The Outlaws (Presidential Agent 6)

Level Four BioLab Two

U.S. Army Medical Research Institute

Fort Detrick, Maryland

1510 9 February 2007

The senior scientific officer of the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute—Colonel J. Porter Hamilton (B.S., USMA, ’84; M.D., Harvard Medical School, ’89; Ph.D., Molecular Physics, MIT, ’90; Ph.D., Biological Chemistry, Oxford, ’91)—and his principal assistant—Master Sergeant Kevin Dennis, USA (Certificate of High School Equivalency for Veterans, Our Lady of Mount Carmel High School, Baltimore, Maryland, ’98)—were both attired in the very latest Level Four chemical/ biological hazardous material protective gear.

It was constructed of a multilayer silver-colored fabric completely enclosing their bodies. The helmet of the garment had a large glass plate so they could see pretty well, and was equipped with a communications system that when activated provided automatic video and audio recording of whatever they said and whatever they were looking at. It also provided access to both the BioLab Two and Fort Detrick switchboards and—a modification personally installed by Colonel Hamilton, assisted by Master Sergeant Dennis—encrypted communication with an underground laboratory at the AFC Corporation in Las Vegas, Nevada. Finally, there was provision for Colonel Hamilton and Master Sergeant Dennis to communicate with each other privately; no one could hear what they were saying and it was not recorded.

Each suit was connected by two twelve-inch-diameter telescoping hoses on their backs to equipment which provided purified air under pressure to the suits, and also purified the “used” air when it flowed out of the suits.

Colonel Hamilton had more than once commented that when he looked at Kevin Dennis “suited up,” he thought he looked as if they were in a science fiction movie and would not have been at all surprised if Bruce Willis joined them to help in the slaying of an extraterrestrial monster.

There was all sorts of equipment in the laboratory, including an electron microscope which displayed what it was examining on as many as five fifty-four-inch monitors.

Colonel Hamilton placed the communication function of the helmet on INTER ONLY, and then asked, vis-à-vis what was on the left of the five monitors, “Opinion, Kevin?”

“Colonel, that shit’s as dead as a doornail.”

“Let us not leap, Kevin, to any conclusions that, if erroneous, might quite literally prove disastrous.”

“Okay, but that shit’s as dead as a doornail.”

“What are we looking at?”

Master Sergeant Dennis consulted a clipboard that was attached, through the suit, to the six-inch stump that was all that remained of his right arm.

“Batch two one seven decimal five.”

“And what have we done to this?” Colonel Hamilton inquired.

“The same thing we’ve done to two one seven decimals one through four.”

“Which is?”

“Fifteen minutes of the helium at minus two-seventy Celsius.”

Minus two hundred seventy degrees Celsius is minus four hundred fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. To find a lower temperature, it is necessary to go into deep space.

“Present temperature of substance?”

“Plus twenty-one decimal one one one one Celsius, or plus seventy Fahrenheit.”

“And it has been at this temperature for how long a period of time?”

“Twenty-four hours, sixteen minutes.”

“What was the length of thawing time?”

“Exposed to plus twenty-one decimal one one one one Celsius, it was brought up from minus two hundred seventy Celsius in eight hours and twelve minutes.”

“With what indications of chemical or biological activity during any part of the thawing process?”

“None, nada, zip.”

“Sergeant Dennis, I am forced to concur. That shit is as dead as a doornail.”