that Dr. Evan Freitas of the U.S. Department of Energy has been personally keeping that information under wraps!”
That’s my trump card. I’m not bluffing, either. Hell, I’d give away the codes to the nuclear football if it meant saving Chloe and Eli. And Freitas knows it.
“Fine. But I have a better idea,” he says at last. “I’ll have the White House send a diplomatic security team from the embassy to find them. Your wife called your government satellite phone, right? That means we can track the location of the call. What would you do alone in Paris anyway, Oz? Let the highly trained men with guns save your family. You’re a scientist. We need you in Idaho. To help save the world.”
I’m steaming mad, but I have to admit, Freitas makes a compelling case. And short of barging into the cabin, there’s not much else I can do to redirect our plane.
I slide my sat phone back into my pocket. All I can think about is how badly I want to see Chloe and Eli again. And “hold them in my arms.”
Chapter 20
As I hurry down the movable stairway that’s been pushed up against our plane, I cover my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt. A dust storm is brewing about ten miles away, and the air is starting to swirl with dust and grit.
A fleet of military and government vehicles is on the tarmac of Hill Air Force Base waiting for us: a few tan Jeeps, some black Suburbans, an ambulance, and a giant fluorescent yellow truck emblazoned with INL CRITICAL INCIDENT RESPONSE TEAM.
Sarah and our colleagues and I have barely stepped off the aircraft when a group of federal scientists wearing white full-body hazmat suits scamper aboard.
With Freitas directing them, they soon reemerge with Helen, strapped onto an upright wheeled gurney liked the kind used to transport Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs. Except this one is covered with a clear plastic quarantine tent, and Helen is screaming and thrashing against her restraints worse than ever.
Even the stone-faced Marines there to protect us betray hints of fear.
After Helen is loaded into the rear of the hazmat truck, Freitas, Sarah, and I are directed to the lead Suburban, where I’m surprised to see a familiar face.
“Look what the feral cats dragged in,” says Mike Leahy, extending a meaty hand, the wind tousling his wavy silver hair. A high-ranking section chief with the National Security Agency, many months ago he acted as my unofficial government liaison and security escort. And let’s just say…we didn’t always get along.
I grimace as we shake hands. “Good to see you again, too, Mr. Leahy.”
Our convoy is soon tearing down I-15, an endless two-lane desert highway, toward the laboratory. We should be able to see the Teton Range rising to the east, but it’s obscured by that approaching dust storm.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Leahy says from the front seat. “When word started to spread back in DC that you were bringing back an infected human? It gave us quite a chuckle. But no one’s laughing now.”
“I’m glad,” I say, “but you’re wrong. ‘Infected’ implies some kind of disease-causing organism. Like bacteria, or a virus. We don’t think that’s the case here. Our working theory is, Helen’s prehistoric-like behavior is somehow being triggered by pheromones, just like the animals’ is.”
“‘Helen?’” Leahy scoffs. “You actually named that thing?”
“That thing is a human being,” Sarah snaps. “With a real name we may never know. Show a little respect.”
Damn. I’m liking Sarah more every day.
We ride in silence, and my mind immediately drifts back to Chloe and Eli. Freitas let me listen in as he called President Hardinson’s chief of staff from the plane and got his personal guarantee he’d send a team to track down my wife and son in Paris. Now there’s nothing else I can do but wait and pray that Chloe and Eli are found.
“That sandstorm sure is moving fast,” says Sarah, gesturing out her window.
I look over—and my eyes nearly bug out of my head.
A smaller cloud of dust seems to be rolling across the desert right toward us.
“What…what in the hell…?” Leahy stutters.
As the cloud gets closer, I realize it’s not a weather phenomenon at all.
It’s a charging herd of wild mustangs. Dozens of them.
Chapter 21
“Aw, shit!” Leahy exclaims, grabbing his walkie-talkie. “Be advised, we got horses on our flank!” he barks into it. “All units—shoot and evade, shoot and evade!”
I hang on tight as our Marine