The Ark: A Novel (13 page)

"Usually, months for the initial findings, and years for the final report."

"Years? Sam said we had until Friday, and it's already Monday morning!"

"Because this doesn't look like an accident," Locke said, "I'll convince the NTSB to put a rush on the investigation. Grant, I want you take over here."

"Oh, you are mean," Grant said. "To Tiffany, that is."

"She'll live without you for a few more days. We'll ship all of the wreckage back to the TEC. Put it all in hangar three."

"What's the TEC?" Dilara asked, pronouncing it as a word like Locke did.

"Gordian's Test and Engineering Center. It's in Phoenix, so it won't take long to move the wreckage there. It's a 500-acre facility built way out in the desert twenty years ago. Phoenix grew so much in that time that it's now right outside the suburbs. We have a seven-mile oval test track, a dirt obstacle course, a skid pad, both an indoor and an outdoor crash test sled, and extensive laboratory facilities. There's also a mile-long runway and five hangars for flight testing."

Locke knew he rhapsodized like a proud father when he described the place, but he couldn't help it. It was Gordian's crown jewel.

"So you test for the car companies?" Dilara said. "I thought they had their own tracks and pads and everything."

"They do, but a lot of companies want independent testing. Insurance companies, lawyers, tire companies. Our biggest client is the US government. We can test virtually anything on wheels. Everything from bicycles to heavy trucks. In fact, they're going to be putting a mining truck through its paces day after tomorrow."

"Sounds like you enjoy that kind of stuff. Do you get to drive it?"

"Sometimes, if I get the chance. This truck would be especially fun."

"A truck? You're kidding. Why?"

"It's a Liebherr T 282B, a German truck that's 25-feet tall and an empty weight of 200 tons."

"That's 400,000 pounds," Dilara said. "I can't imagine something that size."

"It's the biggest truck in the world. Essentially a three-story building on wheels. When fully loaded, it weighs twice as much as a 747 at takeoff. The tires alone are 12-feet in diameter and weigh more than any car you've ever driven. A Wyoming coal mine asked us to test it for them to see if they want to buy it. Our fee is worth it when you're thinking of buying 20 of them at $4 million a pop."

"Sounds incredible."

"Unfortunately, since we're going back to Seattle, I'll have to wait to take it for a spin."

The rest of the ride passed silently. They crossed over Hoover Dam and into Arizona. The harsh desert terrain was dotted with only a smattering of trees. The air shimmered from the heat, the temperature already into the 90s.

Twenty-six miles north of Kingman, the GPS unit indicated they were at the turnoff, and Locke wheeled the Jeep onto a dirt access road. In another minute, they approached a cluster of vehicles. Thirty vans topped with satellite dishes dotted the sparse landscape. Reporters stood in front of cameras, broadcasting what they knew about the crash that had taken the life of one of the world's best-known celebrities.

They drove past the vans to a road block of three Arizona State Police cars. A trooper waved them to a stop.

"No press past this point," the trooper said.

"We're not journalists," Locke said. "We're with Gordian Engineering." He handed the trooper his ID.

The trooper took a quick look at it, then handed it back. "They're expecting you, Dr. Locke. You'll find them about a half mile ahead."

"Thanks."

Locke continued on until he reached another set of vehicles. This group was dominated by police cars, fire engines, and coroners' hearses for evacuating the bodies, but they were also accompanied by three Army Humvees and a hazardous materials tractor-trailer. Next to it, two people in biohazard suits bent over a grim row of black bags that must have contained the remains they had recovered so far. Locke couldn't guess what the hazmat unit was there for. The plane shouldn't have been carrying any dangerous chemicals, and any fuel would have burned up long ago.

A van sat apart from the other vehicles. On its side was the Gordian logo, a mechanical gear surrounding four icons that represented the firm's areas of expertise: a shooting flame, a lightning bolt of electricity, an airplane superimposed over a car, and a stylized human figure.

A trim woman in her 30s stood next to the van and spoke into a walkie-talkie. Judy Hodge looked up when she heard the Jeep approaching. She wore a Gordian baseball cap, tank-top, jeans, and latex gloves. When she saw that it was Locke, she put the walkie-talkie on her belt and came over to the Jeep.

Locke hopped out and shook her hand. She nodded at Grant, and Locke introduced her to Dilara.

"Good to see you, Judy," he said. "Looks like a real circus back there."

"The police have already caught two reporters who snuck past the barricade," Judy said. "Plus, we've had to fend off souvenir hunters. I'm glad we have G-Tag. We need to get this stuff off site as soon as we can. I never knew how crazy Hayden's fans could be."

G-Tag was a method for processing airplane wreckage that had been developed by Gordian. Each piece of wreckage was photographed with a digital camera, and its exact GPS location was recorded. Then a bar code was printed with a unique ID number and attached to the wreckage. The data was automatically sent to Gordian's central computers, providing a detailed map of every piece of wreckage as it had been found. The G-Tag system reduced the amount of time needed to document the wreckage by a factor of ten from the previous manual method and meant they could start removing wreckage from the site within hours, preserving the debris from the elements.

"Have you started shipping wreckage to the TEC yet?" Locke asked.

"The first tractor-trailer will arrive in an hour. We'll have 20 of them running back and forth to the TEC. The main concentration of wreckage is over there." She pointed at a spot where workers were massed. Locke could only see a few large pieces, including what looked like an engine.

"When I'm done here, I'm heading back to Seattle with Dr. Kenner. We've got to rush this investigation. Judy, you'll stay here on site until it's cleared. Grant's going to take care of processing the wreckage back at the TEC. Now tell me about the crash."

They followed Judy into the desert. Locke saw dozens of pieces of metal, luggage, and assorted unidentifiable detritus already tagged with flags for removal. While they walked, Judy told them about the plane's ghost flight back to the mainland. She'd received an electronic copy of the fighter pilots' report and related its contents to them.

Locke stopped at a three-foot-square section of fuselage centered around a blown-out window. He knelt down to look at it as they talked.

"Any signs of explosive decompression?"

"None. The plane was completely intact until it hit the ground."

Through the empty window frame, Locke saw something white underneath the fuselage catch the sunlight.

"Do you have any more gloves on you?" Locke asked. They might have missed a separate piece of wreckage under the fuselage section, which was tagged and flagged, meaning it had already been photographed.

"Sure," Judy said and handed him a pair of gloves.

"So we might be looking at a slow oxygen leak?" Locke said as he donned them.

Judy gave him a quizzical look. "No. Wait, I thought you knew..."

"Knew what?" Locke said as he turned over the fuselage piece. He stood up in surprise when he saw what was under it. A gleaming white human femur, probably male.

It wasn't unusual to find body parts strewn about with the wreckage, but it was strange to find a bone. Especially one that looked like it had been picked clean by scavengers, even though there was no possibility that coyotes had gotten to it under that piece of fuselage.

Judy spoke into her walkie-talkie. "We've got another one over here," she said.

Locke heard someone reply that he was on his way.

"This isn't the first bone you've found?" He bent over for a closer look.

Judy shook her head and started to speak. "We..."

Before she could say more, a voice behind Locke said, "Don't touch that!"

He turned to see a man fully garbed in a biohazard suit approach. He took a photo of the bone, then gingerly picked it up and placed in a plastic bag. After he marked it, he left without saying another word.

"I'm sorry," Judy said. "I thought you'd been briefed."

"We just got the basics from Aiden MacKenna before we headed out here," Locke said. "What the hell is going on, Judy?"

"That bone is why the hazmat team is here. Because of the condition of the remains, the FBI was worried about biological or chemical residues. The closest team was an Army unit from Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. Didn't find anything. They gave us the all-clear to start our processing yesterday afternoon."

"How many bodies have you recovered so far?"

"None."

"What?" Locke said, incredulous. "You must have found some by now. According to the manifest I saw, there were 27 people on board."

"We've found remains from at least twenty people, but no bodies."

"By remains, you mean hands, torsos, things like that?"

"No. That row of bags you saw before contains nothing but bones."

Locke was speechless. Grant looked like he felt--completely shocked.

"How is that possible?" Locke finally said.

"We have no idea," Judy said. "All we know is that before the plane crashed, something reduced every single person on board to skeletons."

Coleman

It had taken eight hours for Gavin Dean to return to Washington once the yacht had docked in Halifax. Garrett made sure that the leader of the failed mission on Scotia One had been told only that he was to appear immediately at the Orcas Island compound. Surely, he expected a dressing down for his failure, but he didn't know how harsh it would be.

Barry Pinter, who had been given the task of eliminating Dilara Kenner as she left the airport, had already arrived at the compound and was helping with the last preparations for the upcoming days. Cutter was bringing them both down now that the observers were ready.

A retinue of Garrett's top scientists and operatives gathered nervously in the observation room. Other than a few murmurs, they were quiet. They knew something important was about to occur, but they didn't know the nature of it. Garrett, who stood at the window next to Svetlana Petrova, watched them. Good. They were in just the frame of mind he wanted. He pushed a button on the control board.

"Let's begin," he said into the microphone.

A door opened inside the test chamber, silencing the last whispers. Cutter led two men into the steel gray room. The first was Gavin Dean, a compact man with a crew cut and a tight-fitting black t-shirt that showed off a lean physique.

The second man was Barry Pinter, about a foot taller than Dean and at least 50 pounds heavier. He walked with the grace of a cat. Both men were veterans of Army special ops units: Dean with the Rangers, Pinter with the Green Berets.

Garrett looked at both of them dispassionately. He didn't enjoy what was about to happen. It was simply necessary. It was a shame to part with them, but the project had reached a critical point, and he couldn't take any chances. He needed to make examples of them.

Cutter left the room and closed the door behind him. A bar slammed down, the unmistakable sound of the door being locked. Dean and Pinter, who knew each other from previous operations, looked at each other, the confusion now turning to alarm. Then they surveyed the room, which they had never seen before.

The test chamber's floor was made entirely from steel grating. Garrett had it forged from carbon steel that was exceptionally resistant to high temperatures. Above them, the ceiling was another grating that fed into a sophisticated venting system comprising 14 advanced filters. The sides of the room were inch-thick steel, and the observation window was made of a high-tech polymer that allowed it to be extremely thick without distorting the view.

The only object inside the chamber was a full-face gas mask lying on the floor.

Garrett keyed the microphone so that Dean and Pinter could hear what he was about to say to the observers.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. You are obviously wondering why everyone is here today. That's good. Curiosity is one of the reasons I have recruited you for this epic journey. As you all know, we are very close to embarking on this voyage. Unfortunately, I am aware that some of the people involved with this project may be having second thoughts."

Everyone in the gathered group was stone-faced. None wanted to betray any thoughts of that kind, especially if they were, indeed, harboring them.

"I understand that feeling. This is a huge undertaking. One that will change the face of this planet. A change that I--that we--believe will ultimately save the human race. But sacrifices will have to be made. From all of us. And I think some of you may be having trouble facing that reality."

Garrett glanced into the chamber, and he could see fear on the faces of both Dean and Pinter. He casually noted that they were both surreptitiously eyeing the gas mask.

"Therefore, I thought it was important that we reinforce our resolve for the task ahead. That we can brook no wavering, no second thoughts, no betrayal, no failure. We must stay focused on the task at hand. And so, I have brought these two men here today." Garrett waved his hand at the window. "Two men who have failed us, all of us, and put everything we have worked for at risk."

He turned to the window. "Gavin. Barry. You are going to show these people why it is so important for each and every one of us to do our jobs with utmost competence. You will show them what's at stake."

Pinter ran to the door, prying at it, trying to find purchase to open it, but it was useless. The door was triple bolted and sealed. There was no way to open it from the inside. Dean simply stood there, stoic, waiting to hear what was next.

"There is only one gas mask for a reason," Garrett continued. "In sixty seconds, the test chamber will be flooded with Arkon-B, a form of the biological agent that will make our New World possible. Whoever is wearing the gas mask will be spared its effects. The other..."