Exit 9 (A Project Eden Thriller) Read online

  Gagnon took one last glimpse of the wreckage, and turned the plane back toward the small village where they were staying. Once the course was set, he picked up the satellite radio and called the Ranch.

  “Bravo Four,” a voice at the Ranch answered.

  “This is Brown,” Gagnon said.

  “Go ahead, Brown.”

  “Blair House,” he said, using the active code.

  “Wanda June.”

  Satisfied he was indeed speaking with the Ranch, Gagnon said, “Wreckage found. No apparent survivors.”

  Momentary silence on the other end. “Please confirm. No apparent survivors.”

  “Roger, Bravo Four. No survivors.”

  “Any idea what happened?”

  “Rough seas, maybe. A storm. It’s pretty rough out there. I’d say this is an unfortunate accident.”

  Another pause. “Confirming.”

  “Roger, Bravo Four. That’s what it is.”

  “Roger, Brown. Get some rest. Will touch base in the morning with new assignment.”

  “Will do, Bravo Four. Out.”

  __________

  “THEY’RE LEAVING,” THE senior man said into the encrypted radio.

  “You think they will be back?” Major Ross asked. He’d been patched in from Bluebird.

  “No, sir. They’re returning to the outpost, then will be getting a new assignment in the morning. I think it worked.”

  “Good. Return to base.”

  __________

  PAX KNOCKED ON the door of Matt’s office.

  “Come in,” Matt called out.

  Upon entering, Pax found Rachel and Matt in the more casual sitting area in the front end of the room. “Sorry, but you wanted to see this.”

  “Brown team found something?” Rachel asked.

  Pax nodded grimly. “Yeah, but there’s more.”

  He handed over a transcript of the conversation that had just come in. Rachel and Matt read it at the same time. Their first reaction was to the news that by all appearances, yellow team was dead. Their second was to the hidden message contained within brown team’s words.

  “‘An unfortunate accident,’” Rachel read. She looked up. “That means…”

  “…yellow team found Bluebird,” her brother finished.

  6

  THE DIRECTOR OF Preparation tapped the lever another half inch toward Hot. Within a second, steam began to rise from the water washing over him. While Bluebird was always kept at a warm, comfortable level, the frigid view outside often made him feel like he was freezing. Other than avoiding the windows, the best remedy was always a hot shower. He took at least two a day, sometimes three. Though the official allotment was one, that didn’t apply to him—like most of the other facility rules.

  He was just starting to feel thawed out when the soft bong of his doorbell sounded in the other room. There was a time when he could have afforded to ignore it, but not now, not when they were this close to activation.

  He turned off the water, and stuck his head out of the narrow stall. “One moment!”

  He toweled off quickly, pulled on his slacks and shirt, then flipped on the monitor next to the door. His visitor was Carl Herlin, one of his aides.

  The DOP opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Major Ross wanted me to tell you they have the information, and that he would be in the map room if you’re looking for him.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

  He shut the door without waiting for a response, finished getting dressed, and headed out.

  Technically, the map room was called Conference Room B. It received its unofficial name from the table that dominated the space. Using touch controls on either side, a map of any location on the planet in any format could be projected onto the tabletop from underneath. With another selection of the controls, the user could draw whatever they wanted on top of the map—lines, words, circles—and the resulting image could be saved and printed out.

  Ross was leaning over the table when the DOP stepped inside. He instantly straightened up.

  “Good evening, Director.”

  The DOP walked up to the table. “I hear you have some news.”

  “We think we’ve been able to pinpoint Bravo Four’s location, and by the size of it, I would guess that it’s their main headquarters. May I show you?”

  The DOP dipped his head, and Ross touched the controls. On the table, a map of an area that encompassed parts of Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado appeared.

  “Their return messages have been coming from here.” Ross touched a button, and a red circle appeared in the western portion of Montana, less than a hundred miles from the Canadian border.

  Ross zoomed in on the map, then switched to a satellite view. The circle was in a wide valley with mountains blocking off the western end, and rolling hills to the north and south. Trees and meadows took turns filling the valley, but from the height the image was taken, the DOP could see no roads.

  Ross removed the dot and pushed in again, focusing on an area near the center. Suddenly, several things came into view at once. There were roads, though none appeared paved. The more interesting item, though, was the large building right in the middle of where the dot had been.

  The magnification increased one more level.

  Large was not right, the DOP realized. Huge was more accurate. This was no mountain mansion. This would have been a big building in any city in the state. And yet, the only way to get there was by dirt road.

  “Look at this,” Ross said.

  He was pointing at a spot that had to be a mile or two from the building. At first, the DOP didn’t see anything important about it, but when Ross moved his finger back and forth in a line, it became clear.

  A runway. Either covered with grass or painted to look that way.

  Was this really it? Had they found it?

  If so, he and the other Directors were going to be very, very happy.

  It was, he knew, not a discovery that was necessary for their success. The people who lived there would all die just as quickly as those on the rest of the planet once KV-27a was released. If he could help it, though, that wasn’t the kind of death he wanted for them. He wanted a more direct hand in what they would suffer. He wanted them to scream in pain, then beg and plead for their lives. These were the gnats who had been dogging Project Eden for years, never enough to throw things off, but causing annoyances just the same.

  Definitely unnecessary, but wholly satisfying.

  “Excellent work,” he said. “Come up with a plan on how we might best deal with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  7

  I.D. MINUS 13 DAYS

  ALGONA, IOWA

  THE BALL FLEW past the boy’s glove, hit the ground, and rolled across the sidewalk into the grass-lined drainage ditch that ran along the road.

  “Should have dived for it,” his father said.

  The boy retrieved it, and threw it back. It hit his dad’s glove with a wet slap. Muddy water sprayed out from the impact, hitting his father on the cheek.

  “Sorry, Dad,” the son said, laughing.

  “I’ll bet you are.”

  Across the street, their neighbor Charlie Newcomb had just come out of his house. “Your boy’s got quite a spitball, Adam.”

  “He does, doesn’t he?” the boy’s father replied as he tossed the ball back to his son.

  “Hear we might be getting some snow this weekend,” Charlie called out. “You guys need anything, you just let us know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Charlie gave him a wave, then got into his car.

  “Snow. That’ll be cool,” the boy said.

  His dad smiled knowingly. “Tell me what you think in a couple months.”

  They had moved to Algona, Iowa, just before the school year began. The man had taken a job teaching math and P.E. at Algona High School. In addition to his son, he also had a daughter, currently inside the house an
d, no doubt, lost in a book. She’d become quite a reader in the last several months, exhibiting a growing interest in vampires and ghosts and worlds that existed beyond the one she lived in. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. He knew a lot of other girls liked the same thing, but most of them hadn’t lost their mother recently or had their lives completely upended. His fear was that the books were keeping her from facing reality and accepting it, but he couldn’t bring himself to question her on it. Maybe escaping reality for a thirteen-year-old wasn’t a bad thing.

  As far as the people in town knew, Adam Cooper was a widower who’d moved with his family to Algona from Florida. “Too many memories back there,” he’d say when asked, though he seldom was. The people of Algona were too polite to push the issue.

  The boy, known to his classmates as Scott, had made the adjustment quickly. He was doing well in school and had lots of friends. Mary, as the man’s daughter was called, was not faring as well. Her grades were fine, but she was withdrawn socially. There were a few girls she’d hang out with now and then, but for the most part, when she wasn’t in school, she was in her room reading.

  At some point, he would have to do something about it. Just…not yet.

  After they threw the ball around for a bit more, the father said, “Getting a little too cold for me, buddy. How about some lunch?”

  The boy nodded. “Grilled cheese?”

  “If that’s what you want. Last one in has to cook.”

  They raced to the front door, the boy getting there a split second before his dad did.

  “You’re it,” the boy declared.

  “Two out of three?”

  “No way.”

  They removed their shoes in the mudroom, and entered the toasty confines of their small house.

  “Sweetie,” the man said, raising his voice so his daughter could hear him. “I’m making grilled cheese. You want one?”

  No answer.

  “Honey, grilled cheese?”

  Still nothing.

  He looked at his son. “Go see if your sister wants one.”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “She’s just going to yell at me.”

  “She’s not.”

  “She is.”

  “Just go ask her.”

  The man walked into the kitchen, washed his hands, and pulled out the fixings for lunch. As the cast-iron skillet warmed on the grill, he began buttering the bread. He was only halfway through the second slice when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it!” his son called out.

  By the time the man had wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked into the living room, his son had the door open.

  “Is your dad home?” a male voice asked from the porch.

  “Just a second.” The boy turned toward the kitchen, then stopped when he saw his father approaching. “He wants to talk to you, Dad.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  As he reached the door, he gave his son’s hair a tousle and looked outside.

  There were two men on the porch. He had never seen one of them before, but the other he had—once, on the night he’d escaped certain death from a cell in the Mojave Desert.

  His one-time rescuer nodded in mutual recognition. “Afternoon, Captain Ash.”

  __________

  DANIEL ASH, ALIAS Adam Cooper, let the men wait in his living room while he finished making lunch for his children.

  Once the sandwiches were ready, he gave one to his son, Brandon, and poured him a glass of milk. “Treat today. You can eat it in my room and watch TV.”

  “You just don’t want me to hear what you’re going to talk about,” Brandon said.

  “Smart boy. Now go, or I won’t even let you turn the TV on.”

  He carried the other sandwich into Josie’s room, and set them on her nightstand.

  Without looking up from her book, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

  “No crumbs in the bed, okay?”

  “Ugh. Disgusting.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was referring to what she was reading or the idea of crumbs in her bed. “You want something to drink?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll come get your plate in a bit.”

  Back in the living room, he motioned for the two men to follow him into the kitchen. It was farthest from the bedrooms, and provided the most privacy.

  “We’re sorry to bother you like this, Captain,” the one he knew said. “Pax sent us.”

  “You can call me Ash. I’m not in the army anymore.” Technically, that might not be true. If the army knew he was still alive, and not, as they believed, dead from an intentional car crash and subsequent fire in Nevada not long after the Sage Flu outbreak had passed, then he would probably still be considered part of the service. Long enough, at least, to be court-martialed and sentenced to death for what they erroneously believed to be his part in the spreading of the disease. “I don’t know your names, though.”

  The first man said, “I’m Tom. Tom Browne. I hope you understand why I couldn’t tell you that before.”

  Ash did, but said nothing.

  “Pat Solomon,” the other man told him.

  “All right, gentlemen, what is it you want?”

  Browne cleared his throat. “Matt and Pax would like you to come to the Ranch for a meeting.”

  “A meeting.”

  “Yes.”

  Ash looked from one man to the other. “What kind of meeting?”

  “I don’t know all the details. I just know it’s important.”

  “You don’t have any details? Nothing to convince me to come?”

  Browne hesitated, then said, “Pax said to tell you the depots have been filled.”

  The words hung in the air.

  The depots. These were buildings spread all around the world so that the Project would thrive while civilization collapsed around it. Ash had seen one of the facilities in person that previous summer, had been inside its then-empty storerooms.

  Probably a good thing it’s not full yet, Chloe White had said to him at the time. Humanity’s got a little more time until the plug gets pulled, I guess.

  If Browne wasn’t lying, time was about to run out.

  “Can I get either of you something to drink?” Ash asked. “Water, milk, a beer?”

  “We’re fine,” Browne said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Ash walked over to the refrigerator and opened the door.

  He had been dreading this moment, knowing someday it would come. It wasn’t so much that he realized because of the help he’d been given to save his children, he would eventually be asked to return the favor. What he dreaded was what it actually meant—that the Project was really going to try and restart humanity by culling it down to all but the necessary numbers needed to begin again. It was a potential reality he couldn’t justify no matter how many ways he thought about it. And it certainly wasn’t a reality he ever wanted his children to see. Brandon and Josie had inherited Ash’s immunity to KV-27a. The flu would never kill them, only all their friends and neighbors. His kids had already lost their mother. He knew he would do whatever he could so that his children wouldn’t lose everyone else, too.

  As much as he wanted to grab one of the beers, he picked up a bottle of water instead and cracked it open.

  “When do they want me?”

  “Now.”

  There was a noise behind them. A footstep.

  “When do they want you where?” Josie asked. She stood into the kitchen doorway, staring at her father.

  Ash opened his mouth, intending to tell her to go back to her room, but he caught himself at the last second. “They want me to go back to the Ranch for a meeting.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  “I don’t know the specifics.”

  “But you have an idea, right?”

  “I can guess, but it would only be that.”

  “What about Brandon and me?”

  “If I go to the Ranch, you’re coming with me
.” He didn’t look at the two men to see what their reaction might be. It was a nonnegotiable point.

  “Just a meeting and then we come back?”

  His first instinct was to just say, “Yes,” but Josie wasn’t a child anymore. Neither, for that matter, was Brandon. Not after what they had been through. So he told the truth. “I don’t know.”

  A hint of worry entered her eyes. “This is about what you told us might happen, isn’t it? About the flu? And the other people?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She fell silent.

  “Should we go?” Ash asked her.

  She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “Do we have a choice?”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  __________

  Calls were made and explanations were given. An ill father in New York. An unexpected trip so that Adam Cooper’s children could see their grandfather for the last time. He’d call when he had a better idea of their return, and was told there was no rush. Family always came first.

  Two hours later, the Ash family was eighty miles away at a small regional airport. There, they boarded the Ranch’s private jet for the flight west.

  As they lifted off, Ash glanced out the window and couldn’t help but think that he and his kids would never be back there again.

  8

  THE FIRST SIGN of trouble was what appeared to be a faulty sensor along the southern portion of the security fence. The fence was a quarter of a mile away from the house simply known as the Bluff, the affected area reachable only by foot.

  A squad of three men was dispatched to make sure it wasn’t something more serious, and to fix the problem if possible.

  The Bluff was on the western side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California, surrounded by pine trees and magnificent vistas. There were times during the summer when the nearby road was almost bumper-to-bumper with people from the lowlands out for an afternoon of communing with nature. Now, with the official start of winter quickly approaching, there were days when fewer than a dozen cars would drive by.