Joe Ledger: Code Zero Part 35

"Copy that."

"Cowboy-we are Echo plus three. Deacon made the call, but they're locked and loaded."

"The three we talked about?"

"Affirmative," she said. "See you on the ground."

Top and Bunny had listened in and were already setting up the fast-ropes for our drop to the street. I explained the situation to the pilot and then rejoined my guys.

"Duncan, Noah, and Montana?" asked Bunny.

"Yup."

Of all the candidates we'd tested, three were solid standouts. A SEAL, a Boston brawler turned ATF agent, and an FBI agent who looked like a country cowgirl but who was one of the most vicious unarmed combat fighters I've ever met. I had good feelings about them, both in combat ability and in the likelihood they would fit into Echo Team. It remained to be seen if it was their bad luck they joined the DMS today, or my good luck that they were adding useful skills to my team.

I spotted Lydia standing with the rest of Echo Team. They were between two white-and-blue NYPD SWAT trucks parked crookedly by the subway entrance. A dozen men and women in body armor and helmets stood looking up at us. Even from that distance I could feel their anger and tension. Their friends and colleagues were down in the tunnel and they felt it was up to them to go charging to the rescue.

Bunny was next to me and must have been reading my thoughts. "We going to have trouble keeping them off the dance floor, Boss?"

"Let's hope not."

We dropped fast-ropes toward the street, clipped on, and flung ourselves into the air. Normally any kind of jump scares the s.h.i.t out of me. I am not a heights person. Today I had other things to be afraid of. I plunged toward the ground, one gloved hand on the rope, the other behind my back to work the brake. We touched down one, two, three, unclipped, and saw the ropes rise like magic snakes as the Black Hawk climbed away, dragging its wind and noise with it. We hurried over to meet Lydia and the team. Sam nodded to us. The newbies did, too, but they were far more wary. Ivan wasn't there.

"Where's h.e.l.lboy?" I asked.

"Down on the platform with the first responders, a pair of transit cops, Faustino and Dawes," said Lydia. "The station's been cleared. We have National Guard units on their way, ETA eleven minutes. SWAT is positioned at the stations down the line, but they've been told to stay at street level. Deacon ordered that no one goes down there but us."

We were all dressed in Saratoga Hammer suits and helmets, and under the August heat it was boiling hot. I caught a brief exchange of micronods between Bunny and Lydia. It was an open secret that they were a couple, but they were professional enough to keep it to themselves. They didn't let it spill over into the job.

"What do we know about the SWAT team that went in?" Bunny asked.

Lydia shook her head. "No contact with them. Faustino said she heard gunfire. Mira, jefe," she added, "the transit cops said that their radios didn't work in the tunnel. From what she described, it sounds like a jammer. Said there were cameras down there, too, mounted on some of the pillars."

"Ain't that interesting as s.h.i.t," mused Top.

"Whatever it is," I said, "we'll figure it out on the fly."

Without another word we then ran down the stairs into the subway.

Down into h.e.l.l.

Chapter Fifty-four.

Fulton Street Line Near Euclid Avenue Station Brooklyn, New York Sunday, August 31, 1:56 p.m.

Officer Faustino stared at us with big eyes in a white face. She held her Glock in one hand, the barrel pointed to the ground. Her partner, Dawes, stood nearby, looking equally scared and confused.

"Officers," I said, pulling down the lower half of my balaclava as I stepped onto the platform. Sweat ran down my face. "I'm Captain Ledger, Homeland Security."

A lie, but a useful one.

Beyond the cops I saw Ivan squatting on the edge of the platform, pointing a combat shotgun into shadows. The rest of Echo swarmed past me, moving quickly to double-check that the station was secure.

"C-Captain," said Faustino, tripping over it a bit. "What's happening?"

Instead of answering, I said, "Holster your weapons, officers. Do it now, please."

They did so, but reluctantly. The two cops looked to be about one short step away from losing their s.h.i.t. The male cop maybe more so. I could sympathize. Control is not a constant or a given, even if you have a badge pinned to your chest.

However, Faustino forced herself to straighten and chased the tremolo out of her voice as she asked, "How can we help?"

A good cop. I gave her a smile.

"We can't let anyone down those stairs," I said, "and we sure as h.e.l.l can't let anyone go up. Not unless you get an all-clear directly from me or my superiors. Can I trust you and your partner to hold this line?"

She forced herself to straighten. "Yes, sir. We got it."

I kept eye contact for a few seconds longer, then spun away to join my team. This was a "life sucks" moment for everyone. I dearly hoped this would be the worst moment of all of our days.

At the edge of the tracks I hunkered down next to Ivan, who was studying the tunnel through a night-vision scope.

"What are you seeing?"

"Seeing nothing, boss," he said, quietly, not looking at me. "Hearing some weird s.h.i.t, though, and its making my b.a.l.l.s want to shrivel up and hide."

I held my hand up for silence and bent my ear toward the tunnel entrance. I didn't hear anything. Until I did. It was soft, distant, like a breeze blowing through a cracked window on a stormy night.

"Those are human voices," said Sam quietly. Lydia and the others cl.u.s.tered around us and they listened, too. They all heard it. Some sooner, others after a few seconds, but they all heard it.

The moans. Plaintive and hungry.

"f.u.c.k me," whispered Bunny.

"Okay," I said as I went over the edge and down onto the tracks, "form on me." We moved quickly and quietly into the tunnel, but a hundred feet in I stopped and turned to the others. "Listen up," I said, facing the newbies, "there wasn't time before and I didn't want to say this in front of those cops, but here's the deal. This is the point where I'm supposed to make a speech to the new recruits. But I don't like speeches and we don't have time, so this will be short and sweet. You three are jumping in ankle-deep s.h.i.t. You're doing that without being properly briefed or trained. All of that sucks, but there it is."

Three sets of eyes studied me. Everyone pulled down the lower shrouds of their balaclavas. Easier to have a conversation that way. Ivan stood apart and kept his shotgun pointed down the tunnel.

"We're heading into a situation that is probably going to be worse than anything you've dealt with," I continued. "Get used to that because this is what we do. The DMS usually doesn't put boots on the ground unless the s.h.i.t is already hitting the fan. Sucks but there it is." I cut a look at Lydia. "You tell them what's down here?"

She nodded. "As much as I could. Wasn't a lot of time."

To the newbies I said, "So you know. This is the real face of terror, kids. Not guys in turbans and not homegrown a.s.sholes with fertilizer bombs. As far as the DMS goes, it's mad science and monsters. You three good to go or do I send you back to babysit the cops? The appropriate response is 'hooah.'"

"Hooah," they said. If there wasn't overwhelming enthusiasm, who could blame them?

"Good. Combat call signs from here out."

"Sir," said the bullet-headed ATF shooter from Boston, Duncan MacDougall, "we don't have call signs. At least I don't."

The FBI woman, Montana Parker, shook her head. "Me neither."

"I do," said the Navy SEAL, a tall, ascetic man with a poet's face. "Been called Gandalf since OCS."

"Gandalf," I said, nailing it in place.

MacDougall, I remembered from the training sessions, had a tattoo of a snarling wolf on his left forearm. I pointed to him. "You're Bad Wolf."

He grinned.

"What about you?" I asked the FBI woman.

"Most of the guys I've ever worked with have called me 'that b.i.t.c.h,' but I don't think that's going to play."

Despite everything, I laughed.

Ivan shifted to stand next to her. He was six four and she came to well below his shoulder. Five three, tops. "How about Stretch?"

She gave him a smile that was softer and brighter than I would have expected. She hadn't smiled once during the training sessions, and I had the feeling that no one had ever accused her of having an overly sunny disposition. I'd been leaning toward a call sign of Genghis or Harpy, but I was glad I hadn't said anything.

"Welcome to the DMS, Stretch. I'm Cowboy." I pointed to Top and Bunny. "Sergeant Rock and Green Giant."

They'd already learned the call signs of the others. Lydia was Warbride, Ivan was h.e.l.lboy, and Sam was Ronin. And for a weird little moment I thought I heard other call signs whisper through the shadows. Names of comrades and friends long gone, and others who'd taken injuries that had pushed them off the firing line.

Dancing Duck.

Chatterbox.

Trickster.

Scream Queen.

So many others.

Too many others.

"Now pay close attention, and that goes for everyone," I said. "We're stepping into a world of wrong here, and if we come to a worst-case scenario then we are going to have to make hard choices without hesitation. The first two DMS teams who faced people infected with the seif-al-din were overwhelmed and destroyed because they hesitated. They let ordinary human feelings get them killed. We can't repeat that. The reason you three made the cut is because you never hesitated, not in any of the drills. Well, this isn't a drill. This is as real as it is ever going to get. We are going to face walkers. You understand what that means?"

MacDougall-Bad Wolf-said, "What Warbride told us seems unreal. This is World War Z stuff. I mean ... are we really talking zombies here? It's hard to believe."

"Tell you what, son," said Top in a slow drawl, "how about you cover yourself with steak sauce and walk point for us. Let's see if it feels like hazing when those f.u.c.kers tear a flank steak off your a.s.s."

The other members of Echo laughed. Not nice laughs.

Bad Wolf stiffened. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just..."

Top laid a hand on his shoulder. "Son, you're fishing for a context that just ain't there. We've all been through it. You'll get through it, too."

"It's what we do," murmured Lydia.

"She's right," said Bunny. "You know that line from Shakespeare? The one about there being more things in heaven and earth?"

"Sure," said Bad Wolf. "Hamlet."

"Pretty much our job description."

It chilled me to hear that line used now when I'd thought it less than two hours ago.

I said, "Look, guys, here's the bottom line. These walkers-they're not supernatural, nothing like that. This is a weaponized disease that turns innocent people into mindless killers. It isn't pretty and it isn't curable. Anyone who is infected is a time bomb because he or she can and will try to spread it. If we don't stop it, those movies-The Crazies, 28 Days Later-they won't be horror flicks, they'll be historical doc.u.ments. That is not a joke and it's not an exaggeration. Tell me you hear and understand."

The horror in their eyes was total now. But they said, "Hooah."

I pulled my balaclava into place. "Then let's go to work. Ronin, you have our backs. h.e.l.lboy, you're on point. n.o.body gets out of visual range. Be sharp and be professional."

We moved on. It did not help my peace of mind knowing that Euclid Avenue Station was the end of the line. I hope we didn't cut ourselves on that kind of irony.

Interlude Fourteen Four Seasons Hotel Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Two and a Half Years Ago "I think they know."

The vice president propped himself up on one elbow and placed his other hand on the naked back of Artemisia Bliss. She sat on the edge of the bed, a winegla.s.s cradled between her palms, head bowed, black hair falling to hide her face.

"Who knows?" he asked.

"Aunt Sallie," she said. "Church."

Collins snorted. "I doubt it. If they had a clue you'd be out on your a.s.s."

She shook her head. "I might be out on my a.s.s. I'm not sure."

"What makes you think that?"

"I tried to do a remote login to my workstation from my laptop and it said that the system was down for repairs."

"So?"

"The system is never down for repairs. There are too many redundancies."

He grunted and stroked her back, running his fingers slowly up and down the k.n.o.bs of her backbone, circling them one at a time as he went.

"What could they know?" he asked.

Bliss pushed her hair out of her face and took a sip of wine. "It's possible they may have discovered that I copied Hugo Vox's records."

"Vox? Not Paris Jakoby?"