Silent Assassin(67)

He’d done it. He was saved. “I did it!” He laughed joyously.

“Get out of there, Cobra!” said Bloch.

“Hold on!” said Shepard. “The oxygen levels in those tunnels are going to be critically low. Really, it’s going to be pretty much all carbon dioxide. You won’t be able to breathe until you get back up.”

Morgan took a few deep breaths, then plunged through the gaping hole into the upper level. His vision was a blur, and he noticed that there was thick smoke pervading the entire area. Holding his breath, he ran, remembering the layout from when he’d come in. He ran down the corridor, each step becoming progressively harder, his mind going faint, his limbs burning.

Finally, he reached the outer door, which had been blown open. As he ascended the stairs, he felt the cool night air and took a deep breath. It smelled so sweet, so fresh. He couldn’t get enough of breathing, all of a sudden.

He ran outside, then flopped onto the grass on his back and began to laugh maniacally, completely oblivious of anything else. His eyes stared straight ahead at the open sky. He had never been so happy to see the stars.





CHAPTER 34


Boston, January 30





“How many hostiles were present at the Montauk facility?” asked the disembodied voice coming from the loudspeakers mounted on the upper corners of the room. The voice had the familiar metallic distortion that disguised the voice of the interrogator, who as usual remained behind mirrored glass while Morgan spoke to a video camera.

“Six,” said Morgan. “Two outside, four inside.”

“What is the status of each of these hostiles?”

The Zeta team had remained on site until the cleaners arrived. There had been a dozen men who arrived in a van and a small truck. Six had been in biohazard suits and immediately filed into the building. Four had worked on securing the outside, while two had ushered the team’s survivors into the truck. The inside had been white and metal and entirely antiseptic—probably literally, Morgan thought. They’d sat down on metal benches along the sides and strapped in. Morgan had felt the pressure change in his ears when the doors closed. Negative pressure, he’d realized. If there were a breach, air would move inward, not out. If anything, the cleaners were serious about containment.

“All dead but one,” Morgan told the voice. “Novokoff.”

Morgan had never seen the cleaners in person before. “Confirm that this is Nikolai Novokoff, known Russian arms dealer.”

“Confirmed,” said Morgan.

They’d driven for a few hours. The back of the truck had had no windows, so it had been impossible to tell where they were going. As they moved, one of the cleaners had taken blood samples from each of the team members, neatly labeling each and storing them in a cooler.

“Were there any friendly casualties?” asked the voice.

“One. Code Name Rogue.”

The team had been separated once they had reached a facility located God knew where. There, Morgan spent hours in decontamination, being scrubbed head to toe and taking enough medication to stave off an epidemic. Then he’d been taken back to Zeta headquarters, blindfolded to keep the location of the facility secret. He was now being debriefed.

“Did you witness his death?” asked the voice.

“I saw it,” said Morgan.

“What was he doing?” asked the voice.

“He was providing cover fire for me.”

“Did you observe any breach of protocol or other factor that may have precipitated his death?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you observe any breach of protocol or other factor that may have precipitated his death?” the voice insisted.

“Yeah, I observed something,” said Morgan, getting up and facing the glass. “He was sent down into a goddamn deathtrap! Do you think that might have precipitated his death? Huh? Why don’t you answer a question for a change?”

“Did you observe any breach of protocol or other factor that may have precipitated his death?”

“What was that down there? Who runs the facility? Who the hell are you?”

“Did you observe any breach—”

“I goddamn heard you,” said Morgan, sinking back down onto his chair. “No. There was nothing. He was shot in the line of duty, following orders and covering my ass. There. You happy?”

There was a pause, and then the voice continued, “Did you or any other friendly sustain injuries during the occurrence?”





CHAPTER 35


Turkish countryside, January 30





Dr. Gerhard Vogt looked up nervously from the document he was studying, an analysis of the proteins present in a sample of the organism he was to work with. It was impossible to work like this, under all this pressure. But he had to. He looked nervously at the two young lab assistants, just as nervous as he was. He had to.