Typhoon Fury (Oregon Files 12)

Juan pointed at the dots. “Those are the only transmissions you received?”

Beth nodded. “We figured they were carrying it in a shielded case, but they had to open it at the airport security lines in Bangkok and Manila.”

“What’s at the third location?” Max asked.

“We don’t know,” Raven said, zooming in on a satellite view of that location, showing a set of low-slung buildings in the middle of the jungle. “The ownership of those buildings is routed through a holding corporation, and I couldn’t find any information about what goes on there.”

“Either the finial is still there,” Beth said, “or they’ve packed it back up and haven’t opened the case again in a place where the signal is readable.”

“Then it looks like this is a place we need to check out,” Juan said.

“You’re taking the job?”

“We don’t have a mission in the works right now, and we’re always happy to help a friend in need.”

“A potential two-and-a-half-million-dollar payday doesn’t hurt, either,” Max added.

“Give us a couple of days to get our ship from here to Manila,” Juan said. “We’ll meet you at the port there.”

He could see the gears working in Raven’s head.

“Just two days?” she said, confused. “The distance between here and Manila is sixteen hundred miles. Don’t you mean four days?”

He shared an amused glance with Max.

“You may be well connected,” Juan said with a sly grin, “but apparently you haven’t heard about the Oregon.”

16

THE UNITED STATES

Jet engines screamed in the distance as the two A-10 Warthog pilots circled their target above Dugway Proving Ground eighty miles west of Salt Lake City. On the main screen inside the mobile command post, Greg Polten watched twelve pigs shuffle around in a pen five miles away, spooked by the din made by the lurking attack planes. Despite the air-conditioning unit pumping out a chilling draft, he continually wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. The future of his career rode on the success of this test. If his serum worked, the pigs would remain spooked but healthy. If it didn’t, the animals would be dead in minutes.

As large as the state of Rhode Island, Dugway was the main testing site for American chemical and biological defensive systems. Like most of the employees at the top secret facility, Polten was a civilian contractor instead of a military service member. But today, in addition to Polten’s small staff, the command post was filled with Army officers observing the classified test.

Syrian chemical weapons were a major threat to U.S. soldiers fighting in the Middle East against ISIS and other terrorist organizations. Donning bulky chemical protective suits significantly hampered soldiers’ fighting ability, so efforts had been made in recent years to develop a serum that would ward off the effects of chemical weapons like sarin and VX nerve gas if soldiers were caught in the field without their gear.

A trim man in his forties, with graying hair at his temples and frameless glasses perched on his nose, Polten had staked his career on developing the Panaxim serum, but years of experiments and tens of millions of tax dollars had yielded nothing usable. His classified program was in danger of being cancelled if he didn’t produce results soon, and this demo was his best chance to show what the serum could do. Lab tests had shown some promise, but the field trial was the ultimate chance to show whether soldiers in battle would be protected.

The air outside was calm, which would not only concentrate the effects of the gas near the pigpen but would also mean that the gas would dissipate before it could reach the edge of the range. In 1968, a test of VX nerve gas had released a cloud much larger than anticipated on a windy day and it had drifted over huge flocks of sheep on surrounding ranches. The Army never admitted liability but paid the ranchers for the loss of more than six thousand sheep. Since then, airburst releases of chemical weapons at Dugway had been carefully controlled and monitored.

General Amos Jefferson, who had been conferring with his aide, startled Polten when his gruff voice boomed out, “Mr. Polten, how long until we see the effects of the gas on the pigs?”

Jefferson, a stout veteran of both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, was in charge of Polten’s funding. If he wasn’t satisfied with the results of the test, the money would dry up. Polten hated the fact that he had to suck up to the military. He thought it should be the other way around.

“General,” he said, crossing his arms to mask his nervousness, “you shouldn’t see any effects of the gas. That’s the point of this test.”

Jefferson turned and narrowed his eyes, as if that was supposed to intimidate Polten. “I know that, Mr. Polten. That’s why you’ve been draining huge amounts of money out of my budget for years now. My soldiers are depending on your success. So let me rephrase the question. When will we know if this Panaxim serum works?”

Polten returned the stare with equal force. “A single pig, marked by a large red A on its side, will be our control. Since it won’t be injected with the serum, it should die within two minutes of exposure. If the other pigs haven’t shown any effects by that time, we can assume they’ll be fine.”

“How are you injecting the Panaxim?” the general asked as he peered at the screen. “I don’t see anyone out there.”

Polten rolled his eyes. Obviously, Jefferson hadn’t read his briefing kit thoroughly.

“If you look closely, you can see that each pig is wearing a collar. When the gas cloud reaches them, I will activate a remote injector embedded in the collar, which will deliver a dose of the serum. It’s similar to the auto-injectors we supply to soldiers in the field.”

“Will they show any effects at all? If this doesn’t work better than atropine, it won’t be any good to us.”