The secret Army laboratory was about two hundred yards away, and there were plenty of brightly lit areas between here and there. Marina took the lead and chose a meandering path that pa.s.sed through as many shadows as possible. Aaron had to stay in a crouched position most of the time, which made his back sore. She was a lot more nimble than him.

They neared the white barriers and could go no farther without becoming completely exposed. They ducked down behind a car to observe.

It appeared only two guards were posted at this time of night. The two men walked together as they circled the laboratory continuously.

"Two minutes per round," Marina whispered. "Enough time for us to sneak across."

"We'll ambush them there." Aaron pointed at a dark corner where two trailers came together.

They waited until the guards were on the far side. Then Aaron and Marina ran across, staying low and quiet, and crouched in the shadows.

She ma.s.saged her long black fingernails. Years ago, G.o.d had granted her a supernatural ability as a reward for outstanding service. She could produce venom within her fingers and deliver it through her nails, which acted like syringes. Depending on the dosage, the venom produced a range of effects from paralysis to unconsciousness to death. Ma.s.saging helped the venom flow.

The two guards came around a corner, oblivious to the threat.

Marina attacked the first man immediately. She clamped a hand over his mouth and jabbed her fingernails into his neck. Aaron knew he would be asleep within seconds.

Aaron wanted to make sure the second guard didn't cry out, so he kicked him in the gut. The guard wheezed like an old man. Aaron swept the guard's legs, and he fell flat on his face.

By this time Marina was finished with the first guard. She sat on the second guard's back and injected venom into his neck. With a soft sigh he pa.s.sed out.

She and Aaron did their best to conceal the unconscious bodies.

"Now take care of the alarm." She pointed up.

Aaron looked up at the side of the laboratory and saw an alarm bell. It was painted the same dull green as the wall.

G.o.d had granted Aaron a gift also: the ability to spit acid. This supernaturally potent liquid could dissolve anything except living tissue, and he could hit targets with great accuracy. He spat a blob of yellow goo at the bolt that held the bell. After a few seconds of vigorous foaming, the bell fell off. He caught it easily.

They walked around the laboratory and discovered three more alarm bells. He disabled them all similarly. He also cut the overhead power and phone lines by spitting at the wires.

"One last detail, to be extra safe." Marina took a black metal box from her utility belt. "A wide spectrum radio jammer. No communication will get in or out." She set the box on the ground and pressed a b.u.t.ton. A little red light came on.

"Ready to go in?" Aaron said.

She nodded. "I think so."

They went to one of the doors. It was made of steel, and the sophisticated lock used a key card plus a combination. For most people it would've been impossible to open, but he had the universal key. He spat at the lock. Armor plating, wires, and plastic dissolved into foul smoke, producing a large hole. He reached through and opened the door from the other side.

"After you, my dear." He stepped aside and allowed Marina to enter.

With a sophisticated little smile she walked inside.

Captain Smythe woke up in darkness. He realized he had fallen into a deep sleep on the cot in his office. He had intended to take just a short nap, but exhaustion had got the better of him. The other staff members must have turned off the lights before going home. He could barely see anything.

There was a sound like a drawer being opened. He checked his watch, which had a backlight, and he saw that it was 2:30 AM. Somebody is here, he thought, and they're working in the dark. Not good.

The laboratory was guarded day and night by armed soldiers. There were alarms and all the doors were always locked. To get inside, an intruder had to be sophisticated, forceful, and dangerous. Smythe's heart beat faster.

He slipped off his cot, taking care not to make any noise. There was just a trickle of light coming from the hallway. Working mostly by touch, he took a 9mm Beretta semiautomatic and a box of bullets from the bottom drawer of his desk. He loaded the gun carefully.

He preferred not to confront the intruders alone, so he decided to call for reinforcements first. He found his cell phone on his desk, but the display showed no signal. Something was jamming it. His office phone was also dead. s.h.i.t.

Smythe needed to trigger the alarm manually. The sound of ringing bells would get the attention of police in the area, and there were plenty around the hospital. Also, the security system would transmit a call for help on a special radio channel to nearby military units. In just a few minutes he would have all the backup he could want.

The nearest alarm b.u.t.ton was in the hallway outside his office. He didn't have his shoes on, so it was easy to walk silently. He reached into the hallway, found the b.u.t.ton with his fingers, and pressed it.

Nothing happened.

f.u.c.k!

The ventilation system was totally silent, implying the electrical power for the entire laboratory had been cut. The only light came from emergency exit signs, which ran on batteries.

He realized the situation was even more perilous than he had a.s.sumed. His adversaries were conducting a planned, military-style operation, which meant they probably carried military gear. His little Beretta wouldn't be much use against a.s.sault rifles and body armor.

He had two choices. He could hide until the intruders finished their business and left. If questioned, Smythe could claim he had slept through everything. n.o.body would be able to prove otherwise. Given that he was probably outnumbered and outgunned, it wasn't an unreasonable option.

His other choice was to fight. An unknown enemy had penetrated a United States research installation. He had a sworn duty as a soldier and a citizen. He could not allow cla.s.sified information to fall into the hands of terrorists or foreign governments, even if the battle cost him his life.

Really, he had no choice at all.

He checked that the safety on his Beretta was off. He crept forward and tried to keep his shooting hand steady despite the adrenaline flowing through his veins. His palms were sweaty.

The Army had constructed the laboratory from prebuilt modules, and each module fit exactly into a standard shipping container. The corridors were narrow, the rooms were small, and there were no windows at all. It was like operating inside a submarine.

Smythe heard the sound of rustling papers up ahead. He peeked around the corner and saw two intruders. They wore skin-tight camouflage outfits, but the color scheme was an unusual black and gray instead of green. One intruder was a big, muscular man. The only way to get a physique with that kind of definition was obsessive, daily exercise. Smythe worked hard to keep himself in good shape, but he was a slug in comparison.

The other intruder was a woman, and she also had an impressively athletic body. Even so, Smythe was confident he could take her in a fight. His advanced Army training in combination with his greater ma.s.s and strength gave him a decisive advantage.

The intruders were rifling through drawers with a flashlight in one hand and a camera in the other. They spent no time looking at what they found. Instead they took pictures and moved on hastily.

Smythe was somewhat relieved. Regulations required all cla.s.sified data to be stored in encrypted computer files. Even a locked safe wasn't good enough these days, especially in a temporary facility like this one. The intruders would find little of value just lying out in the open, unless a staff member had seriously screwed up.

Smythe didn't see any weapons, although both intruders had many bags hanging from their belts. The bags were easily big enough to hold a gun or a knife.

He considered shooting them both. The circ.u.mstances certainly justified the use of deadly force. However, Smythe was as much a doctor as a soldier, and taking a life had to be his last resort, not his first. If the intruders refused to surrender, he could shoot them without guilt.

He stepped forward with his gun raised and yelled, "Freeze! Put your hands up and keep them up! Try anything funny and I swear I will kill you where you stand!"

Both intruders turned to face Smythe. He expected to see fear or at least shock, but instead he was met with cool gazes. It was disconcerting.

"Put the gun down," the man said in a voice so calm it was almost sleepy. "We won't hurt you unless you force the issue."

"Excuse me?" Smythe said. "I'm holding the gun, so I'm giving the orders. You'll march outside and surrender to the police right now."

"Not likely."

"What's wrong with you? You're acting like this is a paintball gun. It shoots real, lethal bullets."

The man spat a glob of something sticky. Startled and confused, Smythe looked down. His gun was dissolving into greasy smoke. He tried to pull the trigger but it just broke off. The whole weapon fell apart in his hand.

"Ugh!" He dropped the remnants of the gun. Now he was unarmed.

The male intruder raised his bushy eyebrows. "Hey! You're Timothy Smythe."

He had straight brown hair and a strong jaw. He was actually a very handsome man.

"You know me?" Smythe said.

"Yes, and we have some questions. It's lucky for us you're here. You're exactly the man we want to talk to."

"You won't get answers from me."

"We'll see," the intruder said.

He ran across the room like a charging bull. Rather than take the charge head-on, Smythe dropped and twisted to get out of the way. He expected his opponent to fly past and crash into a wall, but instead he slid to a graceful stop.

Smythe needed a new weapon, fast. He looked around the laboratory full of complex equipment but saw nothing suitable for combat. Out of desperation, he grabbed a bottle of some chemical. He couldn't read the label in the darkness, but there was a good chance it would do nasty things to human tissue.

A slender hand grabbed his wrist, preventing him from taking the bottle. He turned to find the woman inches from his face.

"I can't allow that," she said. "Put it down."

He couldn't wrestle with her and fight her partner at the same time, so Smythe let go of the bottle. She stepped away.

The male intruder settled into a fighting stance with his fists in front of his body. "That was a nifty little move for a doctor."

"What was that gunk you spat at me?" Smythe said.

"I'm asking the questions, not you. Tell me about this strange, new disease. We both know it isn't really tuberculosis. What's the truth?"

"Forget it."

The man threw a kick at Smythe's head. It was a fast attack but Smythe managed to get both his arms up in time to block. The impact was so strong it still almost knocked him down. The man followed with a jumping kick to Smythe's midsection. He had no chance to block this attack, and the pain was like a grenade exploding in his guts.

"Did that loosen your tongue?" the man said.

"No," Smythe replied through clenched teeth. "I'm an American soldier. I fought terrorists in the mountains of Afghanistan and insurgents in the cities. I've seen all the horrors of war. You can't scare me."

The laboratory had a suspended tile ceiling that hid the complex ductwork above. He remembered the tiles were fragile, loosely attached, and very dusty on top. He had an idea.

He faked a quick punch, forcing his opponent to react. Then Smythe jumped up and smashed a tile with his fists. Dust and debris cascaded down. During this brief distraction, he dropped and hooked his opponent's leg. The man's stance was so strong that it was like trying to uproot a tree, so Smythe switched the attack to a straight groin kick. That blow connected but the man twisted his hips at the last instant and deflected the force.

A fist flew through the dust and smashed Smythe in the jaw. He fell back, stunned. It had been a long time since anybody had hit him that hard.

"Good!" the man said with a smile. "You're making this fun."

"Enough." The woman stepped in front of him. "Stop playing with him. You're picking up my bad habits."

"OK. What do you want to do?"

With eyes the color of jade she stared at Smythe. "Our orders were specific. We can't beat the truth out of him. If he doesn't want to talk, we have to move on."

"Then put him to sleep."

She drew a knife from one of the bags on her belt. The polished blade glittered as she twirled it expertly in her hand. She thrust at his chest, but the attack was slow and he pushed it aside easily. With her free hand she grabbed his neck, and this move was lightning quick. Her fingernails jabbed his skin, causing a sharp pain.

"Good night," she said.

Darkness consumed him.

Chapter Three.

Aaron looked down at the unconscious body of Captain Timothy Smythe.

"I like this guy," Aaron said. "He took a couple of hard hits and didn't fold."

"What are you saying?" Marina asked.

"Ever since Victor died, we've been seriously short-handed. Smythe might be a replacement."

"You want to recruit him?" She stared. "We just met him."

"You saw the report. He's a genius doctor and a veteran soldier. I also have a feeling about him."

"Before we do anything, we need to run a more complete background check. That report was pretty spa.r.s.e. If Smythe has skeletons in his closet, we have to know about them. And Ethel will decide how to proceed, not you. Inviting somebody into the Gray Spear Society is a very big deal, and it has to be done exactly the right way."

"I know," Aaron said. "I was just making a suggestion."

"It's not a bad one. We just have to go through the correct process. Let's get back to work."

He looked around the laboratory for more things to photograph. The place was crowded with sophisticated equipment, most of which he didn't recognize. It all looked like a jumble of tubes, wires, and b.u.t.tons to him. The one familiar item was a refrigerator, but it had a gla.s.s door and contained tissue samples, not food.

He went back to searching desk drawers and file cabinets for papers. Even though he didn't understand the technical terminology, he could tell he and Marina weren't getting the good stuff. The government liked to stamp "TOP SECRET" or "CLa.s.sIFIED" on doc.u.ments with real value, and he wasn't finding those words anywhere. Frustrated, he broke open a computer and yanked out the disk drive.

He and Marina had a limited amount of time. Every minute spent here increased the risk somebody else would interrupt their work. The bodies of the guards outside were not very well hidden. They worked for another half-hour, then left.