Don Pendleton - Nightmare Army

Their test subject’s efforts grew more labored and he sank to the floor, still trying to shove the door open, but failing as the tranquilizer coursed through his body. With one final growl that sounded more like an anguished groan toward the end, he slumped over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he sank into unconsciousness.

“Restrain and stabilize him. After-team, run the standard battery of tests and send me the results.”

Richter ran his hands over his head, resisting the urge to clench them into fists and hammer the wall. “I thought this variant had so much promise, but we are no closer to arresting the effects once the cycle begins. What good is true superhuman strength and reflexes without the control to stop using them when the immediate threat has been neutralized? And if the subject cannot remain active once the surge is done, that is another problem.”

Dr. Estvaan nodded. “Perhaps. We are close. Another few modifications and we’ll be able to turn this on and off in subjects at will, either by neuro feedback or by remote control.”

“Yes, but I’ve got to tell Stengrave that we haven’t gotten any closer to controlling the virus’s effects.”

Estvaan nodded again. “Keep in mind the potential this compound also has as a weapon by introducing it into unknowing or unwilling subjects.”

Her last words sparked something in Richter’s mind. “What about the transfer vectors you’ve been working on?”

“Well, you would have seen it if the chimpanzee had survived. Within six to eight hours, it would have been exhibiting the same pretest symptoms as the human subject. Currently the virus is best transmitted via blood or saliva.”

“And the genetic safeguards we’ve tailored it with have been effective?”

“One hundred percent so far.” Dr. Estvaan glanced at him. “As I have stated before, we cannot guarantee that a mutated form wouldn’t be able to cross genetic types, but the self-destruct safeguard should prevent that, as well.”

“Lastly, you have confirmed that the virus cannot survive independently outside of a host body?”

“Correct, Doctor. If exposed to open air, it begins breaking down at the cellular level immediately. There is no chance of an active strain using an airborne or fluid-borne vector to contaminate others. Of course, the infectious strain can be introduced into food or water in its dormant state and, once ingested, begin affecting its victims within two hours.”

“Good, I’m glad to see that parameter has been maintained. Prepare a dormant sample large enough to affect...oh, say thirty to fifty people. I’ll need to update our superiors, but I see no reason to halt our tests on a limited public group. It’s time to begin phase two.” Dr. Richter smiled. “After all, if this cannot be used as a controllable weapon yet, perhaps its application lies in using it as a less-controlled one.”

Just then his smartphone beeped. Richter glanced at it and saw the reminder he’d been waiting for. “Prepare your after-test reports and forward them to me once they are finished. I’ll be in my office, but am not to be disturbed for the next hour.”

* * *

AS HE STRODE through the halls toward his office, Richter dictated his notes.

“Although the virus appears to have potential practical applications on the battlefield, there will need to be more tests done to refine a more controllable variant. This is not to say that the research here has been in vain, on the contrary, we have done more here in six months that has been possible in the past three years. With additional time and experimentation with the various strains we have cultivated, I am sure that we can create a version that will give us the abilities we’re looking for, along with the necessary control.”

His laptop chimed and Richter frowned at the interruption to his train of thought. He reached over and paused the computer recorder, then hit the answer button. “Ja?”

The voice on the other end of the satellite connection was smooth and cordial but hard underneath—like silk over a steel glove. “Dr. Richter, I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

Richter recognized the voice instantly. “Of course not, Mr. Stengrave. I am ready to present our status to the board, as directed.”

“What can you tell me about your recent progress?”

“We are making progress, but it has slowed considerably.” Verifying their channel was secure, he summarized the recent tests. “We cannot seem to strike the balance between the advantages the drug gives the recipients and the negative effects afterward.”

“I see. How do you intend to mitigate this situation?”

“One of our potential uses for the virus in its current form would be as an inflammatory agent, which could be tailored to fit a specified population. Spiking the water would introduce it into their systems, and chaos would follow. I had wanted to discuss a possible test of this scenario—”

“I already have something in mind for that—a geographically-isolated test on genetically-limited population. I’m sending Mr. Firke down with the necessary genetic sample. He will stay until the batch is ready, and will escort it to our on-site team within thirty-six hours.” He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s easier to make a point with a little bloodshed. Spun properly, I think this could be just as effective as our first projected use of the virus.”

“I’ll have the samples ready for splicing the moment he arrives. If you do not mind my asking, how will you handle the meeting today?”

“I’ll put them off for now, saying you are in the middle of a delicate series of tests and cannot be disturbed. Make it happen, Doctor. If the results are good enough, I may have you conference in to a later meeting to field questions. I’ll let you know once we know how the field test has gone.” Stengrave broke the connection with a click.

Richter stabbed his intercom button. “Sharene, please ready the guest quarters. We’re going to have company soon.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Fifty hours earlier

Dr. Richter stood at the main doors of the lab, watching as a man dressed in jungle fatigues rappelled from a helicopter to the small clearing in front of their concealed facility. The moment his feet hit the ground, he unclipped himself from the rope, which was swiftly drawn back up as the helicopter was already flying away from the area. It had hovered over the site for maybe a minute at the most.

“Dr. Richter,” the man said as he walked up to him. “I’m Reginald Firke. Interesting place you have here.”

Well, at least he didn’t try any sort of “I presume” crap, Richter thought with a disdainful glance at the man’s crisp new fatigues and polished combat boots. “Come inside.”

The two men headed across the small vehicle bay to the outer airlock, past the half-dozen mud-splattered Range Rovers, and stood in front of an industrial glass-and-stainless steel door as the large outer doors closed behind them, throwing the large room into semi-shadow. “I assume your cargo is intact?”

Firke shrugged off a small backpack and held it out. “In here are all the samples you will need. I’m sure our mutual boss has informed you that time is of the essence.”

“Of course he has.” Richter didn’t move to take the pack, nor did he spare the shorter man a glance as the outer airlock door opened. “The emphasis was unnecessary, however. You’ll have the tailored viruses and be on your way soon enough.”

If the slender man was insulted by Richter’s annoyed tone, he didn’t visibly react as they headed into the airlock. “No need to insult the messenger, Doctor. I’m simply passing on the message, that’s all.”

“Humph.” Richter stared straight ahead as compressed air jets containing a powerful disinfectant covered their clothes and exposed skin. He didn’t think much of Stengrave’s hired goon. He’d had the man researched and learned he was ex-SAS, the British special forces arm of the military. That information did not faze him in the least. In Richter’s opinion, a gun was only used to accomplish a goal when those involved neglected to use their brains to find a more elegant and much less obvious solution. “I assume that Mr. Stengrave has also let you know of my requirements for this experiment?”