Nightmare Army. Don Pendleton
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I’m glad to see that parameter has been maintained. Prepare a dormant sample large enough to affect...oh, say thirty to fifty people. I’ll need to update our superiors, but I see no reason to halt our tests on a limited public group. It’s time to begin phase two.” Dr. Richter smiled. “After all, if this cannot be used as a controllable weapon yet, perhaps its application lies in using it as a less-controlled one.”
Just then his smartphone beeped. Richter glanced at it and saw the reminder he’d been waiting for. “Prepare your after-test reports and forward them to me once they are finished. I’ll be in my office, but am not to be disturbed for the next hour.”
* * *
AS HE STRODE through the halls toward his office, Richter dictated his notes.
“Although the virus appears to have potential practical applications on the battlefield, there will need to be more tests done to refine a more controllable variant. This is not to say that the research here has been in vain, on the contrary, we have done more here in six months that has been possible in the past three years. With additional time and experimentation with the various strains we have cultivated, I am sure that we can create a version that will give us the abilities we’re looking for, along with the necessary control.”
His laptop chimed and Richter frowned at the interruption to his train of thought. He reached over and paused the computer recorder, then hit the answer button. “Ja?”
The voice on the other end of the satellite connection was smooth and cordial but hard underneath—like silk over a steel glove. “Dr. Richter, I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
Richter recognized the voice instantly. “Of course not, Mr. Stengrave. I am ready to present our status to the board, as directed.”
“What can you tell me about your recent progress?”
“We are making progress, but it has slowed considerably.” Verifying their channel was secure, he summarized the recent tests. “We cannot seem to strike the balance between the advantages the drug gives the recipients and the negative effects afterward.”
“I see. How do you intend to mitigate this situation?”
“One of our potential uses for the virus in its current form would be as an inflammatory agent, which could be tailored to fit a specified population. Spiking the water would introduce it into their systems, and chaos would follow. I had wanted to discuss a possible test of this scenario—”
“I already have something in mind for that—a geographically-isolated test on genetically-limited population. I’m sending Mr. Firke down with the necessary genetic sample. He will stay until the batch is ready, and will escort it to our on-site team within thirty-six hours.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s easier to make a point with a little bloodshed. Spun properly, I think this could be just as effective as our first projected use of the virus.”
“I’ll have the samples ready for splicing the moment he arrives. If you do not mind my asking, how will you handle the meeting today?”
“I’ll put them off for now, saying you are in the middle of a delicate series of tests and cannot be disturbed. Make it happen, Doctor. If the results are good enough, I may have you conference in to a later meeting to field questions. I’ll let you know once we know how the field test has gone.” Stengrave broke the connection with a click.
Richter stabbed his intercom button. “Sharene, please ready the guest quarters. We’re going to have company soon.”
Fifty hours earlier
Dr. Richter stood at the main doors of the lab, watching as a man dressed in jungle fatigues rappelled from a helicopter to the small clearing in front of their concealed facility. The moment his feet hit the ground, he unclipped himself from the rope, which was swiftly drawn back up as the helicopter was already flying away from the area. It had hovered over the site for maybe a minute at the most.
“Dr. Richter,” the man said as he walked up to him. “I’m Reginald Firke. Interesting place you have here.”
Well, at least he didn’t try any sort of “I presume” crap, Richter thought with a disdainful glance at the man’s crisp new fatigues and polished combat boots. “Come inside.”
The two men headed across the small vehicle bay to the outer airlock, past the half-dozen mud-splattered Range Rovers, and stood in front of an industrial glass-and-stainless steel door as the large outer doors closed behind them, throwing the large room into semi-shadow. “I assume your cargo is intact?”
Firke shrugged off a small backpack and held it out. “In here are all the samples you will need. I’m sure our mutual boss has informed you that time is of the essence.”
“Of course he has.” Richter didn’t move to take the pack, nor did he spare the shorter man a glance as the outer airlock door opened. “The emphasis was unnecessary, however. You’ll have the tailored viruses and be on your way soon enough.”
If the slender man was insulted by Richter’s annoyed tone, he didn’t visibly react as they headed into the airlock. “No need to insult the messenger, Doctor. I’m simply passing on the message, that’s all.”
“Humph.” Richter stared straight ahead as compressed air jets containing a powerful disinfectant covered their clothes and exposed skin. He didn’t think much of Stengrave’s hired goon. He’d had the man researched and learned he was ex-SAS, the British special forces arm of the military. That information did not faze him in the least. In Richter’s opinion, a gun was only used to accomplish a goal when those involved neglected to use their brains to find a more elegant and much less obvious solution. “I assume that Mr. Stengrave has also let you know of my requirements for this experiment?”
The safe tone sounded and the inner airlock door opened, revealing the cool tile and sterile-white hallway. Richter stalked forward through the corridors, brushing past men and women who knew to get out of his way when they saw the tall man walking with such purpose.
“Yes, that is not a problem. You’ll have all the eyes on-site you requested.”
“Good.” Richter turned a corner and lengthened his stride, making the shorter man hasten to catch up. It was a faint jab at the other man, but the doctor took his pleasure where he could find it.
“You realize, of course, that observing is all you will be doing.”
Now Richter did turn to the other man and let a small, mirthless smile appear on his face. “Of course, Mr. Firke. Just as you would never presume to tell me how to do my job, I would not feign to know the slightest bit of knowledge about how to carry out yours.”
The ex-military man’s only physical response was a raised eyebrow. “So glad we understand each other.”
Richter didn’t reply until they reached the culture room. White biohazard-suited figures, their faces obscured by full hoods, worked on various trays and at various lab machines and microscopes. The doctor stopped by a drawer set into the wall and hit the switch on an intercom.
“Dr. Estvaan to the transfer drawer, please.” A lithe figure on the far side of the room approached. Richter pulled the drawer out of the wall, then turned to the other man and held out his hand. Firke unzipped the backpack, pulled out a small metal case that was cold to the touch and handed it to the scientist.
After placing the metal case in the drawer, Richter closed it, sending it into the room as he activated the intercom again. “This is the package you were briefed on. You have the entire lab at your disposal to create as many strains using the DNA in here as possible over the next sixteen hours. This assignment takes priority over all others.”
With a curt nod, Estvaan took the case and pulled the rest of the suited workers to her as she began assigning tasks.
“Why Armenia?” Richter