Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (10 page)

Petrov marched into the room, saluted his father, and urged us to follow him. I thanked the general for the food; though clearly still in the reminiscent grasp of thoughts of his late wife, his head remained bowed. I pitied him, and with it came a surge of respect for the man himself.

Somewhere over Murmansk, present day.

The sleek, black helicopter flew low over the wooded terrain, remaining close to the mountainside at all times. Russian military radar would struggle to track their flight path at this height, though the filed flight plan would not allow much room for deviation. The pilots, nameless to this point, followed their directions to possible places of contact. Nathan fired up the heat tracker, mindful not to activate the OSD too early. As the aircraft passed over a small, wooded area, the machine beeped an alert. Stewey followed Nathan’s pointed finger and gazed from the shaded window. Below, a smallholding flashed by, evidence of curled smoke from the stone chimney belied occupancy. It was the first place south of the port, according to the maps given to them by senior spook, Gladstone.

“Looks promising, whaddya think, mate?” Stewey asked.

“That’s where I’d go if I were wet, freezing, and in need of shelter in a hurry,” Nathan responded.

“What say we set her down on the outskirts there; we’ll yomp it. I only saw one road out this way, but you can bet it’ll be crawling with military real soon. We best move fast,” Stewey directed.

Hasty instructions to the pilot found them descending behind the trees, the kit, thrown from the hovering aircraft, followed by a short drop to the ground. The helicopter began to lift as Nathan rolled into the foliage, scattering dead leaves and twigs with the downdraught of the rotors. The two men watched as it flew up and over the treetops before it disappeared from view, to continue the ruse of its intended flight plan.

They gathered the kit, checked their weapons of choice, and studied the tracker for the direction of the heat signature.

“About a mile, I reckon. That way,” Nathan indicated.

“Let’s go, eyes peeled. I have a feeling we won’t be alone for long,” Stewey warned.

The rutted forest floor, sodden after a recent downpour, proved tough to negotiate with the added weight of the backpacked kit. While progress was slow, it remained imperative not to announce their impending arrival to whoever inhabited the dwelling. As the forest began to thin out towards a natural clearing, the two men circumnavigated the treeline to approach with the sun directly behind them. The sound of vehicles, the familiar whine of military trucks, sent them both prone into the undergrowth.

“Company,” Stewey whispered.

“Let’s wait out. Set up an O.P. here. We’ll sit back and enjoy the show, see what we’re up against, eh?” Nathan added.

Nathan could already feel the cold, damp patches at his knee and elbows as he adopted a shooter’s position. He pulled the familiar AWM rifle into his shoulder, brought the crosshairs to bear upon the vehicles, and adjusted the focus to sharpen the image. Stewey pulled out binoculars, fitted with automatic range finder technology, and panned the entire area. Troops quickly fanned out around the building, covering all sides, before a two-man fire team advanced, instructed to enter the ramshackle home.

Stewey watched as the door imploded. It clearly didn’t occur to whoever was in charge that someone might be home, and a knock would probably have sufficed. The first of the fire team stormed in, only to be unceremoniously ejected back out through the remains of the front door. Nathan smiled, until the giant of a man occupied almost every available inch of the shattered frame.

“
Damn,
he’s big. You seeing this, Stewey?” He quipped.

“I got ringside, just like you,” Stewey whispered.

“
Stoy. Net!
” A low voice boomed from the figure.

The ground troops spun in unison, each with a weapon trained upon the logger, intent upon defending his property even against an assault force.

“He’s got balls, I’ll give him that,” Stewey commented.

They observed as two men exited a parked Jeep, slowly walked towards the building and stopped a few metres from the angry resident.

“Comrade,” the first officer hailed. “I am Colonel Andre Vadik, political officer to the Russian Federation. May we speak with you?”

Nathan watched as the big man eyeballed the two uniformed officers, and thought he saw recognition cross the face of the woodsman. He pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and scribbled Vadik’s name. Stewey switched to a digital camera and rattled off full zoom shots of the scene, the man in the doorway, and the aggressors in his midst. He managed to get clear, full-face shots of all but the accompanying officer.

“You got video on that thing?” Nathan whispered.

“I think so, but it doesn’t have much memory. It’ll only be short.”

“Pass me the binos, be ready to record.”

Nathan felt a sense of foreboding. Though hard to explain, he knew the arrival of the military so soon meant trouble on the wind. He observed through the binoculars as the bear-like logger stood aside to allow the officers entry to his small home. From their viewpoint, Nathan and Stewey were aware of a heated conversation within the dwelling, though it was impossible to distinguish the exact nature of what was being said. Through the small window, Nathan focused on the head of the logger.

“Record now, Stewey.”

The logger seemed agitated, annoyed at the intrusion, and barely keeping it together. The two officers appeared to be questioning him hard about the whereabouts of the so-called ‘persons of interest’—to which he repeatedly shook his head, vigorously. Nathan observed as the man slammed his huge fists upon the table, in frustration.

“We need him alive,” Nathan declared.

“You got a plan? There’s a fair few of them, excluding the docs,” Stewey added.

“Do we have anything in that bag that’ll make that outbuilding go away?”

“How high do you want it to go?”

“We need to draw the troops towards it, then make it go bang. If we can take most of them out with it, so much the better. Divide and conquer, what do you think? If we split up, I’ll take the front, you take the outbuilding. Smoke grenade first to get their attention, then take it out,” Nathan directed.

“We best move. Wait for the fireworks,” Stewey smiled.

The two men split up. Nathan positioned himself with a clear view of the men inside the small home, clearly in the middle of an interrogation. Numerous, unarmed medics had already begun to take samples of just about everything from the area. Clothing, soil samples, even plates and cutlery were all loaded from the premises into the waiting truck.

Without warning, Vadik drew his sidearm and pressed it to the temple of the prisoner. Nathan steadied his aim, ready to fire.

The soldiers on the perimeter began to move towards the smoke billowing from the outbuilding. Nathan counted five in all, which left at least one on the other side. One of the soldiers kicked through the flimsy door to the outbuilding seconds before it exploded. His body, in a maelstrom of splintered wood, brick fragments, and stored tools, somersaulted outwards by the blast. The nearby troops were cut down by the projectile debris.

That was Nathans’s cue to act. He watched as Vadik turned, momentarily distracted by the explosion, before he aimed his gun back at the seated man’s head. Nathan aimed at Vadik, held his breathing, and fired. The .30 calibre rifle, suppressed for close-range covert firing, coughed as it spewed out the bullet. Nathan tracked its path through the scope as the weapon in Vadik’s hand flew across the small room. He watched as Vadik doubled up, clutching his shredded right limb to his body.

The second of the two officers drew his weapon, intent on finishing the execution. Nathan didn’t hesitate this time. He placed the cross hairs on the shoulder of the officer and gently squeezed the trigger. The force of the bullet pushed the officer into the seated woodsman, sending them both crashing backwards over the chair. Silence prevailed, save for the sounds of panicked scientists rushing for cover. Seconds later, Nathan heard numerous shots above the screams of pain from within the small home. A quick scan revealed Stewey disabling one of the trucks and eliminating the missing sixth guard.

Vadik appeared in the doorway, his bloodied arm limp at his side as he tried to help his injured fellow officer walk towards a vacant Jeep. The logger had managed to recover enough to follow the two men outside, but he didn’t confront them further. Instead, he ran for the forest on the far side of the building. Stewey intercepted him. The army Jeep roared and kicked up plumes of mud from the track road as it sped away, closely followed by the slower, ambling truck full of shell-shocked scientists.

Nathan came up on the two men mid stand-off. Neither of them appeared to be willing to lower their respective weapons, though Stewey clearly had the better tactical position behind a sturdy tree.

“Enough!” Nathan called, his weapon held low at his side.

“You first,” Stewey glared at the Russian.

The big man scowled back at him before he glanced at Nathan. He held his left hand palm up, level with his shoulder, still clutching Vadik’s sidearm with the right.

“We are not the enemy. You understand? Not enemy,” Nathan emphasised.

The Russian shrugged with a half-smile, as he appeared to accept the statement. Stewey broke cover and lowered his weapon in a further attempt to diffuse the situation. A few more minutes of banter saw the three men relax enough to be able to talk more seriously. The logger thanked them for their timely intrusion, which ultimately saved his life.

“I am Yaromir. You are British, yes?” he asked.

“Yes. We’re looking for outsiders, people who look like they don’t belong here,” Nathan stated.

“Da. The same people Federation seeks, no?” Yaromir smiled. “We know who they are, and what they can do. They are safe with us,” he smiled.

“Safe with who? How many of them are there? Who are you, Yaromir?” Stewey asked.

Russian Federation base, Port of Murmansk, present day.

The activity at the port increased on an hourly basis. Evie managed to get her samples back to the lab. The most important one, that of the jelly-like, coagulated residue she kept separate from the others, knowing only too well that Dr Aslanov would surely want to see what had been found. She worked diligently, testing and documenting the samples one-by-one. Initial results revealed both male and female DNA were present, which confirmed her suspicions upon the discovery of the hairclip. A hollow bang against the sealed door of her lab announced the arrival of company.

“Ah, Evelyn. There you are, my dear. I thought I might find you here,” Charles began. “How are things progressing, any results yet? I’ve been stuck in endless meetings with the Russian delegates. Politics—I hate politics!”

“Have you seen Aslanov on your travels, Fitz?” Evie countered.

“You look troubled, my dear. Whatever happened in my absence?” Charles asked.

Evie used the familiar signal for hushed tones—eyes and ears tapped with her fingers. Charles nodded his understanding.

She took two test tubes and filled them with water, placed a seal on each, and dropped them into the carousel of the centrifuge. The spinning machine would afford them some cover to talk, shielded by its noise.

“Aslanov. I saw him eyeing up my laptop earlier. Be careful what you leave around, Charles. I don’t trust that man. He politely warned me that all information we find must be shared. It gave me the shivers. There’s more to him than meets the eye. He’s up to something. Have you seen him?” Evie asked.

“No, sadly not. I will speak to him; tell him that you prefer to work alone and to let you have some breathing space. Gladstone and Portman will provide you with privacy. Did you find something?” Charles whispered.

“Residual viral blood, Charles. I’ve not started testing yet, so I can’t tell if it’s the original strain or a mutated version of it. The subject, by their disappearance alone, is still very much alive. Most, if not all, of the first infected were dead after three weeks, tops. How come he’s still alive? There’s two that I know of, I think he was injured somehow, a female companion was looking after him while they were here. She’s infected too, probably by him,” Evie concluded.

“My, my. That does change the ball game somewhat, doesn’t it?” Charles offered. “Do you have DNA samples of the man and woman?” Charles added.

“Yes, both. I found a hairgrip with cells intact, though not much to work with, enough for one shot at a match to the database. The residual jelly contains the DNA of the host, there’s enough of that for me to let you take some to send back to the lab for testing in the UK. Maybe you could get on the horn for a secure courier?” Evie suggested.

“We have people in Russia, agents we can use to get the sample home safely. I’ll get on it a.s.a.p.” Charles assured her.

The hollow rap of the door interrupted the conversation. Charles turned to greet Aslanov as he walked in.

“Dr Aslanov! How nice to see you again,” Charles beamed, extending a hand.

“Dr Fitzgerald, likewise, I am sure. I hear you have been in meetings all day. Arduous times. The Russian political system takes a lot of convincing; they are dubious and sceptical of the western power’s abilities in matters of national security. I am sure, when we have shared our respective information, that I can report to them directly and assure them of your complete trust and competence to assist us in handling this situation delicately.” Aslanov concluded.

“Indeed.” Charles nodded.

“Dr Shepherd, I see you have begun testing. Do you have any preliminary findings to report?” Aslanov began.

Charles interrupted before he could continue. “If I may, Dr Aslanov. As the envoy to the United Kingdom, I must formally request that you allow Dr Shepherd to conduct her tests in peace. We have after all, come to assist you in your time of need and at your government’s request, I might add. Dr Shepherd has given me assurances that any information found
will
be passed on to you in good time. Should you require updates, please feel free to approach me.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Dr Fitzgerald. I shall bear that in mind. So, back to my question, Dr Shepherd. Are there any preliminary results from the testing yet?” Aslanov persisted.

“Okay, we now know that there are both male and female survivors. How many has yet to be confirmed. We know that they boarded the vessel in the UK and remained hidden onboard, itself no easy feat, for the duration of the trip. At the present time, I have no evidence to suggest either one carries any kind of viral agent or has been exposed to it. It is possible that a member of the crew arrived before the ship set sail, was already infected and proceeded to attack everyone aboard on the journey,” Evie attempted.

She knew it was a lame hypothesis, but it gave the impression that other possibilities were available and added yet another sense of doubt to the equation.

Aslanov clutched the pager as it vibrated at his belt, and snapped it free to view the message.

“You must excuse me. Something urgent just came up. Dr Fitzgerald, I will meet with you in the morning for an update on further results. Dr Shepherd—” Aslanov bowed his head, his narrowed eyes never leaving Evie’s face, before he turned and rushed away.

“That went well.” Charles remarked.

“I have more tests to run on some of the other items I picked up,” Evie informed him.

From her lab coat, she took a single specimen test tube and handed it to Charles. She tapped her forefinger to the side of her nose. The tube held a sample of the jelly residue from the cargo hold. If Charles could find a way to get it back to the UK laboratory, it would speed up the testing process and could also reveal who the carrier was.

“This needs priority mail. As soon as they have some results back, I need to know. I’ll try to run some tests here simultaneously,” Evie stated.

“I’ll see to it first thing. Do you think Aslanov has a lead? He sent search teams out to find the survivors. If he finds the hosts before we do—” The sentence hung there, the implications speaking for themselves.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t,” Evie replied.

“Any news from Cross and Stewall in the UK?”

“Nothing yet. Early days, though, they have a lot of ground to cover. We need to make identifying the two carriers a priority. The quicker we know who they are, the more chance we have of finding them. We can put out an all persons through the agencies. Surely someone will spot them. They’ll be travelling together, may have visible symptoms too. They have the potential to infect a lot of people,” Evie warned.

Aslanov couldn’t believe what the message read:

Samples recovered. En-route. Continuing to the source.

He trembled at the thought of obtaining samples of the Salby virus directly from an infected subject. Since the outbreak in the UK several months ago, he had tried everything in his power to obtain specimen samples of it. In his mind, weaponised, it had the potential to change the face of Russia. The Federation would finally become the most powerful entity on Earth.

The virus could end the conflicts on the Russian borders with Turkey and Syria, quell any thoughts of future rebellion, and elevate him to heights he could only dream of.

With his own genetically modified army of infected super-soldiers and Political Officer Vadik in power, the world would be theirs for the taking. His hands trembled in anticipation. He rushed through the container maze to his lab, almost knocking over one of his own researchers such was his haste.

“Get out of my way! Don’t you know who I am? Out! Get out of my facility! Get out!” he yelled.

He stormed past the flustered junior to begin preparing his lab for the imminent arrival of the viral samples for testing and modification. If Vadik could find the carrier, oh, the possibilities … He could clone an entire first-generation army of superior fighting soldiers. His mind began to formulate plans; he could almost taste the future in his delirious state.

Less than twenty-five miles away, high up in a heavily guarded fortress, the object of his desire stirred.