Sean Ellis - Callsign - King

One Mississippi…

Even as the grenade landed on the bed… even as the round from his MP5 flashed through the suppressor on its way to nowhere, King’s mind tumbled with conflicting priorities.

The grenade! Deal with that first. How?

Two Mississippi…

He must have been counting too fast because nothing had happened yet.

None too gently, he snared the female patient’s flailing arm with his left hand and pulled her to him. In the same motion, he launched a kick at the bed’s side rail. Because its roll-brake had been engaged, the heavy bed only scooted a couple yards. Before King could lower his extended foot, the room was filled with brilliant white light.

He looked away quickly, but bright streaks now painted his retinas. The bed erupted in flames and smoke, both rendered almost invisible by the intensely bright fire from the burning grenade. Barely able to see anything except with his peripheral vision, King knelt over the frantic woman, hugging her to his chest, and stabbed the MP5 at the doorway.

He figured the odds were about fifty-fifty that the black clad intruder would be waiting for him in the hall; he expected to walk into a blast from the man’s very distinctive handgun. But staying in the room was not an option, and ‘maybe dead’ beat ‘definitely dead’ any day of the week.

This time, the odds broke in his favor. The other man was gone, evidently eager to escape with the prize contained in the plastic biohazard bag.

“You can let go.”

The voice, weak and breathless, startled him. He glanced down at the woman, locked in the embrace of his left arm, and realized she was no longer thrashing. He eased the pressure of his grip, but didn’t release her. She didn’t look strong enough to stand on her own, much less negotiate four flights of stairs to safety. Despite her abruptly calm demeanor, there was a trace of madness in her eyes. Her face was streaked with something that looked like baby food, and blood was leaking from her arm where her IV had ripped out.

King glanced at the blood, and for the first time, it occurred to him that this woman was almost certainly the patient whom Kerry Frey had spoken of, the patient in the isolation room. The patient whose illness had summoned Sara and her team across the ocean in the first place.

Wonderful, he thought, trying to imagine what almost-always-fatal new disease he had just been exposed to. There were definite drawbacks to having a CDC disease detective for a girlfriend.

But Sara wasn’t here. He didn’t think she would have abandoned a patient when the fire alarm sounded. So where was she?

Black smoke was beginning to billow from the open doorway, and he felt the glow of radiant heat on the exposed skin of his face and arms.

He turned to the woman again. “What’s your name?”

“Felice.”

“Felice, I’m Jack. I’m going to get you out of here, but you need to do what I say, okay?”

She nodded.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so. Let go.” He did, gradually releasing his embrace, but ready to catch her if her strength failed. After a few seconds on her own, she nodded again. “I can manage.”

“Good. Then let’s get the hell out of here.”

Fulbright cocked his head sideways, listening, and then frowned as he too heard the sound of footsteps echoing up the stairwell. “Damn it. All right, this isn’t going to be pretty. Just stay close to me.”

The lady or the tiger? Sara thought, recalling the classic short story of a Roman gladiator faced with two equally undesirable choices. She half-expected him to charge down the stairs, headlong into the force of unknown but surely superior strength, with guns blazing in typical CIA cowboy fashion, but instead he chose the other door. Literally.

He opened the roof access door just enough for them to squeeze through single file. As she stepped out, Sara got a better look at the waiting helicopter, and at the two men who appeared to be guarding it. Like the pair she had seen in hospital ward, they were clad entirely in black assault gear.

Sara felt very exposed as she followed Fulbright along the perimeter of the raised concrete superstructure that housed the stairwell. She expected at any moment to hear gunfire. Or maybe she wouldn’t hear anything; the bullet that would snuff her out of existence would probably be traveling faster than the sound of the shot.

That’s the kind of thing Jack would know.

But if the two men noticed their presence, they gave no indication.

Suddenly, the roof access door flew open behind them with such force that it rebounded off the exterior wall with a bang that, given Sara’s state of mind, sounded like a shot. She whirled involuntarily and caught sight of a lone individual, dressed in the now familiar black uniform, sprinting toward the helicopter. As he passed them, Sara saw that he was carrying a clear plastic bag with a large white-yellow object inside.

The ape skull!

The man did not even glance in their direction, but a moment later, two more men burst from the door, and they did look.

Sara gaped at them. It was like watching a movie. The two men turned, squared their shoulders, and raised their guns.

Fulbright grabbed her arm and propelled her past him. “Go!”

He fired several shots in the direction of the two gunmen. One of them winced but shrugged the impact off as though it were nothing more than a slap. Then, their guns spoke.

The report was thunderous, far louder than Fulbright’s pistol. Concrete exploded above Sara’s head, showering her with grit, but then she rounded the corner with Fulbright right behind her.

“Keep going,” he shouted.

Sara ran, but no more shots were fired. Instead, she heard the whine of the helicopter’s turbines powering up. In a matter of seconds, the whoosh of the rotor blades carving the air became audible and quickened to a roar of engine noise and wind.

They rounded the corner to the back side of the superstructure where Fulbright signaled for her to stop. He ejected the magazine from his pistol, reloaded, and then began scanning in both directions for signs of pursuit. Sara cocked her head, hoping to hear the sound of footsteps, but the noise of the helicopter drowned out everything.

It became apparent after a few minutes that the gunmen weren’t going to engage them. Sara heard the change in pitch as the helicopter lifted off and then flew almost horizontally away from the rooftop. Fulbright edged around the corner as the tempest quieted.

“They’re gone.”

Sara sagged against the wall, but her relief quickly gave way to anger. “All right. Answers.”

Fulbright’s face was flushed with the exertions of running and fighting, but he tried to bring back his roguish smile. “I told you everything I know.”

“Like hell you did. You know a lot more than you’re letting on. Your secrets put me and my team…” She faltered as she recalled Fulbright’s earlier comment. Her co-workers-her friends-might already be dead. “If something has happened to them, it’s on your head.”

Fulbright sighed, his expression contrite. “I knew there was some risk. People who try to develop bio-weapons usually don’t have a lot of scruples. But I couldn’t have known anyone would try something like this.”

His words did nothing to soothe her, but she saw that there was nothing to be gained by venting her rage. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the bigger picture. “What do you know about this pathogen they’re after? That woman-Dr. Carter-she didn’t look sick. I don’t think she was sick.”

He spread his hands. “I told you what they were looking for-some kind of ancient virus. When Felice Carter came back from the expedition, in the state you saw her in, I assumed that she had become infected. That’s why I sent for you. And the fact that somebody hit us here today, tells me that I was right. She found something out there and brought it back.”