The scene on the USS Nimitz resembled the airbase at Edinburgh, though on a much larger scale. A tall man stood on the flight deck, roughly twenty feet in front of about two hundred men and women in US Navy khakis standing at attention. The officer met Peyton and the other three as they were disembarking the plane, and informed them that the assembled group were members of the ship’s crew who had volunteered for this mission. Each was either immune to the virus or wasn’t incapacitated yet. They were ready to fight.
Minutes later, a fleet of helicopters lifted off, carrying Avery, Peyton, Desmond, William, Charlotte, and the two hundred US Navy volunteers. As they rose into the sky, Peyton looked down and saw crews moving the boxes of the cure out of the transport plane. They had brought five thousand doses—enough to save the entire crew of the Nimitz.
They landed on the USS Boxer, which Peyton thought looked like a smaller version of the Nimitz. She soon learned that the Boxer was part of a US Navy Expeditionary Strike Group—a collection of ships capable of deploying quick reaction forces via land, sea, and air.
In a conference room just off the bridge, Colonel Nathan Jamison, the commander of the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit, briefed the five of them on the reconnaissance his crew had gathered during the five hours since Avery’s contact had begun coordinating with the United States Department of Defense.
An image of a harbor appeared on the screen. Massive canopies hung overhead.
Jamison’s voice came out like a growl. “We haven’t observed any vessels departing or arriving.”
William stood beside him at the whiteboard. “You likely won’t.”
Through the windows, Peyton saw more helicopters arriving, unloading troops. The Boxer was gathering all able-bodied Marines and Navy personnel from ships scattered throughout the Pacific. The colonel had told them that his unit typically had twenty-two hundred active duty personnel, but the X1-Mandera virus had decimated their ranks. Peyton wondered how the Citium had gotten the virus onto so many ships. Had they used the water, packing tape, and boxes the team had discovered at Aralsk-7? Or was there another delivery method for the armed services and other isolated populations?
On the whiteboard, her father sketched a map of the island’s buildings and roads. “This is how the island looked in the mid-sixties. That’s the last time I was there.” He paused for a moment. Peyton thought he was remembering something; she wondered what it was.
He pointed at a building far inland, away from the main road. “This is the administrative building. It’s the primary office complex on the island. I think the Citium leadership will be there. If so, the main server farm will be too. We get in there, get Avery logged in, and she’ll be able to get direct access to the Citium’s files including, hopefully, the list of warehouses around the world where the cure is stored.”
Colonel Jamison began describing his plan, which involved paratroopers landing at the administrative building and amphibious vessels making landfall on a deserted beach a few miles from the harbor and immediately sweeping through with thousands of troops. Air support would begin as soon as the paratroopers hit the ground. Peyton and the other four of them would follow once the site was secure.
When Colonel Jamison had finished, William said, “It’s a good plan. An attack with overwhelming force is the correct approach under normal circumstances.”
Jamison stared at him.
“However, we have an advantage.”
“Which is?” Jamison growled.
“Surprise. Knowledge of the terrain. And working against us, we have an enemy that is sublimely clever. They may well be prepared for a head-on assault—in ways we can’t anticipate. Casualties will likely be high.”
“The cost of failure is even higher,” Jamison said.
“True enough. But I believe we should consider an amendment to your plan. A precursor, if you will. I suggest that the five of us land at your identified insertion point, reconnoiter the target zone, and make our way to the administrative building, where we will attempt to gain entry and obtain the objective.”
Jamison shook his head. “Too risky. If you’re discovered, we lose the element of surprise.”
“I rate your plan as even more risky, Colonel. Landing in the harbor and on the beaches in force gives the Citium time to delete the very files we’re after. No, it simply won’t work.”
The two men argued at length, with no one else able to get a word in. Finally, William raised his voice. “I’m not a civilian. I was previously in the employ of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service. And we were very, very good at exactly this type of operation.”
The assertion didn’t dissuade Jamison; in fact, it enraged him. The two men did, however, come to a compromise: the five of them would land at the beach with a smaller strike force of Navy SEALs and Marine Force Recon. The main assault force and air support would be on standby, ready for rapid deployment.
Outside the briefing room, Peyton’s father whispered in her ear, “I need to speak with you.”
When they were alone, he said, “On the island, I want you to stay close to me.”
“Okay.”
“And keep Charlotte close.”
“Is she…”
“Trust me, Peyton, okay?”
“All right.”
“You may learn things that will… disturb you.”
“Dad, what are you telling me?”
“I’m only telling you to be ready. And to stay focused on the objective: finding the list of sites holding the cure.”
Desmond stood on the flight deck, the wind blowing on his face. Helicopters continued to land. Troops were massing for the assault. The sun was setting now; they would be wheels up within an hour.
Avery walked over, stood beside him silently for a few minutes.
“We need to talk about what you remembered at your childhood home,” she said.
He spoke without looking at her. “No we don’t.”
“Des, at least tell me what you’re going to do about it.”
“I have no idea.”
Chapter 109
Desmond found Peyton in one of the mess halls, sitting alone, a plate of untouched food on the table in front of her. He picked up a tray, loaded up on beef stew and cornbread, and sat down across from her.
“Not hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“I’m nervous too.”
She pushed some green beans around her plate. “I’m used to going into dangerous situations. High stakes.”