James Rollins - The Judas Strain

More coughing echoed around the well.

The dust cleared enough to reveal one of the sufferers.

Lisa helped Susan sit up. The woman covered her mouth with a fist and continued a racking jag.

Welcome back to the world .

Maybe their luck was turning.

A voice, calling down from above, dismissed that possibility.

“Who do we have here?” Nasser yelled down. “To use a quaint American colloquialism, I’d say we’ve found a bunch of fish in a barrel.”

Rifles circled the well on all sides, pointing down at them.

Gray slid along the wall, bumping into Kowalski.

“What now, boss?” he asked.

Before Gray could answer, a cell phone rang out sharply. It came from above, but the ring tone was familiar. Nasser reached to a pocket and removed Vigor’s phone. He had confiscated it from the monsignor after they had been captured at the hotel. They’d all been thoroughly searched before their sit-down at the Elephant Bar.

Nasser checked the caller ID. “Rachel Verona.” He held the phone over the pit, leaning out. “Your niece, Monsignor. Would you care to say good-bye?”

The phone rang a third time, then went silent.

“I guess not,” Nasser said. “A shame.”

Gray closed his eyes and held his breath.

Nasser continued. “Or maybe, Commander Pierce, you’d like to call my partner, Annishen. I did promise you’d hear your parents’ screams before you died.”

Gray ignored him. His hand slipped behind Kowalski’s back and under the man’s long duster jacket. The interrupted call from Vigor’s niece was a prearranged signal, from Painter, to let Gray know when his mother and father were safe.

Or dead.

Either way…beyond Nasser’s control.

Gray’s fingers wrapped around the butt of the pistol lodged at the base of Kowalski’s back. The large man had almost yanked the gun out earlier, startled by a monkey. Luckily Gray had stopped him.

Gray pulled the pistol free and lowered it to his side.

Nasser continued. “Or maybe I’ll just leave your parents’ fate a mystery…leave you forever wondering, something to take to your grave.”

“Why don’t you go first…” Gray stepped forward, snapped his weapon up, and fired twice.

He clipped the man in the shoulder and the chest. The impacts spun Nasser sideways. He fell into the well, arms flailing, spraying blood against the stone walls.

Gray twisted on a heel, strafing along the well’s rim. He struck three more men while the others fled back. Behind him, Nasser crashed to the stone floor, with a snap of bones and a cry.

Gray scanned above, his weapon ready. The 9mm Metal Storm pistol was an Australian design, the ultimate in power, firing off multiple rounds in fractions of a second. Propellant-driven, no moving parts, all electronic.

“Lisa, check Nasser for Vigor’s phone! Get Painter on the line!”

She shuffled behind him.

As he slowly turned, guarding the well, Gray noted Nasser out of the corner of an eye. He lay on his back, one arm twisted under him, broken at the shoulder. Blood bubbled from his lips. Shattered ribs. But he still lived. Eyes tracking Gray, full of dismay and confusion.

Die wondering, you bastard .

Nasser finally obeyed, sighing out his last breath, eyes going blank.

Seichan voiced Nasser’s question. “So where did you get the gun?”

“I arranged it with Painter. Back in Hormuz. I didn’t want him to mobilize any local teams here. But I did ask for one small concession. A single gun, smuggled into the Elephant Bar bathroom before we ever got there, taped behind a toilet. I knew Nasser might still be suspicious of me, even search me multiple times. But Kowalski…”

Gray shrugged.

“At the bar, I remember,” Seichan said. “Before we left. Kowalski said he had to ‘take a leak.’”

“I knew we’d be searched before the meeting at the bar. It was the easiest way to get a gun to us afterward. To keep it close until my parents were safe.”

Kowalski grunted. “Jackass should’ve watched the goddamn Godfather a few more times.”

Lisa called behind him. “I have Painter on the line.”

Gray’s fingers tightened on his pistol. “My parents? Are they—?”

“I already asked. They’re safe. And unharmed.”

Gray let out a long breath of relief.

Thank God .

He cleared his throat. “You’d better tell Painter to set up a quarantine perimeter, at least a ten mile radius around the ruins.”

Gray pictured the cloud of toxic gases, surely rich with the Judas Strain. The gateway had been open for only twelve minutes, slammed closed and bleached by Nasser’s bomb. A small blessing there. But how much of the Judas Strain had gotten loose?

Gray glanced at Susan. She huddled in the doorway. Kowalski guarded her. Had she succeeded? Gray was aware of everyone who shared the well with him. Each had contributed in no small measure to get them here. But had it all been in vain?

Lisa spoke up. “Quarantine’s under way.”

Gray searched the top of the well, weapon high. There was still a Guild army out there. “Then tell Painter we could use some help here, too.”

She relayed the message — then lowered the phone. “He says it’s already on the way. He said look up .”

Gray glanced skyward. The rich blue of the afternoon sky swirled with stiff-looking hawks, wings wide. Scores of them, converging from all directions. But these hawks carried assault rifles.

Reaching a hand back, Gray asked for the phone.

Lisa slapped it into his palm.

Gray put the receiver to his ear. “I thought we agreed not to mobilize a local response.”

“Commander, I don’t exactly classify forty thousand feet in the air as local . And besides, I’m your boss. Not the other way around.”

Gray continued to watch the skies.

The strike team plummeted toward the ruins, spreading out in an attack pattern. Each soldier had a fixed-wing glider harnessed to his back, like miniature wings of a jet fighter, allowing for high-altitude deployment.

They dove downward.

Spiraling and spiraling.

Then on one signal, each man pulled his ripcord, all shedding wings in unison. Glide chutes deployed, snapping wide for the last stretch of their descent. Like a choreographed dance, they swooped in from all directions.

Others noted the dramatic approach. Gray heard boots pounding on stone, most heading away. Gray imagined black berets were being stuffed into garbage cans as the Guild’s mercenaries hightailed it out of here.

But not all were so craven.

A few spats of rifle fire echoed. Slow at first, then furiously. A firefight raged for a full, tense minute. A glide chute swept overhead, the pilot firing on the fly. Then another, his legs lifted high as he prepared to alight on the ruins. Bodies thudded, landing all around the well, probably zeroed in on the phone in Gray’s hand.

A man suddenly lunged over the well’s low wall, a bit too quickly.

Gray came close to shooting him until he recognized the jumpsuit. U.S. Air Force.

“You blokes all okay?” he called down in an Aussie accent, unhooking his chute.

Lisa shoved past Vigor, her voice full of amazement. “Ryder?”

The man grinned down at her. “That man of yours…Painter…bonzer bloke! Let me come along for the ride. It’s not climbing over electrified nets with cannibals…but then what is?”

Someone called out.

Ryder lifted an arm, acknowledging, then glanced back down. “Hold fast! Ladders on their way!” He rolled away and vanished.

Gray continued to keep guard over those here, his weapon ready.

It was all he could do.

That, and one last thing.

He lifted the phone to his ear again. “Director?”