Matthew Reilly - Area 7

You didn't need a whole shuttle to do that.

314

Matthew Reilly

But what if the shuttle had another purpose ...

Fairfax turned to one of the Air Force liaison people the

DIA had called in. "What sort of hardware does the Air

Force keep at Area 7?"

The Air Force guy shrugged. "Couple of Stealths, an

SR-71 Blackbird, a few AWACS birds. Apart from that, it's

mainly used as a biological facility."

"What about the other complex then? Area 8?"

The Air Force man's eyes narrowed. "That's another

story altogether."

"Hey. This is need-to-know. Believe me, I really need to

know."

The Air Force man hesitated for a moment.

Then he said, "Area 8 contains two working prototypes

of the X-38 space shuttle. It's a satellite killer--a smaller,

sleeker version of the standard shuttle that gets launched off

the back of a high-flying 747."

"A satellite killer?"

"Carries special zero-gravity AMRAAM missiles on its

wings. It's designed for a quick launch and short target

oriented missions: flying up into a low-earth orbit, knocking

out enemy spy satellites or space stations, then coming

home."

"How many people can it hold?" Fairfax asked.

The Air Force man frowned. "Three command crew.

Maybe ten or twelve in the weapons hold, at the very most.

Why?"

Now Fairfax was thinking fast.

"Oh, no way ..." he breathed. "No way!"

He lunged for a nearby printout.

It was the printout of the last message he had decoded,

the same one he had used to reveal the men of Echo Unit as

traitors. It read:

3J11L Q4;04;4? satellite intercept

VOICE 1: WU and LI have arrived back at Area 7 with the virus.

Your men are with them. All the money has been

area 7

accounted for. Names of my men who will need to

be extracted: BENNETT, CALVERT, COLEMAN, DAYTON,

FROMMER, GRAYSON, LITTLETON, MESSICK, OLIVER

and myself.

Fairfax read the line: "Names of my men who will need

to be extracted."

"Extracted ..." he said aloud.

"What are you thinking?" the Air Force liaison man

asked.

Fairfax was in a world of his own now. He saw it

clearly.

"If you wanted to get a top-secret vaccine out of a top

secret Air Force base in the middle of the U.S. desert, how

would you do it? You couldn't fly it out, because the distance

is too far. You'd be shot down before you even made it

to California. Same for an overland extraction. You'd never

make it to the border before we caught you. By sea? Same

problem. But these Chinese bastards have figured it out."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't get something out of America by going

north, south, east or west," Fairfax said. "You get it out by

going up. Into space."

schofield looked at his watch.

9:47 a.m.

Thirteen minutes to get the Football to the President.

He and Book II had been flying for several minutes

now, soaring over the desert landscape in their gaudy lime

green biplane at a swift 190 miles an hour.

In the distance ahead of them--rising up out of the flat

desert plain--they could just make out the low mountain, the

runway, and the small cluster of buildings that was Area 7.

Immediately after they had taken off, Schofield had

taken the opportunity to open the silver Samsonite container

that he had found on the lake floor.

Inside it, he saw twelve shiny glass ampules, sitting in

foam-lined pockets. Each tiny glass bulb was filled with a

strange blue liquid. A white stick-on label on each ampule

read:

I.V. VACCINATION AMPULE

Measured dose: 55 ml

Tested against SV strain V.9.1

Certified: 3/7 05:24:33

Schofield's eyes widened.

It was a field vaccination kit--measured doses of the

vaccine that Kevin's genetically constructed blood had provided,

doses that could be administered by syringe. And created

only this morning.

It was Gunther Botha's masterwork.

The antidote to the latest strain of the Sinovirus.

area 7 317

Schofield stuffed six of the little glass ampules into the

thigh pocket of his 7th Squadron fatigues. They might come

in handy later.

He tapped Book II on the shoulder, handed him the

other six. "Just in case you catch a cold."

Still sitting in the forward seat of the biplane, for the

whole trip thus far Book II had been staring silently forward.

He took the ampules Schofield offered him, pocketed

them in his stolen 7th Squadron uniform. Then he just resumed

his brooding forward gaze.

"Why don't you like me?" Schofield asked suddenly,

speaking into his helmet mike.

Book II's head cocked to the side.

A moment later, the young sergeant's voice came

through Schofield's helmet. "There's something I've been

wanting to ask you for a long time, Captain." His voice was

low, cold.

"What's that?"

"My father was on that mission to Antarctica with you.

But he never came back. How did he die?"

Schofield fell silent.

Book II's father--Buck Riley Sr., the original "Book"

Riley--had died a horrific death during that terrible mission

to Wilkes Ice Station. A murderous British SAS commander

named Trevor Barnaby had fed him, live, to a pool of ferocious

killer whales.

"He was captured by the enemy. And they killed him."

"How?"

"You don't want to know."

"How?"

Schofield shut his eyes. "They hung him upside-down

over a pool of killer whales and lowered him in."

"The Marine Corps never tells you how," Book II said

softly, his voice tinny over the radio. "They just send you a

letter, telling you what a patriot your dad was, and informing

you that he was killed in action. Do you know, Captain, what

happened to my family after my father died?"

Schofield bit his lip. "No. I don't."

Matthew Reilly

"My mother used to live on the base at Camp Lejeune,

North Carolina. I was in basic training at Parris Island. You know what happens to a Marine's wife when her husband is

killed in action, Captain?"

Schofield knew. But he said nothing.

"She gets moved off the base. Seems the wives of living

soldiers don't like the presence of newly single widows on

the base--widows who might go stealing their husbands.

"So my mother, after losing her husband, got moved out

of her home. She tried to start over, tried to be strong, but it

didn't work. Three months after she was moved off the base,

they found her in the bathroom of her new shoebox apartment.

She'd taken a whole bottle of sleeping pills."

Book II turned in his seat, looked Schofield straight in

the eye.

"That's why I was asking you about using risky strategies

before. This isn't a game, you know. When someone

dies, there are consequences. My father is dead, and my

mother killed herself because she couldn't live without him.

I just wanted to make sure my father didn't die because of

some high-risk tactical maneuver of yours."

Schofield was silent.

He'd never really known Book II's mother.

Book Sr. hadn't really socialized with his fellow

Marines, preferring to spend his downtime with his family.

Sure, Schofield had met Paula Riley at the odd lunch or dinner,

but he'd never really gotten to know her. He'd heard

about her death--and at the time he'd wished that he'd done

more to help her.

"Your father was the bravest man I have ever known,"

Schofield said. "He died saving another person's life. A little

girl fell out of a hovercraft and he dived out after her,