“Fortunately, down here in the Congo, you do not have to worry about such things. Just keep working on what Mr. Stengrave wishes you to work on, and all will be well.” He looked up and down the corridor. “Since I’m basically stuck here for the next several hours, I’ll be in my quarters. Notify me an hour before the batch is ready.”
He walked down the hall, leaving a silent Richter staring after him and trying to repress the shudder that quivered its way down his spine.
Thirty-three hours earlier
AT 0200 LOCAL TIME, Reginald Firke’s eyes popped open without the aid of an alarm.
Swinging his legs over the side of the cot he’d been sleeping on, he sat up and reached for his tablet. Logging in to the local network, he accessed the security cameras and saw that just about everyone was down for the night, except for Dr. Estvaan and her busy crew, still working hard in their lab. He brought up the camera in the main security room and recorded about three minutes of the lone sentry there, then got up and left his room.
Firke walked through the corridors until he came to a room marked Security. The door had no handle on this side, just a keypad and a card slot on the wall next to it. Firke pulled a black key card out of his pocket and swiped it through the reader. The door opened with a soft click.
“What are you doing back?” the guard at the monitors asked as he began turning in his swivel chair, a finger reaching for a large red button. “You’re not due for another thirty minutes...”
Firke held up the black key card. “Good reflexes. You know who I am, correct?”
The guard nodded dumbly, removing his finger from the alarm button.
“And you know who I work for?”
Another nod.
“Very good. I am conducting a surprise inspection of this facility’s security. I am pleased to see that you are at your post and alert. However, I must now ask you to step outside for a few minutes.”
Still nodding, the guard slowly got up from his chair and walked toward the door. He didn’t take his eyes off Firke, who watched him leave, not turning back to the main security console until the door was completely closed. Once it did, he casually glanced at the panel, which controlled every camera both inside and outside the complex, as well as doors that sealed off particular areas and even overrode controls for power, temperature and air intake. Firke didn’t bother with any of these; he just pushed the guard chair aside and sat on the floor.
Taking a screwdriver with an unusual, star-shaped tip from his pocket, he unscrewed six screws in a small panel under the console. Removing that panel revealed a small, unmarked console with another keypad next to five switches, each one underneath a small light and all in the down position.
Firke carefully punched in a long, memorized series of numbers. Then, taking a deep breath, he flipped each switch one by one from right to left. In each case, a green light came on. When they were all activated, he let out the breath he had been holding. If he had input the code wrong, activating the last switch would have been the end of him and the base—literally. Carefully, he replaced the panel and screwed it back into place.
Getting up, he checked the display on his tablet, which showed the camera’s view of the security room in what was supposed to be real time. Instead of him, however, the screen showed the footage of the guard Firke had recorded earlier. With a satisfied nod, he replaced the chair behind the console, then walked to the door and opened it to let the guard back inside.
“Is everything all right?” the man asked as he walked to his station.
Firke nodded. “Everything is exactly as it should be. You are doing a fine job. Keep up the good work and we may have a promotion for you once you’ve completed your duty here. And the best way you can do that is by never mentioning that you ever saw me here, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Firke nodded. “Excellent. As you were.”
The young man almost raised a hand to salute, but turned it into scratching an itch on his cheek. Smiling thinly, Firke stepped outside the security room and let the door close.
Retracing his steps, Firke was back in his room without a soul seeing him. Sitting on his cot again, he activated a control panel that showed a full blueprint of the base with small red Xs revealed in every room and ringing the outside perimeter of the complex. Below all of that was a simple sentence: BASE SELF-DESTRUCT SYSTEM PRIMED.
Satisfied, Firke cleared his tablet and set it aside, then lay down and was asleep within sixty seconds.
* * *
“YOU HAVE everything you need. Introduce it into the water supply, or even food will work. It can survive being boiled or cooked, so whatever way you find will get it into the target populace will be best. Of course, you and your men would be best advised to not eat or drink anything in the area once the contamination has been implemented.”
“Of course not.” Firke raised his voice over the sound of the approaching helicopter. “It has been a most interesting visit, Doctor. Thank you for your hospitality.” He reached behind him to check on the backpack strapped to his back.
Richter only nodded curtly as the helicopter stopped over the clearing and a line was dropped. Firke hooked his harness onto it and was drawn upward. The moment he was clear of the tree line, the helicopter rose higher into the air, carrying him, still on the line, with it.
Richter watched it shrink until it vanished into the sky, then turned and headed back into the lab complex.
Seventeen hours earlier
“To Armenia!”
Josh Tyrell clinked his raised his bottle of beer against his friends’ glasses. He took a healthy swallow, his dark brown eyes roaming over the mix of tourists and locals mingled in the bar of the Pergomesh Hotel in Arkatar. His eyes settled on an olive-skinned, raven-haired beauty who gave him a friendly glance and smile as she walked by in a miniskirt and sleeveless blouse. “Bari yereko.” Stumbling over the unfamiliar Armenian, he grinned as she smiled wider but still kept going.
“Would you keep your voice down? Jesus, could you sound more like a tourist?” With a frown, William Scott raised his glass of pilsner and sipped it, then waved his other hand in front of his face to try to move some of the haze of cigarette smoke that hung in a cloud over the entire room. “Probably going to get us all mugged and killed before the trip is over.”
“Jeez, Billy, would you relax?” Tyrell replied. “This isn’t Slovakia, and we’re not in Hostel. These are my people, remember? They’re gonna get my money one way or another, so I might as well enjoy myself while I’m here, right? Hell, we all might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here, if you get my drift.” Waggling his thick eyebrows, he grinned conspiratorially at the other two men, earning an aggravated sigh from Scott and a nervous smile from the third member of their group.
Gary Alcaster sipped his own beer and watched the two friends bicker. He wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable: Tyrell’s outspoken swagger and brashness, Scott’s peevishness and worry over seemingly every minute of this weekend getaway, or the fact that he was ostensibly here to get his cherry popped.
I
