The Genesis Plague (2010)

disappeared around a wall.
    ‘Looks like someone’s in trouble,’ Annie said. Brooke grinned.
    ‘Sorry, Jason,’ Flaherty said into the phone. ‘What’s up?’
    Flaherty listened intently as Jason got right to the point and told him about encrypted calls Colonel Crawford had been exchanging with someone inside an evangelical church in Las Vegas. The background check Mack had run through the NSA database indicated that the church’s leader, Randall Stokes, was a former Force Recon Special Ops commando who’d served time with Crawford in Beirut, Kuwait, Afghanistan and Iraq.
    Jason said, ‘I’m guessing he’s somehow involved in what’s happening over here in Iraq. Stokes might even have something to do with the hit order on Brooke Thompson. I already spoke to Lillian, explained the situation.’
    ‘I can see that.’
    ‘She told me you wrecked your car and caused quite a commotion on the Mass Pike. That right?’
    Flaherty sighed. ‘Affirmative. It was bit messy. I did manage to lose the assassin, though - permanently.’
    ‘Nice work,’ Jason said, impressed. ‘One other thing … I asked Lillian to check out that USAMRIID lead. She’s got people at Fort Detrick sifting the archives for anything sent in from Iraq back in 2003. If any biological tests were performed, we should have confirmation within a couple hours. In the meantime, I need you to talk to Stokes … in person. Lillian’s already made arrangements to get you to Vegas.’
    No wonder the Chief was anxious to chat. A wrecked car, a major pile-up on the interstate, a thwarted assassination attempt and a last-minute jaunt to Vegas? That was a lot to take in one day. ‘Vegas? When?’
    Brooke’s ears perked up. ‘Vegas?’ she muttered.
    ‘You’ll be leaving immediately. Lillian’s preparing a file for you with everything we know about Stokes. Plenty of juicy reading. So get to Logan ASAP and you can study up on him on your way out there. I don’t think I need to tell you that there’s a lot riding on this, Tommy.’
    ‘You can count on me.’
    ‘I knew I could. I’ll be in touch,’ Jason said, then ended the call.

34
IRAQ
    ‘For Christ’s sake, I could have invaded North Korea by now,’ Crawford said, glowering. ‘Are you ready yet?’ His eyes traced the fibre-optic cable from the PackBot’s rear to a large spool, which in turn patched into a suitcase-sized remote command unit, painted in desert camouflage. The unit’s unhinged hardshell cover was inset with a seventeen-inch LCD viewing screen; its base hosted a computer hard drive, keyboard and toggle controls. This space-age gadgetry was lost on Crawford. Results were the only thing he controlled. And it was high time to see some progress.
    ‘Almost there, sir,’ replied the bot’s technician - an attractive 28-year-old female with the sharp edges of a pageboy haircut sticking out below her helmet. Being a combat engineer, she was an expert with explosives, and was accustomed to using the bot to disarm or detonate roadside bombs and mines. But this was the first time she’d employed the gas-canister-firing apparatus, and she didn’t like the fact that Crawford was rushing things. ‘Just running the final diagnostics on the software utilities …’ She worked the keyboard and controls until the display synched with the bot’s onboard cameras. The live images panelled onscreen. She held her breath as the interface for the rotary firing mechanism came online. When no errors came back, she exhaled.
    Below the mountain, Crawford surveyed the tight perimeter his marines had formed around the encampment. Everyone was on high alert after Sergeant Yaeger purported to spot an Arab watcher lurking in the high ground. Inside the MRAP, he had a pair of marines monitoring the surrounding hillsides and mountains with infrared scanners. For good measure, the airwaves were also being closely monitored for enemy chatter. An ambush could turn this whole operation into an even bigger quagmire, thought Crawford. Plus, if there were an enemy in wait, the darkness would prove a huge tactical advantage for them.
    Crawford’s gaze shifted to Yaeger and his motley unit members, who were huddled around the bot’s technician watching the viewing screen. Cleverly dressed like nomadic desert dwellers, they had certainly fooled the enemy. But the fact that they had no affinity to a ‘uniform’ was deeply unsettling for Crawford. Damn chameleons, he swore inwardly.
    Crawford’s