Two hours later, Billy was in the Chicago area, hunting down the address the girl had given him. When he finally turned down the right street, he wasn’t surprised to see a dozen emergency vehicles parked next to the building he was looking for.
Fire had completely gutted the structure, and while the machinery inside would, no doubt, still be partially intact, there was no way he could get to it with all these people around. Not that he really needed to anymore. The blaze was more than enough confirmation of the girl’s story.
At some point within the last several weeks, this building had been churning out the virus and shipping it off to God-only-knew-where. He was sure of it.
There was a silver lining, though.
“Why were you there?” he’d asked the girl before he left St. Louis.
“Do you really need to know that?”
“It might help.”
She took a breath, then said, “It was Corey’s idea.”
“Same question. Why?”
“He’s writing this paper…was, I guess…oh, Jesus.”
“Stay focused. What paper?”
“He was supposed to write a company profile, only he wasn’t having any luck finding information about the company he chose. Then his friend found an address in Chicago, so…so we decided to go up and check it out.”
“The address you visited.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you know the name of the company?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t remember. Hid-something, I think.”
She coughed. If she realized what that meant, she didn’t show it.
“The other friend you went with, would he know the name?”
“He should.”
Before leaving the hospital, Billy located the kid named Blanton Kirn.
“Sure, I remember. Hidde-Kel Holdings. With a hyphen after the first ‘e.’”
Hidde-Kel.
It was a start.
26
I.D. MINUS 39 HOURS
Ash and his team arrived in Grise Fiord after eight p.m. It had been a mind-numbing, exhausting two days. They had tried to leave Baker Lake the day before, but had barely gotten into the air when it became obvious the weather wasn’t going to cooperate. The storm had finally broken around 6 a.m. that day, but by the time the runway was cleared and they could get on their way, it was the middle of the afternoon.
Grise Fiord was as far as the jet would take them. Unless needed elsewhere, the pilot and plane would remain there for exactly one week. If Ash or another member of the team failed to show up prior to that, the plane would return to the Ranch. From Grise Fiord, Gagnon would fly them in a smaller, more agile craft equipped with a combination water pontoon/snow skid.
The first thing Ash did was check the weather report. It didn’t look good. One, maybe two days of relative calm, then another storm, a big one that might last several days-several days they couldn’t afford to sit idle.
Once they arrived at the CF Guest Quarters, he told the team what he’d decided. “We’ll have to split up. Four in one, three in the other, with Gagnon in the plane.”
Chloe nodded in agreement, but Pax didn’t look as comfortable with the idea.
“The weather isn’t giving us a choice,” Ash said to him.
“I know. It’s the decision I’d make, too, but I still don’t like it.”
Ash nodded. He felt the same way. “I want you to head up the second group. Browne, Solomon, and Wright will go with you. Chloe and Red will be with me. Which island do you want?”
“You’re the boss. Which one do you want?” Pax asked.
Before Ash could respond, Chloe said, “We’ll take Yanok.”
They all looked at her.
“If you know something, you should tell us,” Ash said.
She shook her head. “Just a feeling.”
Ash stared at her a moment longer. He knew firsthand that her instincts were far better than average, but kept the thought to himself. “Okay. Gagnon, you’ll fly the first group out to Amund Ringnes in-” He looked at his watch. “-six hours. As soon as you get back, you’ll take us to Yanok. Anyone have any questions?”
There were none.
“Then that’s it, I guess. Tomorrow we start what we came here to do. No pressure, but the whole human race is hanging in the balance.”
“There is that, isn’t there?” Pax said.
Security had always been a priority for the Project. The last thing they wanted was for Bluebird to be discovered. They had come close already with the men who’d made it all the way onto the island, but it seemed as if Major Ross’s diversionary tactics had been successful in cutting off any trail that might have led back to their headquarters.
From even before they had taken full control of the facility on Yanok, they had stationed a two-man observation team in Grise Fiord. The men-Rogers and Perry-posed as climatologists for a European consulting group, and had slowly worked their way into the tolerance of the locals, if not their trust.
Because of this, whenever something happened in Grise Fiord, they heard about it almost right away, like everyone else in town. This was particularly true of new arrivals.
When the news got around that evening about a jet touching down with a group of scientists, Rogers had been having a beer with a few of the local residents. Upon hearing the story, he casually finished off his Molson’s and excused himself for the night.
He did not, however, return home. Instead, he took the cold bumpy drive out to the airstrip.
Just like he’d been told, there was a private jet sitting off to the side. They didn’t get a lot of traffic out here, especially not jets. Usually those who arrived in one were oil and energy people looking for a new resource to exploit.
Unable to recall ever seeing this particular plane before, he wrote down the tail number so someone back at Bluebird could run it through the system. Next, he went to see if the plane might be open. He wasn’t worried about being seen. Chances were he was the only one outside for a thousand miles in any direction. The aircraft, however, was locked up.
He drove back into town and woke up Perry. Together they headed over to the building the supposed scientists were using for the night.
All the lights inside were off, so it was a pretty good bet that everyone was asleep. Over a period of time, he and Perry had been able to make keys to all the buildings in town as a precaution. Not that they needed them often. There was no crime up here, so most places were seldom ever locked.
That message had obviously not been passed on to the new arrivals yet since the door to the CF Guest Quarters was secured. Rogers thought for a moment, bringing up a layout of the building in his mind. If he remembered correctly, there was a long, narrow mudroom on the other side of the main entrance, then another door that opened into the central room where everyone would be sleeping.
He found the appropriate key from his master ring, slipped it into the lock, and turned it. The door opened with barely a protest. He motioned Perry in first then followed.
