Air Courier Route N12
350km Northeast of Anchorage, Alaska Even through ten centimeters of solid acrylic, Gavril Tarantus could see the monsters moving inside the box. They were no more than grainy mists inside individual test tubes. Those mists churned with each jolt of the plane as it powered through pockets of turbulence. Almost as if the bumpy ride irked them. Gavril took a pen from his olive drab flight suit and began to jot notes on his clipboard. The three-by-four foot acrylic box was mounted on a hardwood dolly. A locking mechanism the size and weight of a manhole cover sat on top. He’d seen the same tamper-proof device protecting the innards of nuclear warheads. The monsters inside could do far worse than mere firecrackers. Six tubes hung below the locking device like bullets chambered in a revolver. Each finger-length container held fifteen cubic centimeters of orthohantavirus, a solid mass of viral matter dried into particles as white and delicate as baby powder. Yet each cylinder of polyethylene-reinforced glass held enough pathogenic material to kill millions. A beefy hand clamped down tight on Gavril’s shoulder. He suppressed his instincts and allowed the hand to turn him around. A man wearing a black uniform with SECURITY stenciled across the front scowled at him before growling two words. “Back off.” Gavril held up the clipboard. “I’m supposed to do a load check mid-flight.” “No one’s supposed to come close to the package.” The guard’s eyes flicked to the name tag at the chest pocket. “If I were you, Corporal Wikowski, I’d leave. Now.” Two more security guards stepped into view on the opposite side of the box. Gavril considered them for a moment. A 9mm Beretta Nano hung snugly in a holster under his flight suit. The weapon was still warm from when he’d shot Wikowski and taken the airman’s uniform off the hanger. No, he thought to himself. Stick to the plan. Gavril turned away and went up to the cockpit. He locked the door and took the empty co-pilot’s chair. The pilot, a rangy-looking man with a military haircut, glanced over with a raised eyebrow. His uniform’s tag also bore the name of a man murdered in the last two hours. “So?” he asked. “What do you think?” “I’m familiar with the outer locking mechanism, Colonel Jurek,” Gavril replied. “Not sure about the inner one. But that’s what we expected. I say we begin the next phase.” A nod. “I agree. We’re approaching the pickup zone.” They each opened a compartment next to their seats and pulled out an oxygen mask. In a few moments, they’d quickly donned the masks and hung portable oxygen tanks at their belts. Gavril watched expectantly as Jurek reached out and flicked a single switch. An alarm blared in the cockpit. Yellow lights flared on the instrument panel as the interior of the fuselage began to depressurize. Gavril’s skin rippled up in goosebumps under his flight suit as the temperature plunged. The rushing howl of air venting filled his ears. That was followed by the more distant noise of men shouting. A frantic banging of fists sounded against the reinforced cockpit door. Then silence. Jurek tapped a few more controls. A faint hiss of liquid escaping cut the air. Then a shudder ran the length of the plane. The autopilot indicator glowed green as it was switched to the ON position. He unbuckled his safety belt and got out of the pilot’s seat. His voice was partially muffled by the oxygen mask. “Let’s go. I’ve dumped the plane’s fuel. We won’t have much time before these turboprops run dry.” The two men went back into the main cabin. The security guards lay unconscious where they’d been overcome by hypoxia. They’d had at most twenty-five seconds to find a secondary source of breathable air. Jurek stepped up to the side of the acrylic box. He stared at the locking mechanism that sat on top for a moment before turning to his companion. “All right. It’s your show for now.” “If you get the Phantoms set up, I can handle the outer lock,” came the reply. “This shouldn’t take too long.” “It had better not.” Gavril moved to the opposite side of the box. He pulled a small plastic device from his flight jacket. Gold-plated electronic plugs dangled from one end. He plugged these into a set of ports on the locking mechanism. A tiny digital screen winked to life on the side of the device. Alphanumeric codes rippled across it at breakneck speed. There was a loud creak as Jurek opened a crate labeled MEDICAL SUPPLIES. He let out a grunt as he tugged out a pair of blocky machines. Each resembled a file cabinet tipped on its side. The resemblance quickly faded as he began unfolding the mechanical arms mounted on each device’s corners. A flexible-blade rotor tipped each arm. The ‘Phantoms’ were bulked-up versions of common surveillance drones. Only these were powerful enough to lift three hundred pounds and transport that weight for short distances. A click echoed inside the cabin. “And there you have it,” Gavril said quietly. He slid a section of the acrylic out of the way, knelt down, and reached inside. His fingertips just brushed the smooth edge of the closest tube. Suddenly, the dull hum inside the cabin was broken by a man’s cough. In a flash, Gavril’s Beretta was in his hand. Off to his side, Jurek had also brought out a handgun. The two men stared in surprise as one of the security guards struggled to get up. The man’s oxygen-starved brain refused to work properly. His chest heaved as he struggled to reach a kneeling position. His neck veins bulged with the effort and his lips were bright blue from the cold and the lack of breathable air. “Don’t…” the man croaked. “The virus…you can’t…” Gavril squinted and aimed at the man’s left eye. He smiled mirthlessly as he spoke. “Back off.” With a bang! the man fell, landing on his back. A final quiver ran through his body before he went still. Gavril put his weapon away. Jurek followed suit. But the older man frowned as Gavril reached inside the box again and slid one of the vials out of its housing. Inside, the viral dust continued to roil as if furious at its casual handling. “What are you doing?” Jurek demanded. “I thought you couldn’t open those!” “I can’t. Not yet, anyway.” Gavril turned the tube to one side so that his companion could see more easily. The top of the vial had been sealed with a shiny black surface embedded with tiny silver stripes. The Colonel frowned. “What am I looking at?” “It’s no wine cork, that’s for sure. This electronic stopper’s been bonded to the polyethylene in the glass at the molecular level. And the algorithm used to lock this is a hell of lot more complex than the one on the outer case. But that doesn’t mean the vial is shatterproof. Especially if it goes down at terminal velocity. And with sixteen tons of airplane on top of it.” Gavril turned away from the box and looked down at the security guard he’d shot. He knelt for a moment. With a mirthless grin, he jammed the vial into the remains of the corpse’s bloody eye socket. “These vials are worth two hundred million apiece to me,” Jurek growled. A careless shrug. “That means nothing to me. And there are five more. I did tell you that I’d engineer a way to delay pursuit.” “It’s the most expensive damned distraction in history.” “Sometimes you have to make the tough decisions.” Jurek gave the younger man a hard look. His jaw worked side-to-side as he chewed those words over. A sputter came from the plane’s starboard engine, jostling the cabin. “Come on,” he said. “Our ride’s down to fumes.” Gavril reached into the acrylic box again. He spun the defunct locking mechanism a couple of times to bring the remaining vials within reach. Jurek took each one and tucked them into a padded belt pack at his waist. “Careful how you land, Colonel,” Gavril remarked, as the two men strapped themselves into the body harnesses attached to the Phantoms. “You’re carrying enough orthohantavirus right now to kill one in every six people on the planet.” “Then we’re both lucky that I always land on my feet.” Jurek leaned to one side and tapped the button that activated the plane’s rear cargo hatch. Light flooded the dim space. A thin howl as the very last of the air inside the fuselage was sucked out the opening. The Phantoms’ engines kicked on with twin metallic whines. Gavril felt a sharp tug at his midsection, then a weightless slide as the drone he was attached to shot backwards out the rear cargo door. He instinctively ducked his head as the lip of the cargo bay blinked past. A disorientating blur of images came next. The angry gray of clouds, the glare of sun. Then the steely gray rear of the twin-engine cargo plane he’d been aboard growing smaller as it receded in the distance. His breath echoed in his ears as he felt another sharp tug at his shoulders, waist, and under his arms. A tooth-rattling buzz came from the Phantom’s rotors as they bit into the thin air. Another buzz came from his side, and he saw Jurek dangling below his own drone. A glint as the now-distant aircraft caught the sun. The twin turboprops had gone still. The plane angled over and disappeared into a bank of low clouds. He heard a faint boom. The drones continued their descent, moving sideways as much as vertically. Gavril held his oxygen mask in place with tingling, cold fingers as he looked down. A trackless expanse of dark coniferous green stretched as far as he could see. But he knew there were pathways through the green. It only took someone who knew where to find them. Several minutes passed as the drones descended an invisible guideline. They homed in on a muddy track that passed for a road in this part of the world. Soon, Gavril felt the thud of his boots on damp ground. He slipped out of the harness as the drone hovered for a few moments more. Then it came to earth and the rotors went blessedly silent. Colonel Jurek landed a few meters away. As soon as he’d shrugged off the harness, his hand went to check that his belt pack was still in place. Gavril went over to join him. The older man pointed down the road. A logging truck struggled over the rough ground towards them. “Our ride’s here. Then it’s your time to shine again.” Jurek paused to peel the oxygen mask from his face. Gavril followed suit. He inhaled the clean, pine-scented air, but it brought little joy to him. It doesn’t feel fair that I get to breathe this, he thought. Not when my brothers and my sister can’t do the same. But rest easy, my siblings. I have yet to harvest your pound of flesh. He smiled grimly as the truck drew closer. 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