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Pandemic

Standing in the humid Yemeni air — where at midnight it was easily fifty degrees warmer than Washington had been at midday — Haldane began to feel sticky. Glancing around, he could better appreciate the frantic buzz of activity. While the soldiers worked with silent determination, the noise was earsplitting. Cargo doors slammed open and shut. Jet engines fired up. Cars, trucks, and armored vehicles moved in all directions; some carried supplies while others drove into the hulls of the huge transport planes.

Haldane had never before been to an air force base, let alone one that was set to launch a critical military operation, but the sense of purpose was palpable in the air. He welled with patriotism, a rare emotion for him. When he glanced at Gwen, she appeared equally mesmerized by the sight of the mechanized bees' nest.

An officer dressed in fatigues and matching hat drew their attention with arms waving above his head. "Drs. Savard and Haldane?" he yelled out over the noise.

Gwen gave him the thumbs-up sign.

The man waved for them to follow him. Once inside the open hangar, Haldane noticed that the level of noise dropped several decibels to simply loud.

Haldane half expected a salute, but the muscular man with square jaw, cropped hair, and deep acne scars held out a hand for them to shake. "Evening, Doctors, I'm Major Patrick O'Toole with the Seventy-fifth Rangers Airborne, but everyone 'round here knows me as Paddy," he said with a friendly grin. "I'm to be your liaison officer."

"Gwen Savard," she said, and shook his hand.

"Noah Haldane," he said, meeting the crushing handshake. "But everyone around here will know me as 'Chicken.'"

The major laughed heartily. "Glad to meet you, Chicken. You'll fit right in." He wheeled around and pointed to the other side of the hangar as if directing a car.

Paddy led them to a quieter comer of the hangar, where a makeshift canteen offered self-serve coffee, tea, cookies, and other snacks. "Coffee?" Paddy asked as he poured a cup from the dispenser. Nauseated from the bumpy flight and the engine fumes in the hangar, Haldane declined with a shake of his head. So did Gwen. Paddy shrugged and kept the cup for himself.

They sat down at one of several empty picnic-style tables topped with a few scattered condiments. "Are you aware of the mission details?" Paddy asked.

Gwen nodded. "We attended General Fischer's briefing at the White House this morning."

Paddy's jaw dropped, impressed.

"He only gave an overview of the operation," she hurried to add.

"Okay," Paddy said. His expression stiffened and his tone deepened. "As you are aware, this is a modified lightning strike on the terrorist compound." He put down his cup, and drew a circle around it with his finger. He looked from Gwen to Noah. "Modified, because not only do we need to secure the target, but we can afford zero leakage." He ran two fingers through the air. "By that, I mean, the operation's success is dependent on ensuring that not one single terrorist escapes the compound alive."

Gwen shrugged at Paddy. "So how does that change the tactics of the strike?"

"Good question, ma'am." Paddy nodded. "It slows everything down a little. We have to establish full 360-degree vision from the sky and secure the perimeter to an even tighter degree than usual."

"So they will have more warning when the assault team does arrive?" Gwen asked.

"Exactly!" Paddy said. "But not a lot. We have no enemy air power to overcome. Just a matter of getting our planes and choppers in position, and getting our boys positioned on the ground. We can do that very quickly."

"So where do we fit into the equation?" Haldane asked.

"Well, I don't see a gun in your hand or a parachute on your back, so it means we're pretty much at the back of the pack," Paddy said. "Coming from the White House, you have an important job to do, but we'll have to wait until we get the word from the lead troops."

Paddy pointed toward the end of the hangar at one of the large transport planes that faced them. With its massive front cargo door open and a vehicle parked on the ramp, it looked like a monster with an appetite for metal. "We'll fly in on one of those C17s to the airstrip west of Hargeysa." He shrugged. "Then we'll wait and, with any luck, watch the battle at the mobile command center."

"And then?" Gwen prodded.

Paddy's face shed its expression of affable amusement. His eyes hardened. "My orders are to take you and the rest of the site survey team to the terrorist base once it is secure — and I cannot stress enough — that we are not going anywhere until we hear that the site is safe and secure."