Moon Mask (11 page)

He knew when something was ‘up’ and, expecting the president’s detached query of ‘what can we do about it?’ and instead being met by awkward silence, he knew that something was most certainly ‘up’.

“Mister President,” he said. “There are American citizens on that mountain. And unless we act now to get them the medical attention they need, they are going to die.”

Langley watched the president’s eyes flick towards Jason Briggs. The CIA Director subtly nodded his head. The Sec Def did the same.

Harper took a breath then rose to his feet, straightening his grey suit jacket. “We’re already well aware of the situation developing on Sarisariñama.” He looked significantly at Langley. “More aware than you, I dare say, Alex.”

This didn’t come as a major surprise. As American citizens were involved, he knew the president would have been keeping apprised of the situation. But, once again he wondered what the Secretary of Defense and the head of the Central Intelligence Agency had to do with a group of sick scientists.

“We already have a team en-route to the base,” Briggs spoke up. “But there is much more at stake than a handful of American lives.”

Langley frowned. What was he talking about? He looked again at Harper and noticed how grave his expression was.

“A Special Forces team should be arriving inside of three hours,” the president continued. “And an emergency medical evac is being arranged, but I’m sorry to say that the lives of those scientists are a secondary concern.”

“Secondary?”

“Alex, I agreed to this meeting because I need something from you.”

“Sir?”

Harper’s eyes bored into his own. “I need you to convene the Security Council. I need you, and the U.N., to help prevent the secret of Sarisariñama from falling into the hands of those who would use it against us.”

Langley’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What secret, Mister President?”

7:

The Demons of Sarisariñama

UNESCO Base Camp,

Sarisariñama Tepui,

Venezuela,

“Your
people are suffering from a rare strain of the
leptospirosis
virus.”

Benjamin King listened to the voice emanating from the sat-phone’s speaker. He had identified himself as Rudolph Nebrinkski, one of the Assistant-Directors of UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee and the man directly in charge of the Sarisariñama Expedition.

He stood inside one of the labs and struggled to hear the crackling words over the thunderous pounding of giant raindrops against the canvas. The storm which had broken had only soured the expedition’s morale further. Three were dead, another seven were in a critical condition and everyone else was suffering from the illness to one extent or another, showing symptoms of vomiting, diarrhoea or the angry skin irritation.

Everyone except himself and Nathan Raine.

In the hours since the horrific discovery of the affliction on the summit, neither man had demonstrated any symptoms. The only one hundred per-cent fit-and-able bodies on the mountain, they had been press-ganged into becoming Nadia Yashina’s reluctant nurses.

The Russian woman’s previous studies in medicine and her current application of osteoarchaeology made her the most logical candidate to tend to the sick, despite her lack of bedside manner. She had set up an impromptu hospital in the mess tent, dividing her patients into categories depending upon the severity of their illness. Nevertheless, she was the first to admit that her studies in medicine were purely from an academic point of view and she had no practical knowledge of how to tend to so many sick and dying patients.

They needed help. And they needed it fast.

“Is it connected to Karen Weingarten?” Sid asked. King glanced at her, concerned. Her normally olive complexion had turned sickly and pale. He knew she had vomited on several occasions and even now she was scratching the skin irritation that had appeared on her left hand. Nevertheless, she had insisted on listening in to the briefing from UNESCO, along with Raine, King, Nadia, McKinney and Raphael del Vega.

“It is,”
Nebrinski’s voice confirmed. They all knew about Karen’s emergency. Raine had flown her to a hospital in Caracas but, when the doctors there had been unable to diagnose her illness, UNESCO had flown her on to John Hopkins hospital in Baltimore. But word had not yet reached the isolated expedition about her condition.
“A specialist confirmed the diagnosis only last night. She has been treated with dialysis and is expected to make a full recovery.”

A sigh of relief passed through those present, both for Karen and for all their sakes. If Karen had been treated, then they all could. It was only a matter of time.

King noticed Nadia’s face crease into a frown. She seemed unconvinced by the Assistant-Director’s report.

“What can we expect?” McKinney asked irritably. Her auburn hair was matted with sweat and a large blister had developed on her chee
k. She held the desk upon which the sat-phone was located and was hunched over. The whites of her eyes had gone blood-shot and her hands trembled. She was not well at all, King knew. For all their differences, he couldn’t deny a certain respect for her determination. She was like a captain on a sinking ship, still trying to steer it when patients in better condition than her lay in their sick beds.

“Flu-like symptoms,”
Nebrinski answered from the sat-phone.
“Fever, chills, headache, muscle-fatigue, followed by abominable pain, vomiting and jaundice.”

“So what caused the three deaths?” McKinney asked.

Nadia frowned, about to deliver the bad news. “The severe form of the disease is more commonly known as Weil Syndrome. In up to 50% of cases it causes complications such as renal or liver failure or cardiovascular problems. It is fatal.”

There was silence in the tent for several long moments. It was eventually broken by Nebrinski’s disembodied voice from Paris.

“The strain you are suffering from is extremely virulent but, based on Karen Weingarten’s progress, the doctors at John Hopkins are confident that, if treated in time, a full recovery can be expected.”

“Great,” Raine said eagerly. “I’ll start shipping the worst cases out now-”

“No.”
Nebrinski snapped.

“What?” Raine asked, shocked. “These good people are dying here. We’ve waited this long to start the evac because you clowns insisted on knowing what you’re dealing with first. Well, now you know-”

“As I just said,”
Nebrinski cut him off.
“This strain of the virus is highly virulent, extremely infectious. As of yet the transmission technique has not been determined. In a small, contained population on a mountaintop it is easily treatable, but should it get into a larger population . . . Who knows where it could spread to, or how fast.”

King noticed those gathered around the sat-phone glancing worriedly at one another.

“We have a specialised team en-route to you from the U.S. as we speak,”
Nebrinski explained.
“Their mission is to contain the virus and to administer treatment to all expedition personnel. As the source of this new strain has not yet been determined, they have ordered that
nothing
and
no-one
leaves the mountaintop. That includes expedition personnel, no matter how critical their condition may get, and any artefacts or specimens you may have uncovered. Anything like that could well be the source.”

King felt a sudden surge of energy rush through him. “The Moon Mask,” he whispered.

“Due to the delicate nature of their work there, the medical team will be accompanied by American Special Forces personnel, under the directive of the U.N.”

They all knew what Nebrinski meant. The doctors were being accompanied by soldiers just in case the sick people got out of hand. They would rather shoot an infected person than allow them to reach civilisation. In truth, King couldn’t blame them. It was the right call.

His eyes flicked up to Raine. He didn’t know why, but something caught his attention, some shift in the man’s expression as Nebrinski mentioned U.S. Special Forces. His usual mischievous, irritating, take-nothing-seriously demeanour had been replaced by something else. Genuine concern. Even fear.

“As the closest country equipped to handle a medical emergency of this scale, and with UNESCO interests at heart, the United States will be taking the lead in this operation, under the authority of the United Nations Security Council and the World Health Organisation. Once Sarisariñama is secure, all expedition members will be transferred to a quarantined medical centre in the U.S. for treatment.”

“What about those of us who are not showing signs of infection?” Raine asked. King’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. The all-American-action-hero wanted to run away. But King suspected it wasn’t the virus he was running from.

Nebrinski seemed shocked by this question.
“Not showing signs of infection?
” he repeated.
“That’s impossible.”

Nadia frowned. “Indeed not,” she protested. “The generally accepted method of transmission of
Leptospirosis
is through the ingestion of animal urine, normally through a contaminated water supply or a break in the skin. In fact, I find it far stranger that this virus could have infected such a large number of people in so short a space of time, than it is for two people to be unaffected.”

There was a notable pause and King detected the merest hint of a stammer before Nebrinski replied sharply.
“As I said, this is a previously undiscovered, new strain of the virus which has been identified by some of the world’s leading experts at John Hopkins-
”

“You’ll have to excuse my staff, Director,” McKinney cut in, shooting the Russian woman a warning glance despite her deteriorating strength. Apparently sucking up to the boss went beyond a life-and-death situation. “It has been a trying few hours.”

“I don’t doubt,”
Nebrinski replied, his voice back to its previous calm.
“Just be ready for the medical team’s arrival. They should be with you inside of three hours.”

King watched Raine’s face for any reaction. There was one, however subtle, but King couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. Another flash of concern?

“I think I speak for all of us here,” McKinney finished, “when I say we’re very much looking forward to seeing them-”

All of a sudden, the Scott’s arm that was supporting her against the desk buckled. She folded forward, like a heavy sack of potatoes, and would have smashed painfully to the ground had Raine and King not both caught her.

Nadia hurried around from the other side of the desk to examine her. She was unconscious, a dead weight slumped between them. “Quickly!” she barked at the two men. “Get her to the mess tent!”

Airborne over Venezuela

The
three black and unmarked Harbin Z-9 helicopters roared across the canopy of trees. Their tear-drop shaped fuselages cast shadows across the treetops and gave the illusion of some swarm of giant insects homing in on the kill.

Indeed, with twin 23 mm cannons and TY-90 air-to-air missiles, each helicopter was more than equipped to handle any violent confrontation. That, however, was not the choppers’ occupants’ primary mission.

On board each helicopter were ten men kitted up in black NBCs. Often confused with the bright yellow or red hazmat suits worn by civilian services, the ‘Nuclear, Biological and Chemical’ suits were far more frightening. The black rubber totally encased the wearer and, unlike the large, transparent faceplates of their civilian cousins, the NBCs hoods and masks totally covered the head and face. Only the eyes were partially visible, protected by plasti-glass lenses which peered down the long snout of the breathing apparatus.

As the last of the choppers’ occupants donned their hoods, their leader’s voice came through their communication earpieces, blunt and simple.

“We are approaching the target. You have your orders.”

The cabin lights dimmed and were replaced by sultry red beacons which reflected off their black rubber-encased bodies, casting a hellish sheen. Indeed, as they grasped their assault rifles and prepared for the active stage of their mission to begin, they looked like an army unleashed from hell. Demonic.

The Demons of Sarisariñama had returned.

Sarisariñama Tepui,

Venezuela,

“This
is insane!” Raine seethed as Nadia pulled the sheet up to cover Juliet McKinney’s head.

Despite trying to keep them at bay, a large crowd had gathered around the impromptu examination table that had once been a dining table.

“We could have saved her if we got her to a hospital,” Raine said angrily. Around him, those well enough to be on their feet circled the professor’s body, caught in various degrees of distress. While the hard-as-nails Scott had not endeared many to her, she was well respected and her loss would be felt both here and across the academic world.

But it was more than that, Raine knew, as he glanced at the stricken, tearful faces staring at him. Anyone could share McKinney’s fate. At any time.

“Unlikely,” Nadia replied, shooing the sobbing people away. Her face remained hard and impassive, but Raine could see the strain of the last few hours creeping into her eyes. “I believe it was cardiovascular failure.”

“A heart-attack?” Sid said. She stood to one side with King’s arm draped around her shoulders. Her face had grown pale and was now marked by teary streaks. Likewise, Nadia’s movements were growing slower and her exposed left arm was reddening.

“Most likely it was a condition she already had which the virus merely antagonised.”

Raine picked up on something in the way Nadia said the words. A lack of conviction.

He glanced at the people who were still milling around, distraught and terrified, then clutched her elbow and led her towards the exit. They ducked through the tent flaps and stood under the canvas awning attached to the exterior. Rain continued to beat down heavily upon it. The view across the mountaintop was obscured by the slanting sheets of the downpour and the sheer edge of the table mountain was swathed in a wreath of mist and cloud. Above, the muted halo of the sun could be vaguely discerned in the sky but the sodden camp remained in perpetual gloom.