Plains Of Fire

“We’ll head in,” Bolan announced. “Our USAMRIID backgrounds are already with the World Health Organization, right? Cal can lend us credibility as a medical emergency investigation team.”

Brognola bristled. “You’ll be right at ground zero for an epidemic.”

“Trouble is, Hal, we have what looks like an artificially manufactured virus out in the Sudan. If it’s manufactured, then that means there is a strong possibility that there will be a form of treatment or a vaccine to grant immunity. Even if there isn’t, we can intercept the means of dispersal and destroy them before they claim any more victims,” Bolan countered. “We’ve encountered designer diseases enough times in the past, and the scientists who bred them leave a back door to treatment, if only for their own personal safety. The fabricators of these diseases aren’t suicidal, no matter who they give this particular loaded gun to.”

“Some things are just plain incurable,” Brognola mentioned. “Remember the incident in Utah?”

“I do,” Bolan answered. “But what should we do in that case? I’m not going to hide my head in the sand and hope the disease goes away. I’m going in, and if I can’t help locate a cure, then I’ll at least bring down every member of Bitturumba’s murderous militia. However, I am going to make sure that I can slam the lid on this box before any more demons escape. It’s a few countries over, and Darfur has been on my to-do list for too damn long.”

“Good luck, Striker,” Brognola said. “The WHO has your package and they’re vetting you. Bear’s set it up, as always. You’ll be bought hook, line and sinker unless you start acting like the professional ass-kicker you are.”

“I hope we’re not there long enough for them to look at us that closely,” Bolan replied. “But once we get there, I have a feeling that we’ll have the time to attract more attention than the Thunder Lions and their disease.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Darfur, Sudan

Elee Aslin wasn’t keen on leaving Tanya Marshall’s side, not when she was pushing herself to the edge of a breakdown as she sought a solution to the origin of the latest viral outbreak. Unfortunately, Aslin’s job description was transport pilot, not Marshall’s personal morale coach. She had a job to do, and she did it, picking up the three American USAMRIID operatives. The trio was being sent by the Army’s Medical Institute of Infectious Diseases to assist in the current crisis, as their focus was the use of diseases as biological weapons. As she leaned against her helicopter, an old workhorse UH-1 Huey, she spotted them. The highest-ranking officer in the group wasn’t a doctor. The only doctor in the group was Calvin Farrow, and he was accompanied by two vaguely described assistants. Aslin kept her suspicions silent, but she was aware that this could just be a cover for a covert operation to investigate the source behind the bioweapon releases in Darfur. She remembered her compatriots from the Nairobi branch of the WHO talking about the apocalyptic assault on their headquarters.

A three-man team of commandos had come in and prevented the theft of multiple contagion samples, which would have begun a worldwide pandemic. The trio had come to the rescue with a U.S. Ranger contingent, supposedly, but one of the rescued staff members felt that the trio had been much more than mere Army personnel. However, the three men who approached the helicopter didn’t match the descriptions. All of those men had been white, of average height, and one had a marked British accent.

Calvin Farrow was an African-American, tall and lanky. The men with him were another tall, powerfully built man with jet-black hair and cold blue eyes and a stocky, handsome Hispanic man with an pleasant, somewhat flirtatious smile for her.

“This is Colonel Brandon Stone and Captain Rafael Ruiz,” James introduced as Aslin stood to greet them. The ground crew was still refueling and inspecting the Huey for its journey back to the refugee camp and the village.