Chapter 56
the Tunnels...
Ginge walked slowly, staring at his map in frustration .... He paused to scratch at his red beard. "Where the hell is this damned room?" he muttered, then glanced up to meet Yusuf's dark, anxious eyes. "Don't worry, chum." He tried to reassure the boy. "We'll find this place.... It might have medicine for Da'reek.... Make him well."
The Afghan youngster studied the other man's face, tried to read the truth behind his words. He spoke Pashtun... sort of... but his tone was often opposite for the meaning of the words. It was disconcerting for the boy. "This place...," he explained. "It speaks of evil.... The air smells of evil.... We should go.... Take Da'reek Raheen outside.... The cold... snow... those Arab bastards... are less danger than this place. Da'reek Raheen is a ruhani
.... When he stands on the hilltop, he touches God... and God touches him. This I have seen. He draws strength from that. We must take him outside and away.... Allah would want this."The Brit smiled. This was the longest speech he'd heard from their companion, and, in his gut, he agreed with every word. He was a soldier... not a 'boffin'.... What the fuck do we do if we find the nasties, he wondered uneasily. If we get this wrong, not only are we buggered... so's the whole bloody world.
"Come on...." He ruffled the young man's black hair. "Let's try down here."
Yusuf scowled, combed his fingers through his hair to straighten it, and waited while the soldier pushed through a set of double doors.
Ginge flipped a switch beside the door. They heard a hum, then a crackle of electricity. At last the lights flickered on.
"Holy shit!" the Ginge gasped.
Yusuf stepped forward to look into the dimly lit room. Even with his limited knowledge, his knees weakened at the sight.
Before them lay a vast cavern... so vast that its walls could not be seen. Racks, much like wine racks, stretched out before them... row upon row. Each slot cradled a single, metal canister about the size of a small artillery shell. Ginge tried to count the number of canisters in the rack before them... fifteen up... forty-five across... six-hundred-and-seventy-five canisters in that one rack.
Ginge looked to the left and right, counting rows until they vanished into darkness. He looked down the row before them and counted racks for as far as he could see. He multiplied, then whistled at the number. He then stepped up to the rack before him, gently turned one of the canisters, and read the black Cyrillic letters. "The Soviet version of VX," he mumbled to himself. He walked down, to a row twenty feet away and peered into the dim cavity, then gently pulled the container from its cradle... sarin. He walked on... fifty yards or more down the row... looked again and found munitions... armed with chemical warheads.
"Sweet Jesus," he hissed. After a moment to collect himself... to calm the butterflies and the racing of his heart, he turned and strode back to Yusuf. "Come on.... Let's keep going.... Nothing we can do about this... yet."
"This is it... Yusuf.... We've found it," Ginge said, looking through a small porthole set in a steel door. He pushed the red button to his left and the pair entered the cool, sterile room. Rows of empty cages filled one wall, a table... definitely the one on the videotape... sat in the central space, while a row of cabinets and refrigerators lined the opposite wall.
"OK... let's see what we can find," he sighed, as he approached the first refrigerator and opened the door. "Shit!" he cursed angrily. "This one's failed."
He saw the puzzled look on the young man's face. "The fridge.... It's stopped working," he explained, "so the drugs inside are no good."
"This one?" Yusuf swung open the next refrigerator's door.
Ginge was relieved when the light came on. "Let's see," the corporal said, hunkering down to study the contents. "This is no good... amoxicillin... tetracycline... wouldn't have lasted... even if they'd given it some sort of boost." He discarded the cardboard box of glass vials and moved down to the next shelf. "Don't know what the fuck this is.... Could be the monkey stuff.... We'll take it." He set the small bottle aside.
Yusuf had gone on to the next refrigerator.... He peered inside, examined the interior of the cold box.... It was much the same as the others... loaded with vial after vial that he could not read.... He turned to close the door, to wait for Ginge. As he turned, he noticed different containers tucked into the compartments on the refrigerator's door. These did not contain liquids, but pills. Wouldn't pills be for humans, he reasoned. "Look.... These?" he asked, holding up one of the bottles and shaking it.
"What?... in a minute, Yusuf," the Brit muttered.
"Look!" the boy demanded. "I have seen these white things.... The women use them," Yusuf insisted, pulling at the older man's arm. "For their heads, for when the month comes upon them, for children's fevers."
"It's bloody aspirin," Ginge said with exasperation, taking the bottle from the youngster's hand. "We've got that." Then he looked at the label. "Bloody 'ell," he said with excitement. "Ciprofloxacin." The SAS man closed his eyes, tried to remember what he knew about the drug.... It was an important one... stored in a perfectly controlled environment....
"Fuck me!... Yusuf... you little darlin'." He grinned and again ruffled the curly, black hair. "Cipro.... This might work.... We won't do any better.... That's for sure."
"These will make Da'reek well?"
"Maybe...." Ginge pocketed the pills and looked for more. "Better these than the monkey stuff." When he found no other bottles of the antibiotic, he said, "Come on... let's go make Indy's day."
Derek's Room...
Nick looked up as the door flew open. He read the expression on the freckled face. "You've found something."
"I hope so, Indy.... Cipro tablets." He saw Nick's blank look. "Cipro's strong stuff," he explained. "Remember the anthrax?... It's what they were using on those people.... It was included in our team's medical pack for this mission.... All we've gotta do is get Dutch to take 'em."
"They're OK?" asked Nick hesitantly. "Won't be bad?"
"God was smiling.... Of all things to find.... Cipro!" Suppressed excitement rang through the British voice. "When Scouse, Lofty, and me was being briefed on this mission, they threw a whole shitload of research reports at us... 'bout chemicals, germs, viruses... and the cures... antibiotics... things like atropine.... So if we found those, we'd know to look for the bad stuff.
"Anyway... your army's been testing the shelf-life of drugs and antibiotics for almost ten years now.... So they know what they can store away.... Most stuff won't last more than a couple of years.... Even aspirin don't hold up past five years... and, like I said, some things go poison... but Cipro!... Cipro's the one that looks like it hangs in there. This has to be some of the oldest stuff there is.... Bayer didn't put it on the market until 1987... and our Ruskies were outta here not much later than that.... So we're way beyond the test period.... It's a longshot, but it's still a shot. The best one we've got, here and now.... In any case," he added, "they won't hurt him. All they do is lose their kick. Cipro doesn't don't turn into something else."
He placed the back of his hand on Derek's forehead, then shook his head. "We got no choice, Indy."
The SEAL took the pill bottle from the other man and twisted the cap. "How many?"
"They're two-hundred-and-fifty milligrams each.... So two... given twice a day.... Maybe if we crush 'em... and give 'em to him in water, they'll get into his system quicker."
Nick sat at the head of the bed, slipped an arm under Derek's hot body, and raised him. "Boss... wake up.... Come on."
Ginge disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a glass of cloudy water. He leaned over the bed. "Derek...," he called quietly.
The precept's eyelids fluttered. His eyes half-opened... unfocused. "No," he groaned. "Leave me... leave me.... Demons begone!"
"Drink this." Nick raised the glass to the parched lips.
Waves of heat shimmered around him... seared his eyeballs. Derek felt them swell with steam... and burst. He screamed in agony.... Fire leapt down his throat... scorching him... inside. He gagged and retched... and still he didn't die. "No more!... No more!" his voiceless throat hissed.
"No!..."
The anguish in Derek's voice tore at Nick's heart. What hell is he in, the SEAL wondered. Please, God.... Don't let him be with West... not that. He held tight as the precept twisted his head violently away and the drug-laced water spilled down his chest.
"Hold him still," Ginge hissed. "I'll try the tablets... maybe he'll swallow them.... We can't afford to waste any." He turned to the ashen faced boy. "Yusuf... help Indy.... Hold Da'reek.... We've got to get him to take this.... Understand?" The Afghan nodded.
Nick scrambled onto the bed behind his friend. Straddling him, he pulled him onto his chest and held tight. "Derek, please...," he murmured. Yusuf held the salt-and-pepper head in a vise-like grip. They both tried to ignore the desperate cries as the precept struggled in their arms.
Ginge held two white tablets to the patient's lips. "Come on, Derek.... Trust me," he whispered. As Nick forced open the older man's mouth, the Brit gently placed the pills as far back on the tongue as he could. "Drink this, please.... Trust me." He met the anxious, hazel eyes and, for a moment, the soldier saw understanding. He tipped the liquid.
"OK." Ginge smiled, relieved. "Down the hatch.... He's swallowed them.... Now we keep him cool, keep our fingers crossed, and pray like hell those little beauties do their work."
Yusuf released his hold on Derek's head and slipped from the room. Nick remained on the bed, holding his friend close to him, willing him to find peace... an end to his feverish nightmares.
A noise... the softest of sighs... reached his mind... touched him.... "Peace, my son... 'no more' indeed.... Come to me." The precept turned sightless, blackened sockets in the direction of the sound.
"Help me, please," he gasped. "Help me die." Derek Rayne felt a breath envelope his body, wrap gentleness around him, sooth his burning skin. He reached out a trembling hand. "Where are you?... What are you?"
"Your friend... sent by another.... We birds of a feather flock together," it chuckled. "Open your eyes, Precept."
"Gone... all gone." Despair tore the words from his mind. He felt a gentle kiss on his eyelids. He heard the flutter of great wings; a soft breeze cooled spread his skin.
the Next Day...
Massaging his lower back, Nick paced the small room. The image of a tiger, trapped in a cage, sprang to mind. He smiled at the cliche.... Odd how most minds, his own included, tended to turn to the trite. Perhaps, it was that tendency that created the cliche in the first place. His neck ached; the burn on his thigh was throbbing. There didn't seem to be enough air. At last, he placed his hands against one of the whitewashed walls and did ten quick, standing push-ups, then cricked his neck, and stretched his spine. "You're moving like an old man, Boyle," he lectured himself. "Yeah... and feeling like I'm going to pop," he answered himself.
He glanced across at Derek, who slept fitfully on the cot. So far, he'd had eight of the small tablets. Were they working?... Or was it a stalemate between drug and microbe?... There had been no significant outbursts. The fever remained, but it wasn't as high. He'd been restless... not delirious... perhaps still trapped in dreams. When Nick had changed the dressing an hour ago, there seemed to be less pus.... The wounds had looked less angry.... Or was he seeing what he wanted to see?... Please, God!
He tried to work out how many hours he'd spent sitting at this man's bedside in the past few years, praying for his recovery, fearing each time would be the last. How much more could Derek take?... How much could Nick Boyle take?
Each time the precept had fought back... fought so hard that it tore at the younger man's soul. Doesn't he have a breaking point? He knew that his friend hadn't crumbled in Wells Ward, but had continued the struggle. That padded cell had been yet another battlefield. Is breaking too shameful?... Maybe it's his damned pride that keeps him going.
Each time Derek's friends had to witness the heart aching attempts to re-build his life... and had been torn on an emotional rack... all of them. Nick found the unguarded moments, when he read the desolation behind his friend's eyes, almost unbearable. Maybe he should be praying for Derek's death... Derek's release... for there was one thing of which Nick Boyle was certain.... God was in his heaven... and Derek Rayne would have a place at his side.... He would have peace.... They would both have peace.
The door cracked open and Ginge's redhead poked itself in. "How's he doin'?" he whispered. "Any improvement yet?"
Nick looked up and shook his head. "At least he's quiet. The fever's down a little.... His shoulder seems less inflamed.... How 'bout the weather outside?... Any chance of getting a chopper in here so we can get him out?"
"I stuck my nose out a bit ago... not a hope," Ginge admitted. "I can't tell when it might break. The kid said it can be like this for weeks. Want something to eat?"
"Sure." Nick nodded and gave the Brit a smile as he disappeared. He sat on the edge of the bed. As he watched the rise and fall of Derek's chest, his eyes were drawn to the scar left by his suicide attempt in Roseville four years ago... and to the scar Derek's own sword had left when he'd almost died at the hands of a resurrected Josiah Cantwell. "Dammit, Derek... enough's enough," he muttered. "If we get out of this mess... I might hang on to that ring you gave me... for your sake... not mine."
In his mind, he heard the soft, Dutch lilt reply, "Do you really think it's about the
ring, my friend?"
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