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Somewhere in Russia
“Sir?” The man steps into the wood-paneled room with trepidation. Tchaikovsky pours from speakers built into the walls, turned to a high enough volume that the man cannot be heard. He clears his throat and speaks again, trying to attract the attention of the man in the leather chair near the side of the room.
“Sir? I have news.” The man in the leather chair takes in a mouthful of smoke, letting it swirl against his cheeks and tongue before expelling it in a gentle plume.
“What is it?” The man in the leather chair doesn’t bother turning or looking up as he asks the question. His attention is divided equally between his cigar and the projected image of a roaring fire on a television screen in front of him. The screen is a poor substitute for the real thing but so far beneath the earth there is little chance of seeing a proper fire in a fireplace.
“The technicians found something in the code of the virus, sir. A communications protocol. They say that the virus can receive commands, potentially even a shutdown command.”
The Russian president has his cigar halfway back to his mouth when his body freezes in place. A slight trail of smoke rises from the end of the cigar, tracing a lazy path to the ceiling where a smoke detector has been conveniently disconnected. “Communications protocol? How did they discover this?”
“They outfitted a device to log what happened to it as the virus took control, then they infected the device. Near the end, when the infection process was completing, there was a block of data that quite clearly checked for a remote command input.”
“Did they try giving it a command?”
“It’s… it’s encrypted, sir. Impossible to crack. Even if we still had access to the Galileo project we still wouldn’t be able to do it.”
While most would be deterred by the disappointing news, the Russian president sees the new information as an opportunity in spite of the obstacles still in the way. He rolls his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, pondering the discovery in silence for a few moments before responding. “Do they still believe the software to originate from the NSA?”
“That is who developed this iteration of it, yes. It shares traits from numerous other projects but the fingerprints of that agency are all over it.”
“Then it stands to reason that the NSA would have the means to interface with the virus. They would have the key required, yes?”
“Undoubtedly. Which begs the question of why they wouldn’t shut it down themselves.”
“They are a bureaucracy a kilometer thick. I can think of a dozen reasons why they would have neglected to shut down the virus after it escaped into the wild. All of them are equally plausible.” The president sighs and looks at his cigar. The embers in the end have gone out, leaving the stick of tobacco to grow cold. He places it down on a table next to his chair and stands up. “Follow me.” The younger officer dutifully follows the president, scribbling everything his commander asks and tells him into a small notebook.
“How many aircraft are operational that can reach the eastern coast of the United States?”
“One… no, two, perhaps. One undoubtedly. I am not sure about the second.”
“One is all we’ll need. Which is it?”
“The Tupolev. Stationed two hundred miles away from us. With external tanks it can make the journey, but it will not be able to return.”
“It won’t have to. Which special forces teams do we have close to the air base where it’s stationed?”
“That I do not know, sir.”
“Find out. I want a team—a small team, two at most who will protect two technicians—on the aircraft within the next forty-eight hours. They will insert into American airspace above Washington, DC and parachute in. Once there they will proceed to the NSA headquarters and extract the necessary information required to communicate with the virus. They are authorized to use any means necessary to secure and extract the information—I want this point made clear to the guards especially.
“Once the information is secure, they will transmit it to us via satellite and then prepare for a long-term stay in hostile territory.” The president glances at the young man, watching the officer’s face to see just how shaken he has become.
To his credit the officer holds himself together, though he is having difficulties processing what he is hearing. “Sir… forgive me, but… you intend to send a four-man team to infiltrate the headquarters of one of the premiere intelligence agencies in the United States? And not even four men if two of them are technicians.” The officer shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t see how this could possibly succeed.”
“Did you know that the Americans have all but abandoned their capitol? There are some forces still in place, but they are guarding the symbolic locations. The other locations, including the NSA, have been left unguarded. We assume they purged the data from those locations but they will not have purged it all. There will be information left about this virus. The team will find that information and deliver it back to us.” The president’s lips draw tight into a thin, cold smile. “And once we are free of this weapon we will be happy to help others regain their freedom as well. For a price, of course.”
Chapter 8
Kansas City, Missouri
When Rick first heard the ominous sounds of glass breaking and metal falling he half-expected the building to cave in on top of them. The gunfire coming from the front of the store, the panicked screams from Jane as she ran for cover and the shouting from Dr. Evans as he tried to get everyone back together were not at all what he had anticipated hearing and experiencing. Bullets whizzed past, snapping as they hit metal shelving and ricocheted off of the polished concrete floor. Whoever was firing on them had a miserable aim and Rick wondered how they could miss every single shot on three targets in the relative open in broad daylight.
“Back here, hurry!” Dr. Evans waved at Jane and Rick from an aisle in front of the store’s empty pharmacy department. They ran to him, finding him holding open a door into the employees-only area as he tried to maneuver their cart full of consolidated supplies through the narrow opening.
Rick pushed Jane ahead while he hung back, drawing his pistol and racking the slide in one smooth motion. He listened as the sounds of gunfire stopped and were replaced by the shouts of a group of people at least five strong. Looking around at the layout of the back of the pharmacy, Frank decided that retreat wasn’t their best option.
“Hey! Hold up back there.” Rick whispered to Jane and Dr. Evans as the two tried to push the cart past piles of boxes in the hall.
