Jonathan Maberry - Patient Zero

“Understood confirmed.” There was a brief pause and I could guess we were both looking at that from the same angle. Church said, “It’s your call, Cowboy. Come home, go for a walk, or throw a party.”

“Roger that.” I paused and considered my options. “Will continue to take a walk. All options open, however. Confirm Amazing is on station.” Amazing, shorthand for “Amazing Grace.”

“That is affirmative.”

“Cowboy out.” I tapped the earpiece again to connect to the team channel. “Scarface. What’s your twenty?”

There was no answer, not even a squelch click.

“Scarface… this is Cowboy. Do you copy?”

Nothing. Shit. I looked down the corridor but it was as empty as before. It told me nothing.

“Green Giant and Sergeant Rock on my six, quick and quiet!”

“Roger that, Cowboy.”

I started moving as fast as caution would allow, retracing my steps down the hallway, happy to get away from that terrible door. At the T-junction I paused and looked to see Bunny’s hulking form moving quickly toward me with Top Sims two steps behind him.

“Scarface went down there and doesn’t answer,” I said, and quickly filled them in on the locked and barred room and the detonation wires in the walls.

Bunny frowned. “Trap?”

Top Sims turned to him. “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

“This is fubar, boss?” Bunny asked, looking up and down the hall. “That little drama at the front door could have been as much a fake-out on their part as ours.”

“Probably was,” I said, “but until we know for sure we have to try and complete the mission as assigned. Gather intel and get out with a whole skin.”

“I dig the ‘whole skin’ part a lot,” said Bunny.

“Hooah,” Top agreed, then he gave me a hard look. “Ollie going missing with no shots fired is a little strange, don’t you think?”

“A bit.”

“We still don’t know who the mole is, Cap’n,” he pointed out.

“Roger that, First Sergeant, but I’m not going to hang a label on any of my men until I know for sure.”

Top kept his stare steady for maybe ten whole seconds before he grudgingly said, “Yes, sir.”

“Not to piss in the punch bowl here,” interrupted Bunny, “but isn’t this all a bit beside the point right now? Begging your pardons, I mean, ya’ll being senior to a lowly staff sergeant.”

“Shove that where the sun don’t shine, farmboy,” Top said, but he was grinning.

Bunny rubbed his eyes. “Man… this is getting to be a long-ass day.”

I nodded in the direction of the corridor where Ollie had gone missing. “Primary mission rules still apply. Watch and wait. No shooting except on my say-so, and even then watch your fire and check your targets.”

We went right at the T-bend and then left to follow the hall. We were three quarters of the way down the hall when one of the side doors abruptly opened and a man in a white lab coat stepped out, head bent as he frowned over notes on a clipboard, four feet from Top.

There was nowhere to hide, no time to run. The man looked up from his clipboard and his eyes snapped wide. His mouth opened and I could actually see his chest expand as he drew in a sharp breath in order to scream, but Top rose up lightning fast and kicked him hard in the solar plexus with the tip of his steel-reinforced left shoe. It was a savage kick and the man’s whole body folded around Top’s foot like a deflating balloon and then he dropped to the floor with a strangled squeak.

We swarmed him and had plastic cuffs on his wrists and ankles before he could manage to drag in a full breath of air. His dark skin had gone purple. Top went to the door through which the man had passed and looked in, then turned to me and gave a negative shake of the head. Bunny grabbed a handful of the man’s shirtfront and screwed the barrel of his pistol into the furrow between the man’s eyes. “Be quiet and stay alive,” he whispered.

The guy was still bug-eyed from the kick and his eyes bulged even more when he realized that there were three big and well-armed men clustered around him. We had the power of life and death over him and he knew it. Total and unexpected helplessness can be an event that purifies the soul. It sharpens one’s mental focus.

I leaned close and said in Farsi, “Do you speak English?”

He shook his head—as much as Bunny’s pistol barrel would allow—and then rattled off something in what I think was Myanmar, what they used to call “Burmese.” Not one of my languages. “Do you speak English?” I said in my own language.

“Yes… yes, English. I speak very good.”

“Lucky for you. I’m going to ask you a few questions and if you answer me truthfully and completely my friend here will not shoot you. You understand?”

“Yes, yes, I understand!”

“What’s your name?”

“Nujoma.”

“Indian? Burmese?”

“Yes, yes, I come from Rangoon. In Burma.”

“How many people are in this building?”

“I am only a—” His voice cracked and he tried it again. “I am only a technician.”

“That’s not what I asked. How many—?”

“I… I cannot. They will kill me…”

I grabbed him by the throat. “What do you think I’ll do if you don’t answer me?”

“They have my wife. My children. My sister. I cannot.”

“Who has them? Where? Are they here in this building?”

“No. They took them from my home. They have them.”

“Who took them?” I demanded again. He shook his head.

Bunny tapped him on the forehead with the barrel. “Answer the man’s questions or the day’s going to end in a way you won’t like.” But Bunny’s threat was of no use. The man’s eyes filled with tears and he clamped his mouth shut, giving tiny shakes of his head. I looked into his eyes and felt like I could see all the way down into the man’s soul. He wasn’t a terrorist; this guy was just another victim.

I shifted back a few inches to try and decrease the sense of threat, and when I spoke I softened my voice. “If you talk to us I promise that we’ll see what we can do to help your family.” But he shook his head, resolute in his terror.

“Tick-tock,” Top muttered.

“Okay,” I said. “Juice me.” Top fished a hypodermic from his chest pocket, removed the plastic cap and passed it to me. The technician’s eyes flared wider and tears spilled down his face. As I positioned the needle over his throat he began murmuring something in his native language; I bent forward, hoping to catch a word or phrase but then realized from the rhythm of his words that he was mumbling prayers. I plunged the needle. The tranquilizer knocked him cold in three seconds and he slumped to the floor.

“Bunny, take him back to the door. Tell Skip to alert Church that we have his prisoner. If he’s been infected with the same control disease as the others then we’ll need to question him before he kicks. Drop him and get back here asap.”

“You got it, Boss… but man, I’d hate to be in this guy’s shoes. I wouldn’t want Church questioning me.” He hoisted Nujoma over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and ran down the hall, his pace showing no indication that he was carrying at least a hundred and fifty extra pounds.

Now that we were alone I touched his arm. “Top… you seem to have a bug about Ollie. Why him?”

He kept looking down the hall. “Bunny was with us in Room Twelve. Says a lot. Ollie came in with everyone else. I don’t like it that he was slow to respond.”

“So was Skip.”

“Skip’s a kid. Whoever this mole is he’s got field experience. He’s slick enough to have pulled a fast one on Church and the whole DMS. Besides, Ollie’s done a lot of work for the Company.”