Carrion Virus (Book 2): The Athena Protocol (3 page)

“How’s your research going? I trust you’ve not run into too many obstacles.”

Gemma shrugged. “It’s going okay, I guess. I’m still not sure what it is I’m looking for.”

“You’ll know it when you see it. Just keep compiling reports, first-hand and third. Anything. Think of it as building a case for the prosecution to use at trial. You’ve covered trials before?”

Gemma nodded. Nothing worthy of front page news. Prosecutions for relatively minor offences, driving charges, minor theft and assault, and a ridiculous neighbourhood dispute that continued for five years before all avenues of appeal were exhausted.

“Good. And see this?” He picked up her Black Aquila ID badge from the desk. “This grants you access to a great many places. Don’t be afraid to use it. Anywhere. You might not think what you’re doing has rhyme or reason but it does. If not now, it will.”

Why was he there? And why now? Something was up.

“It didn’t get me access to you.”

Williamson smiled, his lips set tight above a stubble-covered chin. “I’ll try to rectify that. Unfortunately, it looks like you’ll be stuck here for Christmas.”

“I guessed as much.”

“It bothers you?”

“I wish I could call my mum, just to let her know I’m alive.” She could feel the tears coming again, but she blinked them away. Not now, not in front of him.

“I can’t make any promises but we have access to satellite phones. I can perhaps arrange for you to—”

“Really? Oh, Mr. Williamson, that would be a dream come true.”

“No promises.” He stood. “I’ve got much to do before I call it a night.”

Gemma also stood. “How are things in the city?”

“Bad. Really bad. The government has reversed their decision to have only British troops operating in the city. US troops are starting to arrive.”

“That’s good though?”

“Yes, but the numbers are still not enough. The army is still battling at the hospital, trying to regain control. It’s shaping up to be a total loss there. And elsewhere, well let’s just say, where the army is not, the infected are. People are dying. A lot. It’s a mess.”

“There’s no good news?”

He paused at the door. “So far, there’s only been a few cases outside Aberdeen. We’re containing it, but the cost … the cost may be too high to pay. Good night, Gemma. We’ll talk soon.”

Gemma wished the world would go back to how it was.

***

Dr. Eugene Holden stood in the dull, morning sun, sipping his coffee and watching the snow fall. When this chaos began, he liked his coffee weak. Now, he preferred it strong. The air was biting and his breath misted before him. Even lifting his cup to his mouth was a chore. He was tired to his core and his bones ached. Where was he? Other than somewhere in Scotland, he had no idea.

Holden lifted his glasses from his nose and up to his head. He rubbed his eyes. His mind churned constantly, analysing the
whys and wherefores
of everything. He had been framed for a breach of containment at the DSD building in Aberdeen, an electronic fingerprint damning him to be the one who authorised the opening of the containment tank in the basement. All part of some elaborate forgery. There were possible answers, but none would he speculate out loud. The reality could be too much to contemplate.

Ben Williamson ceased any possibility of prosecution when Holden agreed to join Black Aquila. He was the world’s expert on the outbreak of the Carrion Virus. Better to have him working than locked up, was something Williamson obviously believed. Better for Holden to be working than locked up, is something Holden believed.

Holden stood in front of what was his workplace. From the outside, it offered the appearance of a large warehouse at the heart of a sizeable industrial complex. He never saw anyone else other than Black Aquila operatives and the few medical staff seconded to him. His residence was a small cottage on the edge of the woods. The trip to work each morning was a short ride in a blacked-out Land Rover.

Williamson promised that in time he would have the data needed to clear his name. At least someone believed him.

Dr. Holden poured the last dribble of his coffee into the snow at his feet.

Or maybe Williamson doesn’t believe me
.

“You’re getting too cynical, Eugene,” he said to the storm raging around him.

From behind, someone cleared his throat. Holden turned.

Hyde, the man appointed to Holden as his official liaison with Ben Williamson, tapped at a watch. A squat man with a wide chest, blinked the snow from his eyes. Holden thought of him as his jailer more than anything.

“We’ve much work to be getting on with.”

Holden pulled his glasses from his forehead. The snow was falling in the forecourt of the complex. It was nice to be outside for a little while.

“Very well. Lead on.”

***

Chapter Two

Deleted Horizons

Eric stomped his feet into the slush and clicked off the satellite telephone. Regular communications down, out in the cold was the only way of making contact. And it was colder than cold. Task completed, he returned to the relative warmth of the hotel, the one Black Aquila used as headquarters, and handed the telephone to the next waiting operative.

Eric shook the snow from his shoulders and headed up to his room. The lobby of the hotel was never quiet. People hurried about every hour of the day. Eric laboured up the stairs, his arms and legs fatigued from trudging through the snow. The death of Rozek hit him hard. Didn’t they all? The outbreak had killed so many. And many more were bound to die. He needed sleep, but did not look forward to the nightmares that played movie reels of all the lost men.

At the top of the stairs, at the landing, two women were on haunches cleaning the carpet. Eric looked to his boots and stepped past with a nod of apology. Neither paid him much attention. He guessed it was a never-ending task and wondered about the arrangement for hotel staff. Were their services given in exchange for not being moved into a displacement centre? Eric unlocked his door with a swipe of his keycard.

“Eric?”

Ben Williamson.

“Eric. Good to see you returned safely.”

Williamson stretched out a hand. His eyes went to Eric’s own, cracked and filthy, tainted with dried blood. He withdrew the gesture. “Your hands. Blood.”

“Do you think I’d be wandering around here if it was blood from an infected?” Eric said sharply. He was too tired to deal with stupidity. Eric would never risk spreading the infection.

“No. I suppose not. But I’ll wait for you to get cleaned up.”

Williamson followed Eric into the room, and sat on a small sofa in the corner. Eric unzipped his tac vest and removed his coat. He went to the bathroom, switched on the light and ran hot water into the sink. He washed the filth from his hands and face, the warm water going some way to reviving his depleted spirit. He dried himself with a towel before returning to the room.

“I can tell by your face it was bad out there tonight.”

“It’s bad every night.” Eric sat on the bed, undid his laces and kicked his boots free. “We lost a man tonight. Rozek. The infected were on us before we could react. Another man down.”

Williamson closed his eyes and mouthed Rozek’s name. “How many is that now?”

Eric knew the exact number, knew every name and remembered every face. “Too many.”

Williamson opened his eyes. “Indeed, Eric.”

“I’m going home tomorrow.” Eric lifted his legs onto the bed and squashed two pillows beneath his head. “I spoke to Jacqui not long ago. I’m looking forward to seeing her and my kids.”

Williamson toyed with the wedding ring on his finger. “I understand, but there’s—”

“There’s always so much to do, always more hotspots flaring up.”

“They need us, they need you, they need Black Aquila. And they need the army.”

“If they send the army in it’ll be a bloodbath.
They
shoot, and ask questions later. But,” he punched at the pillows, and readjusted his position, “perhaps that’s what we should be doing.”

“They’re people out there, Eric. Ill people, not monsters.”

“Not monsters? Have you seen them?” Eric pointed to the window. “Those are not people. There’s no coming back from that.”

“I’ve seen them,” said Williamson in a near whisper. “I’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

“And you really think they can recover?”

“I have to believe, otherwise all we’re doing here is for nothing.”

An awkward silence filled the room.

Williamson stood.

“Go home, Eric. Tomorrow. Spend Christmas with your family. But I need you back here the day after Boxing Day. Carter will take over your role until you’re back. How is your wife?”

“Jacqui’s worried. It’s tough on her.”

“I understand. Enjoy Christmas as best you can. Let’s hope the new year brings better conditions for us all.” Williamson reached for the door.

“Any news on Brutus?” Eric asked.

Brutus was a rogue Black Aquila operative, missing in action. A huge bloke with a huge ego, and a huge debt coming to him. Eric still felt the swelling in his jaw from their last confrontation.

“Nothing about Brutus, no.”

“You understand that when we find him, I will kill him?”

“Enjoy the time with your family. Forget about this place for a few days.” Williamson closed the door behind him.

Eric could hardly contemplate something as normal as Christmas. It seemed a lifetime since he had enjoyed anything normal. He closed his eyes, hoping for a restful sleep free of nightmares. He would be disappointed.

***

Jacqui stood in the kitchen, hand gripping the edge of the sink. Outside, the two kids ran around in the garden trying to catch the snow as it fell. The white painted the branches of the fir bushes. Small piles of snow were growing higher in the corner of the garden, the beginnings of a snowman more than likely. Thick scarves obscured the kids’ mouths but she knew they were both smiling, laughing at the thrill of finally having enough snow to play in.

She turned from the window, back to the empty kitchen. A clock ticked faithfully on the wall. Eric was back doing what he did. She missed him. He promised he’d be home soon. So many promises. Broken promises. But she understood.

It was not too long ago Jacqui cringed at the thought of Eric’s return. But he had changed, and much for the better, for her and the kids. The private burden that had caused so much upheaval in their marriage remained, but he’d found a way to keep its tentacles from their home life.

She wanted him home, not just for her sake but for the kids. He would not let anything bad happen to them. She wanted to be engulfed in his arms, to be reassured and feel safe.

“Come back soon, Eric,” she whispered.

The clock ticked and ticked, marking time.

***

Dr. Holden entered the secure unit, the place he conducted all his research. A huge serpentine ventilation system hummed overhead, the cacophonous sound echoing through the vault-like room. A research workstation dominated the centre of the room, with flashing computer terminals, cameras monitoring every square inch, and steel surgical implements lined up and arranged by types in boxes. It was state-of-the-art. Unlike his previous workplace, instead of one huge containment tank to hold the infected, there were ten separate holding cells. And each contained one infected. They stood in confinement, hands pressed against the glass, their bodies shuddering in constant motion.

Armed guards stood watch around the clock, observing every move made by the infected and the research staff. Such a measure would have been beneficial in his previous work place, when he was framed for the security breach, a witness to prove his innocence.

Few medical staff worked with Holden. Doctors appeared and disappeared. Specialists and nurses did the same. For all he knew, this was one of many research stations located on the complex. He had no real way of finding out. Everything was kept hushed.

Holden took his usual seat, and flicked through the pages of waiting reports detailing data gathered on the endurance levels of the infected.

“Ah, Doctor Holden.”

Hyde, the manager of the facility, walked his way followed by two females. Holden swivelled in his chair to face the new arrivals. Hyde flashed a rare smile, one that did little to comfort Holden.

“I’d like you to meet Doctor Helen Benoit,” he said. “An expert in viral infections.”

Dr. Helen Benoit was the older of the two women. A pair of thick-set glasses balanced on her nose, her greying hair pulled back into a bun.

“And this is Jane,” said Hyde. “I’m sorry, dear, I seem to have forgotten your surname.”

“Appleby,” she provided.

“Of course. Jane, Jane Appleby,” Hyde introduced again. “Jane is a theatre nurse with extensive experience in tissue viability and trauma. They are now on your team, and I’m sure both ladies will prove invaluable to your research.”

Hyde stepped away and spoke to one of the armed guards. Dr. Benoit shook Holden’s hand in a weak fashion. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I’ve attended several of your lectures in London and read much of your research.”

“Well, thank you, Helen.”

“I’ll set up over there, shall I?” She pointed to the workstation.

“Certainly. And you, Jane?”

The new theatre nurse watched the containment tanks with a peculiar focus. Fear? Surely this scene was not new to her?

“Your quite safe, my dear. Won’t you sit down?”

“Are there only ten of them?”

“For the moment, yes.”

Jane was a pretty thing with dark hair combed back behind her ears, shining blue eyes and pale skin too pure to be blemished by make-up.

“What kind of work are we doing here?”

“You’ve not been told?”

She shook her head.

“We’ll get to that,” said Holden. “I’d like to know a little more about you, if I could? You’ve experience with the infected.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Holden touched her shoulder. “Yes.”

“I was in Aberdeen. I worked in the hospital. I was on a bank shift when the outbreak hit. The hospital was overrun. We would have been, too, but a policeman, Nick, he held us together, barricaded the ward and we held out. We were rescued by Black Aquila. Nick, he didn’t make it. Not many of us did.” She spoke the policeman’s name with a touch a love.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Jane.”

“I was offered this job. If I refused I’d have to stay in a displacement centre. So here I am.”

“You’re safe here, Jane. I promise you that.” Holden leaned closer. “Do you know where we are?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. Like you, I have little choice.”

“We’re still in the north-east but I don’t know exactly where. When I asked, they told me never to ask again. And I won’t. Everything has been a whirlwind. The NHS won’t allow me into the city to care for the injured. At least here I can do some good. Can’t I?”

Do some good? The doctor started out doing good. Now, he was not so sure. There was too much cloak and dagger, snippets of information here, snippets of information there, rarely marrying.

“Of course you can do some good,” said Holden in his most convincing voice.

“So what are we doing here?”

Holden shuffled through his notes before pulling a single sheet free from the stack.

“We are conducting trials on the endurance of the infected. We need to understand their tolerance to certain environmental factors. Varying degrees of temperature, for instance. We must also seek to understand what they’re capable of. We know they’re resilient to inflicted wounds that would kill a normal person. If we are to combat this outbreak, we need to know how best to bring down infected should there be no other option.”

“No other option?” said Jane, too loud.

Dr. Benoit looked up from her laptop, peering over the rim of glasses. Holden waved his hand weakly and she returned to setting up her workstation.

“Jane, you must understand we struggle to identify the presence of the virus in a timely fashion.”

“They have a vaccine for the early stages. I saw it on the news.”

Holden gave Jane a weary smile. “I need to be honest with you, Jane. If you’re working here I want us to have honesty. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“There is no vaccine for any of the stages of the virus.”

“What?”

“The reason for this? Well, can you imagine how many people wouldn’t come to hospital if they knew that it was an inevitability they would succumb to the virus? That what we offer is a placebo? It’s nothing more than a way to keep track of all those infected. They would go to ground, we’d have outbreaks all over the country and lose control. So far, the media ban is working. For how long, I can’t say. This is an impossible situation with no real solutions.”

Jane bit her lip, her eyes downcast. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“We don’t have any choice. We have to do this. Come. You’ll be okay. I promise but we need to work.”

***

Far from the research unit and its noise, Holden led Jane through the facility’s quiet corridors. Motion-activated lights flickered to life. Holden’s footfalls echoed. Jane walked lighter, her trainers occasionally squeaking on the floor. Not for the first time, Holden wondered what the facility was designed for before its current purpose. Above ground it looked like a nondescript industrial complex. But the subterranean vaults contained a darker secret. Was it purpose built for the outbreak?

This possibility disturbed Holden a great deal. It indicated somebody knew the carrion outbreak was coming, and also knew its potential.