The tread was unmistakable. Not military boots, or even the pseudo-military stuff the wannabes and militiamen favored. These were all Timberlands.

Dunk looked over our shoulders. "Tims? All new, too. No signs of wear. Weird."

"They're dressing for this job," said Top. "Probably changed in a van. We catch them, they'll have civvies to change back into and the clothes they wore in here will go into a bonfire."

Lydia pressed her foot down next to one of the intruder prints, then lifted it away to compare the marks. Our shoes had a distinctive pebbled tread, the kind you see on tactical footwear made by companies like Saratoga.

We all saw what she meant us to see.

"They're not wearing Hammer suits," said Ivan.

"Or anything like Hammer suits," said Montana. "Pretty sure Timberland doesn't make biohazard versions of their shoes."

Dunk said, "They could have hazmat suits on with the booties tucked into their shoes." He paused, frowned, shook his head. "No, that's stupid. Sorry."

"Well," said Bunny, blowing out a breath as he looked around, "this is either very good or very, very bad."

The good would be if the bad guys just wanted to steal the pathogens without immediately releasing them. The bad would be if they were on a suicide mission and didn't give a f.u.c.k about protective equipment.

Top, who was always in the same gear as me, touched my arm and said, "If these jokers came down here to die for the cause, then why try for anonymity with the new shoes? I think they're here to take the Ark, not open it."

It was a glimmer of hope. But a little hope can be like a splinter in the mind. It can lure you into believing in a positive outcome, and that can take the edge off your skills.

"We're not making any a.s.sumptions," I said to the team.

We were in a small dummy office that held two desks, a water cooler, and a file cabinet. Enough for appearances. A door marked "Employees Only" hung by one hinge. The lock a.s.sembly had been torn out by a savage kick. The footprint on the door wasn't huge-maybe size ten-but whoever had delivered that kick knew their business. Single kick, too.

We went through into the next room and then wasted five minutes checking and clearing the administration offices that comprised the rest of Level One of the Locker. As we pa.s.sed from room to room the stink of cordite clogged the air, and the gun smoke was almost thick enough to block out the sheared-copper smell of blood.

Almost.

There was simply too d.a.m.n much blood.

Bug's intel said that there were fourteen support staff members working in the Locker's topside offices.

We found all fourteen. With the nine in the store this added up to the twenty-three cooling thermal signatures.

Twenty-three people whose lives had ended. Unexpectedly, terribly.

In bits and pieces.

Body parts were strewn around on the floor. Some of the secretaries and staff members were sprawled across their desks, their bodies torn open in a final indignity worse than rape. The walls were spattered by arterial sprays. Blood dripped from the overhead fluorescents.

"Christ's b.a.l.l.s," murmured Ivan.

Bunny said, "What the f.u.c.k?"

You'd think that people like us wouldn't or couldn't be shocked by yet another example of man's potential for appalling brutality. You would be wrong.

"Berserkers?" mused Bunny.

"Got to be," said Top.

Bunny waggled his combat shotgun. "Glad I brought my boom-stick."

"Jefe," said Lydia, "how many ways are there out of this place?"

"Two," I said. "This way and a service corridor."

"Okay, 'cause I'm only seeing footprints going into this elevator. I haven't seen anything coming out."

I nodded and tapped my earbud. "Cowboy to Ronin."

"Go for Ronin," said Sam.

"Any movement from the service exit on the east side of the building?"

"Negative."

"Very well, but get close and tell me exactly what you see," I said.

There was a rustling sound and then Sam said, "Okay, I've got eyes on it. Confirming that it's undisturbed. Exterior screws are intact."

"Lift the cover plate."

The service corridor was a tunnel big enough to wheel parts down. From the outside it looked like a big electrical junction box, the man-sized ones that county power companies put up. But those doors opened to reveal a cubicle in which were the same kind of high-tech hand and retina scanners we had down here. And there were several levels of security behind that, including a length of reinforced corridor that could be filled with fire at a moment's notice.

"Everything is intact," he reported. "No one's come out this way. Even the weeds are undisturbed. Your bad guys are still inside."

In light of all the vicious slaughter, that news should have scared us. But I felt a weird little smile carving its way onto my face. I avoided meeting the eyes of the others, or even looking at their faces. They'd be wearing the same killers' smiles. It was an ugly thing to see on the faces of good people.

I looked at the main security doors that provided access to the elevators. The built-in scanners-hand, retina, and keycard-were junk. Wires dangled from what was left of them.

"Okay," I said, tapping my earbud again, "Ronin, put a blaster-plaster on the grille and find cover. You're our eyes topside. If you see anything hinky-I don't care if it's a bobcat walking with a limp-put it down."

"You got it, boss," he said. "Me and Ghost will watch your backs."

I heard a soft whuff in the background.

"Green Giant," I said, "let's get those doors open."

Bunny applied a magazine-sized blaster-plaster to the heavy doors. "Ready."

We moved away and hid behind desks.

"Fire in the hole!" yelled Bunny as he triggered the detonators. Bigger the bomb, bigger the boom. The steel double doors blew apart, open like the petals of a flower to reveal an elevator shaft. No car.

"Gear up," I said, but everyone was already rigging rappelling equipment. I did a quick look down the shaft and saw nothing but concrete, greasy cables and a few small utility lights. The hole was so deep we couldn't even see the top of the car.

Top dug into his pack, removed a lime green tennis ball, and let it drop. Then he flipped open the small tactical computer strapped to his forearm and tapped keys. The tennis ball was filled with several small sensors packed in Styrofoam beads. We watched the meter count off the distance of the drop.

"All the way down," Top said again.

A series of numbers flashed across the screen, giving us ambient temperature, negative elevation, motion detection, audio, and thermals. But the meters had nothing to read. No sound, no movement, and no heat signatures for anything human or animal.

"h.e.l.lboy," I said to Ivan, "you're on point. Drop to within fifty feet and if you hear anything drop a flash-bang. Once you're down, give us a shout."

Bunny anch.o.r.ed him with a powerful hand on Ivan's belt that allowed him to lean out and clip on to the main elevator cable. He gave Bunny another nod, adjusted his gear, then stepped out into the shaft and was gone.

Top and I leaned out to watch him rappel down with practiced ease. At fifty feet he stopped, reported all clear, and went down the rest of the way. Lydia went down next. Then Top, Bunny, and me. The newbies followed.

We crouched atop the car and bent to the access panel to listen.

We heard nothing at all.

"Dead down there," said Ivan.

Bunny gave him a withering look. "Really bad choice of words, dude."

Ivan colored. "I meant ... no gunfire. n.o.body yelling."

I removed the access panel and we pointed lights and guns into the car. Nothing.

No, not exactly nothing.

There was a dripping red handprint on the wall by the control panel.

"Listen up," I said quietly, "we go down, open the doors, and then make our way into the facility. We have to a.s.sess the situation and react based on what we encounter. There are a lot of civilians down there."

"We hope," said Dunk.

"Yes, we hope."

"Mission priorities?" asked Top.

"It's all about the Ark," I said. "We have to protect it at all costs. The civilians down there are secondary to that, though if the Ark is safe, then we do whatever we can to protect and evacuate the staff."

"Rules of engagement?"

"n.o.body pulls a trigger unless you have no choice. Return fire and protect yourself, but don't approach this as a target-rich environment. We want to protect the staff and we want to take prisoners. Check your BAMS units, but make sure someone's watching your a.s.s whenever you do. If you so much as encounter a common cold germ you sing out."

They said, "Hooah."

I tapped Ivan's shoulder and nodded to a junction box on the wall. The door hung open and wires trailed out like guts. "See if you can fix that, see if you can get this elevator in operation."

He nodded and unclipped a toolkit from his belt.

To the others I said, "Let's do it. We all go in, we all come out."

"Hooah."

One by one we dropped into the car. Lydia and Ivan took up stations to either side of the double doors as I took a shooter's stance off center of the opening, my Beretta up in both hands.

I gave Lydia a nod and she pressed the b.u.t.ton to open the doors.

They parted and rolled back and Dr. Van Sant stood there.

He was smiling.

Laughing.

His clothes were disheveled, his thin hair messy, and there was a streak of blood on one cheek. But he was laughing.

He held a b.l.o.o.d.y fire axe in trembling hands. He stared at us in shock for a moment, then a single laugh burst from his chest.

"Dr. Van Sant," I began, "I am Captain Ledger, DMS, and we're here to-"

That was as far as I got before he screamed at the top of his lungs and tried to bury the axe in my skull.

Chapter Ninety-five.

The Locker Sigler-Czajkowski Biological and Chemical Weapons Facility Highland County, Virginia Sunday, September 1, 11:42 a.m.

"Captain-watch out!"

Lydia shoved me hard and I staggered sideways as the axe blade whistled down with incredible force and speed. It gouged a huge chunk out of the poured linoleum floor and rebounded, staggering Van Sant.

He was laughing all the time. b.l.o.o.d.y bubbles popped at the corners of his mouth.

Lydia and I hit the deck and rolled over; I pushed her away and kept rolling until I was on fingers and toes. Bunny rushed the doctor and then had to suck back his stomach to keep from getting sliced open. The others crowded back and put guns on Van Sant.

"No!" I bellowed. "Do not fire. He has the bypa.s.s codes. I repeat do not fire."

Van Sant kept swinging at Bunny, driving the big young man backward. Bunny was fast for all his size, and he ducked and dodged until he got the timing right, then he stepped inside the arc of the next swing, grabbed the shaft of the fire axe with both hands, and with a savage grunt tore it from the scientist's grip. There was absolutely no pause between that action and Van Sant's response; he instantly lunged forward and clamped his jaws around Bunny's muscular wrist.

Bunny screamed in pain and backed away, trying to wrench his arm free. There was a note of hysteria in the big man's voice.

Lydia shrieked in terror and threw herself at Van Sant, hammering the doctor's face with a vicious flurry of punches. Van Sant's face disintegrated under the a.s.sault. I saw blood and teeth fly as the doctor reeled backward. He lost his hold on Bunny, but as he fell back there was a long streamer of protective material clamped between his teeth.

The doctor, far from subdued, suddenly whirled, grabbed Lydia by the hood, and slammed her face-forward into the wall. A crazy, high-pitched cackle of laughter bubbled continuously from him.

Noah shifted around to take a kill shot and I slapped his barrel down.