BioKill (25 page)

Lilburn knew exactly what he had to do. He stood up, but the gunmen were too busy focusing their attention on the madman bearing down on them to notice. Lilburn fired off his remaining bullets then changed magazines. One gunman was wounded in the leg but adrenalin kept him standing and firing. The other man had to change magazines but he fumbled, not concentrating on his weapon. The front-end loader briefly shuddered as the cutting edge of the bucket with its lethal teeth rammed under the belly of one of the cars, then rose upwards. The car was shunted sideways until its wheels caught. Unable to skid anymore, the car tumbled side over side, heading directly for the gunmen. One man screamed as over two thousand pounds of car hurtled at him.

When the dust settled all that was heard was the diesel motor of the front-end loader, and the sound of the gravel crusher, grinding on. Lilburn advanced to the shack, both hands on his weapon up at eye level, his finger on the trigger. Fuz switched off his machine.

Lilburn yelled out. “You OK?”

“Yer cotton-pickin’ right I am. Yee-ha.”

An arm appeared from the other side of the upturned car, then a man scrambled awkwardly to his feet. He raised his weapon towards Lilburn, who fired once, and kept advancing.

The other Cooney brother appeared and caught up with Fuz who had jumped down from his seat. “Holy shit, Fuz, ya missed our office! Bonus time!”

Lilburn side-stepped a few paces upon reaching the wreck, watching for a movement, any movement at all. The man he shot lay still, his eyes open, not blinking. Lilburn looked around. A shoeless leg from the calf down, not from the shot man, lay motionless underneath the rear end of the car. “Careful, boys. I got a leg sticking out down here.”

Chugga replied from the other side. “We got a couple of arms and part of a head ova here.” He peered down and screwed up his nose. “Brainless bastard… ain’t that right, Fuz?”

“Yep. I reckon he be dead and missin’ his brains.” Fuz sent a stream of spit flying to the ground. “Yer weren’t kiddin’ when yer said yer wuz in trouble.”

All three were accounted for. Lilburn lowered his weapon. He yelled to Evangeline that it was safe to come out. Looking for answers, he knelt down beside the second man he shot. Blood was seeping through the man’s shirt, the bullet having entered his chest. His machine gun lay nearby; Lilburn picked it up. It was a Škorpion. Czechoslovakian made, the serial number had been filed off the barrel. It was highly unusual for an American criminal to be using a machine gun — and at least two of these men had done just that. Rummaging through the dead man’s clothes he found a wallet with money, a driver’s license — and three sealed prophylactics. “Hey, Evangeline, you can come on out now.”

There was no reply.

“Evangeline.”

Something felt wrong. He rose to his feet and started walking. “Evangeline?”

Evangeline lay on her side, her back to him as he rounded the bulldozer. Her mouth was open, a trickle of blood fell from the corner, and her eyes were shut. Automatically he moved into first-aid mode. Her airway was clear, but he couldn’t see her breathing. His fingers felt for a carotid pulse while his eyes searched for any sign of injury. Not feeling a pulse his two fingers probed harder into her neck. Nothing. He shifted his fingers’ position. Nothing. Matt Lilburn cupped her head in his hand — and felt something wet and sticky.

The two brothers stood behind the Homeland agent. They watched in silence as he knelt on the ground holding the head of the pretty lady in his lap. Both men made the sign of the cross. The only sound was the crusher motor, still working. The last of the crushed gravel tipped off the end of the elevator belts and dropped to the heap below.

Matt Lilburn gently wiped the dust off Evangeline’s face as invisible angels hovered above.

Two helicopters could be heard in the distance, the sound of their engines growing steadily louder.

Chapter Thirty-six

The 2IC of
Counter Terrorism spoke compassionately to the special agent sitting in the chair opposite.

“We have now taken Lopez into custody; she was brought in two hours ago.”

“Why only then, why not yesterday?”

Rob Olson shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It was Director Hall’s call. He gave the order when I contacted him earlier this morning. He was on his way to Plum Island.”

Seconds ticked by as Lilburn looked across the desk to the second-in-command. “What about the surveillance? Who did she call a few hours ago? Who’s her contact?”

Olson looked puzzled. “We didn’t have her phone tapped.”

Lilburn averted his gaze to the ceiling. “Visual surveillance, what about that?”

“None was ordered, Agent Lilburn. I don’t know who suggested that to you, but there was no surveillance ordered on Lopez.”

Lilburn straightened — his muscles tensed, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean, no fucking surveillance?”

Olson rose angrily from his chair and placed two hands on the table. “Lilburn! You may very well have been through hell and back the last few days but that doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what!”

The two men stared each other down, both fuming. Olson saw an insubordinate threatening his seniority — Lilburn saw a fatal lack of professionalism.

“Sit down, Agent Lilburn!”

“I’ll sit down when you start giving me some serious answers to my fucking questions!”

Olson reached for the phone. Lilburn banged his hand down on top of Olson’s. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Shocked, Olson sat back down.

“Director Hall confirmed to me, in person, that Lopez was being held in home detention and on high surveillance in order to flush out her contacts — to find Bomani. Now you tell me that didn’t happen. There was only one fucking way those gunmen found us so quickly at the quarry and that was because Lopez must have found out and told them our plans.” Lilburn could feel himself starting to shake with rage; he knew he had to contain it.

Olson sat back uncomfortably in his chair. “Alright then… how do you explain she knew you were traveling south by car? Did you tell her? Did Crawston tell her?”

With extreme difficulty, Lilburn held back from launching over the desk and throttling the arrogant prick. “Well, maybe, just maybe, we have another mole, someone who saw or overheard the message I left Hall. Where is Lopez being held?”

“Lilburn, you can thank your lucky stars I haven’t already had you arrested — so listen to me very carefully. You are not to go anywhere near Lopez. Do you understand? As soon as Director Hall is back in touch, we’ll get to the bottom of this. You are dismissed.”

“Go screw yourself, Olson.” Lilburn stormed out of the office.

*

Walking rigidly down the corridor, Lilburn was struggling to contain his last remnant of sanity. He passed the men’s restroom then doubled back, pushing the door open so hard it nearly rebounded on him. Walking to the hand basins, he turned on the cold tap and looked in the mirror, resting his hands on the cold porcelain. What stared back at him was the face of revenge. Taking handfuls of cool water he sloshed it over his face, letting the liquid fall off, dripping and soaking his shirt. What, where, why and how? The questions kept going over and over in his mind. Somewhere there was an answer and he would damn well find it. By the time he left the restroom he knew exactly where he was going.

*

The pilots of Homeland stick together — a select group of individuals with a common interest. It was nearing the afternoon coffee break and Lilburn hoped the man he was after was there, wounded arm or not. As he entered the cafeteria, eyes looked at him from the twenty or so tables evenly spaced around the room. Word had spread. But Lilburn was oblivious to sympathetic comments or praise as he looked for the distinctive flight suits. Three pilots were sitting together and one had a bandaged arm.

“Hell, look who’s here!” Gracie’s pilot stood up and offered his good hand to Lilburn. “Hey, Matt Lilburn, it’s good to see you home.” His smile dropped. “Hey man, I’m real sorry…”

“Sure, thanks. Listen, I didn’t know if I’d even see you at work…”

“Can’t keep a good man down.” The comment brought a howl of laughter from his fellow pilots. “Yeah, yeah, quiet in the cheap seats. What can I do for you?”

Sitting with the pilots, Lilburn told them in hushed tones what had happened and what he needed to do. When he’d finished, the men at the table were quiet, the mood somber.

“Shit.” The injured pilot was the first to speak. “What do you reckon, boys?” The response was unanimous. “Do it, Luke.”

Lilburn laid a hand of appreciation on Luke Major’s shoulder. Finally he knew the man’s name. “I was told there were no helicopters available today.”

“Who told you that? Apart from my girl, Grace WIA, we have near on a full complement. It was these two degenerates here who flew you back here.”

“Sure, sure. I must have misheard…”

“Have you had lunch yet?” Luke inquired. “No? Well, go grab something you can pour ketchup on and eat with us.”

*

The four men left the table after Lilburn had scoffed down a plate of meatloaf. After a quick but thorough pre-flight check, Luke and Gracie lifted off from Albany just before 1330 hours. The two other pilots watched, then set to work covering up the unauthorized flight.

“About one hour, Matt, and we touch down on Plum.”

Lilburn adjusted the mike attached to his headset. “Any word on the chopper that took Hall down this morning?”

“Let me see. Delta-Mike-Charlie, this is Bravo-Quebec-Alpha, Quarterback, over.”

“Delta-Mike-Charlie. How’s it going, Quarterback? Over.”

“Bravo-Quebec-Alpha. All good, Lineman. What’s your locstat and POB, over?”

“Delta-Mike-Charlie. Left the island and arriving at Bethel, ETA ten minutes. Two POB, over.”

“Does that include Sunray, over?”

“Roger.”

“Bravo-Quebec-Alpha. Roger, Lineman, thanks. Out.”

Luke looked at Lilburn. “The director’s on board. Did you pick up the conversation?”

“Yes. Where’s Bethel and why would he be going there?”

Luke shook his head. “No idea. Bethel is a small town in Sullivan County, about eighty miles nor’west of New York City. You heard of Woodstock?”

“Heard of it, yeah. Way before my time.”

“Humdinger of a concert, so I’m told. Near there. You still want to proceed to Plum?”

Lilburn nodded.

*

“There she is again. Plum friggin’ Island. Damn, I hate this place!” Luke initiated comms with the island and commenced landing. The flight down had been a fairly subdued affair with little conversation. Luke, aware his passenger was deep in thought and staring blankly out of the cockpit, decided not to press matters.

The helicopter touched down. Once again a black Jeep approached and waited. Telling Luke he wasn’t sure how long he would be, Lilburn disembarked and jogged to the vehicle. First stop — visitors’ reception.

“Good afternoon, Matt Lilburn,” he handed over his ID card to a lady with a friendly face and an equally welcoming smile on the other side of the counter. “I’d like to see someone about a virus recently secured at this facility.”

“Special Agent… Lilburn.” The receptionist looked up from writing down his details in a log. “Could you be a little more specific? We have quite a few viruses here. Just a little hint?”

“Foot-and-mouth.”

The woman gave nothing away. “Just one moment, please, while I fetch Dr. Harrington. She may be able to help you.”

Lilburn smiled politely. He looked around the reception. The only other person in the room was a man who sat side on, typing at a keyboard. He wasn’t paying him any attention. The receptionist had left the visitors’ log book open on the counter top, within arm’s length. Lilburn would have dearly liked to have turned the book around but he was aware of the security camera focused on him. Doing his best to read upside down, the last entry before his caught his attention. The four letters of the surname were just legible. Hall.

The receptionist reappeared followed by another woman. “Special Agent Lilburn.” A middle aged woman in a white lab coat addressed him while looking over the rims of her glasses. “My name is Dr. Harrington, I understand you’re inquiring about a particular virus?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m the agent who helped secure the spray cans.”

“Ahh, yes,” Dr. Harrington said, recognizing the name. She took off her glasses and placed them in her top pocket. “I just had the pleasure of showing your director around our facility.”

“Director Hall?”

“Yes indeed. A very nice man, extremely courteous.”

“May I ask if Director Hall advised you I couldn’t make it down with him, and would be arriving later?”

“No… did you also want to visit the laboratory where we have the virus contained?”

“Yes, if it would be no bother. It was a sort of… well, a sort of thank you on the part of the director for, you know, capturing the bad guys.” The moment he said it, Lilburn knew it sounded lame.

The doctor hesitated. “Well… I guess that shouldn’t be a problem considering what you’ve been through — and what you saved us all from.” Turning to the receptionist she made arrangements for the special request. A visitor’s ID tag was produced and a door unlocked, allowing Lilburn to follow the doctor.

As they made their way down the corridor, they were stopped by a number of security doors — each time Dr. Harrington swiped a card to allow access.

“As you are probably aware, Agent Lilburn, we have approximately seventy buildings on the island, not all usable, I might add, and we operate at bio-safety level three — one being the lowest and four the highest. Where we’re headed is to one of our animal rooms. You won’t find any animals in it today, but it’s a highly secured room where we’ve temporarily stored the two aerosol cans. Nearly there.”

The doctor placed her security card up to the last door. “In here is the anteroom, and that’s as far as I can take you.”

They walked into a small room with a desk, chair and a large assortment of books in shelves and notices pinned to walls. A man dressed in blue scrubs and a surgical cap rose from the chair as the pair entered.

“George, this is Special Agent Lilburn, he missed the tour with Director Hall this morning.”

The introduction was completed with a handshake.“George is one of our technicians authorized to work in the animal rooms. He’s specially trained in working with highly contagious and dangerous organisms.”

“And highly underpaid, I might add,” joked George.

“Don’t ask him what he gets, Agent Lilburn — or you’ll want to work here as well.”

Lilburn grinned. “I don’t think so, I have to say what you people work with scares the bejesus out of me.”

“That works both ways,” said the doctor. “Now, the anteroom is our secondary containment area. That door there, with the half-glass panel, leads through into the animal room. It can’t be opened if the door we have just come through is open. It’s on a dual lock system. George suits up in here before entering. Take a look through the glass, Special Agent…”

“Please, just call me Matt.”

“My pleasure and my name is Angeline.”

Lilburn caught his breath. He felt a rush of sadness overwhelm him.

“Are you OK, Matt?”

The sound of his name snapped him out of it. “Sorry… You were saying?”

“Take a look through the glass.”

Lilburn stepped up to the door with a large orange sticker below the window with the words
Bio-hazard BSL-3
and peered through.

“Can you see that large stainless steel box? That’s a HEPA-filtered box and in it, I am very pleased to say, are your two cans of aerosol, containing the virus.”

“HEPA? What does that mean?”

“Oh, sorry — high efficiency particulate air filter — the best there is.”

It looked very safe, very secure to Lilburn. He shut his eyes, just for an instant. He was so tired… what he was worried about was so crazy, so impossible. He had to ask. “Would you mind checking the box? I need confirmation.”

Dr. Harrington smiled. “There really is no cause for concern, if that’s what you’re thinking. This is a very secure area.”

George, the technician, saw the apprehension etched into Lilburn’s face. He stood up. “Look, I don’t mind suiting up. I need to go back inside anyway.” The technician pulled on a disposable white back-fastened gown, then a pair of disposable booties over his sneakers. Next came the gloves, two on each hand and lastly a respirator. Dr. Harrington filled in time and explained the requirements for the clothing.“… and the PARP, that’s the powered air-purifying respirator, is used when we’re dealing with aerosols, an added precaution. Now, as the door into this anteroom is shut, George can use another security card to open the door to the animal room.” She laid a slightly patronizing hand on Lilburn’s shoulder. “You’ll be perfectly safe… just in case you were wondering.”

Lilburn brushed aside any feeling of embarrassment. He needed to know.

“Right, George, if you would.”

George stepped forward. Lilburn watched him reach up to chest height to presumably grab the security card. George swung around. “I… eh… seem to have misplaced my card.” His voice sounded somewhat anxious.

Dr. Harrington immediately looked for herself, touching the suit where the card should be. This was a serious matter. A lost or misplaced card meant it would have to be deactivated and an inquiry held. Lilburn saw her concern.

“Use mine, George. We’ll sort this out as soon as we’re done here.”

The door opened to the animal room and George entered. The door shut behind him immediately.

“Just a little technicality, Matt. I’ll sort it out later.”

Both Lilburn and the doctor watched George go straight to the HEPA-filtered box, remove a bag and place it in a biological safety cabinet — an enclosed ventilated workspace. Lilburn couldn’t see the cans, and mentioned it to Harrington.

“George will show you the cans — he’ll bring them over to the window.”

George didn’t. He gathered up the package and immediately returned it to the HEPA-filtered box. Through the glass, the technician could be seen carefully closing the box. Stepping back a pace, it looked as if he were studying the area. He turned his head and looked around the room then hurried to the door. Something was wrong. The door to the animal room opened, the technician passed through into the anteroom then shut the door. The door had barely closed shut when he ripped off his mask. “Fuck!”