't listening; he was weighing up whether or not to kill the woman and the man. He decided on the former; nobody should be left behind to tell. He drew his silenced pistol to lead Grace away, then turned and shot them both cleanly through the head.

As they left the room, Grace half-smiled and tapped her breast pocket, conveying all was okay – mission accomplished. Without a word, they made casually for the Level 1 air-lock and waited with others waiting to enter. Once through, they mingled with personnel in the busy corridor on the other side, keeping a reasonable distance between themselves and Grace. They cautiously exited out the far doors, past the caged prisoners and beyond into the main entrance cavern. Here trucks were discharging more prisoners amidst a cacophony of voices, revving diesels and martial music. They easily managed to pass through the ordered chaos unnoticed and entered into the corridor that led directly to the plant area.

Minutes later, they arrived at the entrance. Ryder indicated for the others to wait while he confidently pushed open the doors and boldly strode through into the vast, noisy plant cavern. He checked to see that no one was in the office or the ablutions block, then went back to the entrance. The rest of the group filed in.

Suddenly, a technician carrying a tool kit stepped out from behind a boiler directly in their path. He stopped, startled, seeing armed men only feet away.

Ryder sprang.

At that very moment the entrance doors to the plant room swung open and two guards strode in, saw immediately what was happening and reacted swiftly. One managed to discharge a single shot before both were gunned down by Song and Bom. Ryder quickly broke the technician's neck before he could cry out.

Grace felt a searing pain shoot through her lower back. She staggered forward, trying desperately to stay on her feet, bounced off a machine control panel and collapsed to the floor. The others immediately sprang to her aid.

Ryder searched frantically for the bullet wound, whilst Bom hurried to cover the entrance. Lifting her gently, he and Song moved Grace in amongst the machinery out of view of the entrance.

“She's taken a hit in the lower back; no exit wound visible. Bullet must be lodged inside; could be considerable internal damage.”

“Close to the spine?” asked Song with concern.

“Yeah, very close; maybe fatal if we move her.”

“Should we do that?”

“No choice. We're not leaving her.” No way was Ryder going to leave her to the mercy of the Koreans; she had to be moved despite the risk. He prayed she would survive the journey back. “Dan, go find something to make a makeshift stretcher.”

Ryder did his best to staunch the flow of blood and make her as comfortable as possible. She was conscious, although in a state of shock. Handing him the tubes of vaccine, she managed to explain briefly what had transpired and what the tubes contained. She emphasized that the vaccine had only three weeks before potency was lost. He placed the containers in his breast pockets. It was time to get out – and fast.

Ryder and Song quickly removed the ammunition clips and grenades from the dead guards, then dumped the two, together with the technician, in the storeroom alongside the other bodies. A makeshift stretcher was quickly constructed with canvas and metal rods found amongst the machinery. Then, with Grace as comfortable as they could make her, Bom and Song carried the stretcher, following Ryder into the airshaft.

It did not take long to reach the outside. A signal to Chol saw him emerge from hiding; a smile expressing relief, changing immediately on seeing the stretcher holding Grace. The grille was hurriedly pulled out to allow the stretcher to pass through and then replaced. With Grace seriously injured, their problems had increased ten-fold, compounded by the fact that they had only three weeks before the vaccine would lose its value. Grace would not be left behind under any circumstances. Ryder would make sure she made it back to the beach with them or none would. They had to get away as quickly as possible. After Grace said she felt able to be moved, they headed south down the mountainside into the valley, followed a short distance by the resident hawks screeching at their departure.

K449 sat silently on the seabed. The occupants, their nerves taut, waited for the sound of approaching torpedoes. The weapons officer's finger was poised over the countermeasure button, ready to release decoys to deflect the radar energy guiding the torpedoes to the target. He also had a finger ready on the other hand to release homing torpedoes of their own when ordered.

“Captain – sonar. Contact speed and course unchanged. Range 1,000 yards and closing. Depth 400.”

“They would have released by now if they had our position,” said Lieutenant Zaha, relief showing. “Praise to Allah; we are lost in the background.”

“Don't be so sure,” Kamani replied. “If they ping us again this close…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.

“The bedrock will protect us.”

“Only if there is sufficient shore noise to cover and confuse the sonars.”

“Captain – sonar. Contact range 500 yards. Course, speed and depth unchanged.”

“They're almost on us!” Urgency came back into the XO's voice.

Sweat glistened on the captain's brow.

“Captain – sonar. Range 200. Speed and depth unchanged.”

“She's on top of us!” exclaimed Zaha, fighting hard to contain his fear.

A mixture of uncertainty and sharp fear gripped the captain; should he release his own torpedoes now, whilst still holding the advantage, or wait? Tension in the control room was unbearable. Each man knew that whatever happened in the next few minutes would seal his fate.

“Captain – sonar. Contact course change to zero-four-five. Speed and depth unchanged.”

The crew listened to the screw of the British submarine churn 200 feet above them and felt the turbulence as the huge warship swept by so close. The sour smell of fear pervaded the control centre.

“She's veering northeast! She's missed us!” exclaimed a jubilant Lieutenant Zaha before giving thanks again to Allah.

Immense relief flooded the control room. That had been nerve shattering.

“I commend your steadfastness, Captain Kamani,” said Ali bin Rashid. “Close call. You are indeed a brave man.”

“Thank you.” Kamani considered that the statement made by the negotiator had now fully atoned for the insult delivered by him at Heard Island. He continued. “However, bear in mind, this may only be a taste of what can be expected if the infidel suspects we are here in the Atlantic.”

“And what are the chances of that?” asked Captain Moradi.

“I do not know. But it seems they were near enough to catch us on the passive, probably when we increased speed, and again when they pinged us. The fact that they are patrolling here, using Astute-class vessels, suggests they are serious in covering all their options. If that sub recorded our signature, they will know we are here and we can expect the rest of the journey to be full of danger – real danger – should they bring in the rest of the flotilla.” He turned to the XO. “From now on we inch our way to the target, keeping as close as we dare to the coastline. We remain rigged for silence and prepared for immediate action at all times.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Captain Kamani silently prayed the infidel submarine had not gained K449's signature, for if it had, he knew there would be little chance of fulfilling the Islamic dream they had come so far to achieve. There would be no alternative but to die fighting for the glory of Islam.

Three hours later, when it was gauged that the enemy submarine was far enough away, Captain Kamani ordered the engines to be restarted and the course to be resumed.

“Captain – helm. Course zero-three-zero. Speed five knots. Make your depth 400 feet.”

K449 gently lifted off the seabed and slowly headed northwards towards the equator and the North Atlantic.