answer his questions.
“She dropped her blood pressure and lost consciousness,” Green said as he pointed a pen light into her eye. “As I said before, it happens in five percent of cases. Let’s get her on the table.”
Green had told Garrett about the potential risks. He could tell Green wanted to say I told you so, but the doctor didn’t dare.
“Help him,” Garrett said to Cutter. “Five percent! Idiot!”
Cutter unstrapped her and lifted her dead weight from the chair and lay her on the table.
Green propped her feet up with a pillow. He checked her blood pressure.
“Her pressure is still low, but stable.”
“What now? Can you wake her up?”
“I can give her a shot of adrenaline. It would wake her up but it would also offset the effects of the serum. Then we’d have to start all over. A second injection so quickly might be fatal.”
“If we wait for her to wake up, will she still be under the effects of the serum?”
“We won’t know until she’s conscious. That may take a few hours.”
“Dammit! All right. You’ll stay here with one of Cutter’s men. When she wakes up, let me know immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on,” he said to Cutter and stormed out of the room.
FORTY-FIVE
Once Locke and Grant touched down at McChord Air Force Base south of Seattle, it was a short drive to the Fort Lewis army base where the assault team was making its final preparations inside one of the barracks. A map of Orcas Island was tacked to the wall, and thirty hardened commandos were busy checking weapons and loading their packs with ammo. Most of them were in their early twenties. Locke and Grant were older than every one of them by a good five years.
They introduced themselves to the team’s commander, Captain Michael Turner, a pale, lean 30-year-old with a brush of close-cropped red hair. Turner, whose neck tendons looked strained to the breaking point, eyed them warily, apparently checking to make sure they measured up to his team’s standards. He shook their hands, but he didn’t look pleased to see them.
“Sorry to barge in on your mission, Captain,” Locke said, “but we have some tactical information that will be useful when we’re on site.”
“If General Locke says you need to be here, then you’re on the team,” Turner said like a soldier who knew he had no choice but to follow orders. “As long as we’re clear that I am in command.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure you’ve seen our service records.”
“Yes. I had the base quartermaster get some BDUs for you. Get changed, and we’ll do the mission briefing.” Turner looked at his watch. “I have 1743 hours. We’re wheels up at 1900.”
Locke tossed the larger set of battle dress uniforms to Grant and put his own on. He hadn’t worn fatigues since he left the service five years before, but donning them put him right back into military mode.
“Seems like old times,” Grant said. “Except I feel like an old man compared to these young whippersnappers.”
“You need your walker for this mission?” Locke asked with a chuckle.
“Just my cane. You have your hearing aid in?”
Locke shook his head and spoke louder. “Can’t hear you without my hearing aid in. Got my reading glasses, though, in case I need to read the instructions on my pills.”
Turner broke into their fun. “You two ready?” he said curtly.
Locke finished tying his boot laces and stood. “Grant was born ready, but I’m a late bloomer.”
Turner rolled his eyes. He obviously didn’t share their sense of humor.
“Listen up,” he said, and the room grew still instantly. The soldiers eyes were riveted on Turner. These guys were all business.
“The intel on this op is sketchy at best,” Turner continued. “ Our mission is to infiltrate this complex here, and secure the bioweapon inside before 2100 hours.” He pointed at a satellite photograph of the Hydronast compound on Orcas. The island was shaped like a drooping upside-down W, with three peninsulas pointing south. The compound was located on the east coast of the westernmost peninsula, bordered by a finger-shaped bay.
“We considered coming in by boat to Massacre Bay.”
Locke and Grant looked at each other when they heard the name. Not a bright omen.
“But that angle is well-lit,” Turner continued, “and we would be exposed trying to breach the shore fencing. They have a dock, but it is heavily guarded. We estimate at least 30 guards on the premises. No knowledge about their disposition.”
Locke spoke up. “I believe I can answer that, Captain. Sergeant Westfield has served with one of the hostiles. He’s ex-Army special forces. His name is Dan Cutter, and it’s logical to assume he has stocked his guard crew with others like him. These won’t be typical rent-a-guards. They’ll be well-trained and alert.”
“I got the briefing on Cutter,” Turner said, the distaste evident. “Our best chance for a successful mission is to take them by surprise. Because of time pressures, we can’t wait to ferry in our Hummers. And if we try to land with Blackhawks within two miles, they’ll hear us coming. Therefore, we’re landing here.” Turner pointed at the easternmost peninsula of the upside-down W, about ten miles due east of Garrett’s bunker. “We’ve arranged for one of the island’s school buses to be left at the LZ. We drive the rest of the way and dismount here.”
Turner pointed at a spot less than a mile from the northern edge of the massive compound.
“When we’re within one click, we’ll do on-site recon with the UAV.” To his left sat an unmanned aerial vehicle, a battery-powered helicopter not much bigger than a toy kids play with. When it was flown 50 feet above the observed area, it couldn’t be heard by ground forces. The camera on board, which included infrared and light amplification for night ops, was powerful enough to beam back real-time battlefield images.
“Once we have their positions, we’ll breach the outer fence and eliminate each hostile as we reach them. When the perimeter is secure, we’ll enter the bunker here.” The hangar-sized building closest to the mansion.
“How silently can we do this?” Locke asked.
“We’ll try to take out as many of them as we can before the alarm is sounded. By that time, we should have overwhelming numbers.”
Locke shook his head.
“That would jeopardize the mission,” Locke said.
“Why?”
“Because any alarm will cause an immediate lockdown. Concrete doors will slide over all the entrances to the bunker. Game over.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it was in the specifications. I constructed a preliminary blueprint for the facility three years ago, and although there will be changes, the basic elements are likely the same. The elevators are powered by electric motors in the cabs themselves, so there are no cables to cut. Concrete slabs three feet thick will block the shafts, and we don’t have the firepower to blast through them. It’ll be impossible to get in after that unless it’s opened from inside.”
“How about air shafts?”
Locke shook his head again. “Only in the movies are ventilation shafts big enough for people to crawl through. I know for a fact these ones will be designed to prevent that.”
“We could smoke them out. Drop smoke grenades down them.”
“No good. Even if we find some of the shafts, their filters would absorb any smoke.”
“Do you have an alternate plan?” Turner said in exasperation.
Locke shrugged. “All I know is, we have to get through that entrance and down into the bunker before the alarm sounds.”
“Then we’ll be really, really quiet. Anything else?”
