Reaping The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 3) Read online

  “That may not be as easy as it should be,” Cullen warned.

  “Why?” Jack ignored the hammer banging in his head as he forced himself up into a sitting position. “Did someone steal the embassy’s phones?”

  Cullen grimaced. “Global telecommunications have gone to hell.”

  “But surely the embassy can get through?” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he took a moment to catch his breath. He took the time to glare at Cullen.

  Morgensen came to his rescue. “Communications with our embassies have also suffered, but the dedicated military links through NATO are still functioning. We should be able to provide what you need with reasonable privacy.”

  “My orders…” Cullen began to say before Jack cut him off.

  “I’m not under anyone’s orders. I just want to talk to Naomi and make sure she’s okay. And has anyone bothered to tell her that I’m alive?”

  Cullen shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Right,” Jack growled. To Terje, Jack said, “Got any clothes I can borrow?”

  ***

  Dressed in a Norwegian Army uniform, Jack looked out the window of the Royal Norwegian Air Force Sea King helicopter as it flew east from Bodø over the shores of the Saltfjorden. The view was breathtaking, the jagged snow-covered mountains framing the waters of the fjord as they reflected the gunmetal gray clouds above. A light snow was falling, making the scene even more enchanting.

  Lurva, wearing a collar and leash, sat in his lap, surprisingly docile in the noisy helicopter.

  With a sigh, he turned away from the window. Terje sat beside him, while Morgensen and Cullen, who had insisted on coming along to chaperone Jack, sat in the seats on the opposite side of the cavernous helicopter. Six soldiers accompanied them, along with the helicopter’s crew chief.

  Terje had told him it would be a short trip, and it was. Less than ten minutes after the white and orange helicopter of 330 Squadron had taken off from Bodø Airport, it was coming in to land at a helipad near the center of a small complex of buildings nestled in the forest not far from the fjord. As the wheels touched down, the crew chief slid open the door and the soldiers nimbly jumped to the ground to take up defensive positions around the aircraft.

  Jack gathered up Lurva and followed Morgensen and Cullen out the door, with Terje bringing up the rear.

  Morgensen headed through the billowing snow tossed up by the helicopter’s rotor blades toward two military vehicles that looked similar to the American Humvee. A gauntlet of soldiers stood in front of the vehicles, their weapons trained on the new arrivals. In front of them were two open frame crates containing a pair of cats. The defense minister presented her hand to each cat for approval, and after shaking the hand of the stern-faced two-star general who led the reception detail, she got into the rear seat of the lead vehicle.

  Jack repeated the procedure, holding out his free hand to each cat while he held on to Lurva with the other. The general gave her what might have passed for a smile before waving Jack through.

  Behind him, Cullen and Terje took their turns through the receiving line.

  The general took the front seat of the lead vehicle, while Cullen got in next to Morgensen. Jack and Terje hopped into the rear seat of the second vehicle.

  “This is the new Forsvarets operative hovedkvarter, our Joint Forces Headquarters,” Terje explained as the driver started off along a snow-covered road that led into the forest.

  They passed through a heavily guarded check point, then a few moments later pulled up in front of a tunnel entrance that was heavily reinforced with concrete and had thick steel blast doors.

  “The Joint Forces staff moved here in 2010 from Oslo,” Terje said. “The old headquarters facility would have been indefensible.”

  Jack shook his head in dismay. “Has it ever occurred to you that this could be a death trap? You could have larvae oozing their way down the ventilation shafts or eating through gaskets.”

  “We have taken steps to prevent that,” Terje said. “All the organic materials used in the door and ventilation seals and other penetration points have been removed and replaced. We have cats patrolling the facility in company with soldiers armed with weapons loaded with incendiary ammunition.”

  “That makes me feel a little better,” Jack admitted. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather be at home in bed.”

  Getting out of the vehicles, they were checked by the guards at the tunnel entrance. Once cleared inside, the group climbed aboard a large electric cart that took them into the tunnel.

  Jack looked at Terje. “How many harvesters do you think have made it into Norway?”

  “Enough to cause trouble,” Terje said, “but not enough to start a panic. Not yet, at least. The government acted quickly by closing the borders and airspace, along with the ports. The reserves have been mobilized and formed into quick reaction teams to respond to any harvester sightings. So far, the incident rate seems to be stable, so we like to think we’re killing them as quickly as they are identified.” He reached over and rubbed Lurva on the head. “Cats are also in very short supply after thousands were requisitioned for the military.”

  “The civilians have been told that cats can recognize harvesters?”

  “Yes.” Terje’s nodded, his grin fading away. “We have passed on as much information as we can about how to combat harvesters without heavy weapons. We have given instructions on using lighter fluid or even combustible aerosol sprays with lighters as makeshift flamethrowers. That was a tip your FBI sent to us. We have also tried to make incendiary ammunition available to owners of firearms, but it is in short supply after the military’s needs. And of course, we have told them to use cats for warning, and explained how to spot harvesters for those lucky enough to have a thermal imager. Unfortunately, some people have tried to gather up as many cats as they can to sell at outrageous prices. I know how ridiculous it may sound, but His Majesty is expected to declare all cats as state property through the duration of the emergency. Selling them will be a very serious offense.”

  “It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all,” Jack said as he stroked Lurva’s fur. She took in her new surroundings from the vantage point of his lap, and he could hear her purring over the whine of the cart. Alexander would have been meowing and fidgeting the entire time.

  The cart finally rolled to a stop before another set of blast doors. Yet more guards checked everyone’s identification. Jack thought it odd that no cats were posted there until he spied one curled up, sound asleep, against the steel bulkhead that held the blast door.

  He nudged Terje, then pointed to the snoozing cat. “Your hard-earned tax dollars at work, I see.”

  “We let some roam loose through the corridors. It’s obviously very boring duty.”

  Jack only shook his head as Morgensen and the general led them into the heart of the facility, a sour-faced Cullen bringing up the rear.

  REUNION

  The Forsvarets operative hovedkvarter was dominated by a spacious two-story operations center. An enormous multi-panel display covered the front wall, running the width of the room and from roughly six feet above the floor up to the ceiling. Men and women in combat fatigues manned the four rows of workstations facing the giant screen. Many were quietly but intensely watching their consoles or tapping out instructions on their keyboards, while others were talking on phones or headsets. Above them, overlooking the operations floor, was a glassed-in mezzanine.

  Terje and Jack held back as Morgensen, Cullen, and the two-star general went to the front to join a small group of high-ranking officers. One of them, an older but well-muscled man with silver-gray hair, had four stars on the front of his uniform. He had deep worry lines carved in his face. Morgensen said something, and the man shook his head emphatically before pointing up to the display.

  Jack couldn’t read the Norwegian text, but there was a fundamental universality to the military map symbols that allowed him to understand what the screen was showing. A map of
the Scandinavian peninsula, together with the Baltic countries and western Russia from the White Sea south to Moscow, occupied the bulk of the display. Blue icons tagged as Royal Norwegian Air Force F-16s were flying in race track ovals near the borders with Russia and Finland, with a pair orbiting over Oslo. Other tracks showed P-3 Orion maritime surveillance aircraft patrolling the long coastline along the Norwegian sea and the Skagerrak, the channel that separated the Scandinavian peninsula from Denmark. Icons shaped like ships and tagged with names like Thor Heyerdahl and Steil patrolled the entrance to every major port, while more plied the waters up and down the coast in concert with the P-3s.

  A smaller map, taking up one corner of the display, showed the Svalbard Archipelago. A pair of F-16s flew in a large figure eight over Spitsbergen, the largest of the islands in the archipelago, and a commando unit protected the SvalSat communications facility.

  Brigade Nord, the only combat brigade in the Norwegian Army, had deployed its light armored battalion, both mechanized battalions with their tanks and infantry combat vehicles, and the sole artillery battalion to the north, opposite the Russian border.

  Jack turned to Terje. “Worried about the Russians?”

  “Yes. This must look much like our deployments did during the Cold War, although now for different reasons. We are not worried that the Russian government will order an attack against us, but we cannot afford a flood of refugees streaming across the border. So we’ve put most of our combat strength there to help the Border Guard.”

  “What about the border with Finland and Sweden?”

  “We have helicopters with thermal imagers searching along the border, and we have created a volunteer force of hunters and alpinists to set up warning pickets, but…” He shrugged. “There is just too much territory to cover. We would all need to form a line and hold hands to catch them coming through the forests.”

  “Make sure your people look for any signs of deforestation,” Jack said. “Patches or swatches of missing trees might be a giveaway that larval forms are in the area.”

  They looked up as Morgensen gestured for the two of them to join the group at the front of the ops center.

  “Jack,” Morgensen said, turning to the four-star general, “this is our Chief of Defense, General Jonas Nesvold.”

  “Mr. Dawson.” Nesvold’s big hand enfolded Jack’s as they shook.

  “An honor, sir,” Jack said, “although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “So do we all, Mr. Dawson.” Gesturing to the screen, he asked, “What is your assessment of the situation in Russia?”

  “Sir, what I know is from nearly a week ago, and…”

  Nesvold waved away Jack’s concerns. “I understand that. But you were there, you witnessed things first-hand. We have had little in the way of direct intelligence reporting on what is taking place there. Please indulge me.”

  Jack looked at the screen, his eyes tracing the path he had taken across Russia only five days ago. “It’s a disaster, sir. They had a lab in their grain belt that must have somehow obtained samples of the grain infected with the harvester genes, virus, whatever you want to call it. The things got loose, and…” He had to stop for a moment. His pulse was hammering in his head and he felt short of breath. His vision began to turn gray.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “You need rest,” Terje said.

  “No.” Jack shook his friend’s hand away. “There’s no time for that.” Looking back at Nesvold, Jack went on, “General, there’s no silver lining to what’s happening. The larval forms and the adult harvesters in their natural form are bad enough. Harvesters posing as impostors might be even worse. I saw with my own eyes one of the damn things masquerading as a Russian officer, a major, right in one of their garrisons. If the harvesters infiltrate one of their Strategic Rocket Forces units or, God forbid, their senior command staff…”

  “But surely the Russians have taken steps as we have to improve their security?” Morgensen protested.

  “I don’t know,” Jack said. “I hope they did, but I can’t tell you more than that.”

  Nesvold’s frown deepened. “Well, we are doing what we can. We can only hope that it is enough.”

  Before Jack could reply, he caught sight of a young soldier at one of the workstations, gesturing for him to come over.

  “She’s trying to connect you to Naomi Perrault,” Nesvold said with a gentle smile.

  “Ma’am, general, if you’d excuse me for a moment?” He didn’t wait for a reply before he quickly stepped over to the soldier, who handed him a headset with a boom mic.

  With an indignant meow, Lurva trotted along behind him, her leash still in Jack’s hand.

  “We have a secure connection, sir,” the soldier said.

  “Thank you.” Jack gave her a quick smile of gratitude.

  “Excuse me, but this has to be a private conversation!” Cullen whined from behind him. Lowering his voice, he added, “You can’t talk to Naomi in the middle of a room of uncleared people!”

  “Listen,” Jack turned on him, “I don’t want to talk to her about anything that’s classified. I just want to know that she’s okay and tell her that I’m alive. If you don’t like it, Mr. Cullen, you can kindly go fuck yourself!”

  “Jack?” He heard a familiar voice as he slipped on the headset. “Jack, hon, please say that was you telling someone to go fuck himself!”

  “Yeah, Renee, it’s me,” he said, relieved to hear her voice. Renee Vintner was one of his closest friends.

  “Oh, God, Jack.” She said through her snuffling and sobbing. “We thought you were dead, you idiot! Naomi’s going to kill you.”

  Jack chuckled, then said, “I know I’m in for it. Listen, is she there?”

  “Yeah, she’s on her way. I had to call her up from the lab. You know I can’t tell you where, right?”

  Glancing over his shoulder at Cullen, who stood fuming behind him, Jack said, “Yeah, I got the full lecture on that score.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m at the Norwegian Joint Forces Command headquarters, in an underground bunker near Bodø. Hey, is Naomi okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Renee quipped. “So is Carl, for that matter, although he’d be losing more hair if he had any left.” There was a pause. “And no, Naomi hasn’t been all right, you big oaf. She died inside when the President told her your plane was shot down. God, I want to knock you in the head for being such a moron, but I’ll have to wait my turn. And how the devil did you make it out of that one with your hide in one piece?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” He took a deep breath. “Just get Naomi on the phone.”

  ***

  At the center of two hundred acres of flat, barren ground squatted the hastily erected fortress known as SEAL-2. Originally intended as a special research lab for Morgan Pharmaceuticals, it had been given over by its billionaire owner, Howard Morgan, to the government to aid in the fight against the harvesters.

  The main building stood two stories above ground, but would have been barely recognizable to those who built it. The sleek exterior of white walls and glass, designed to be both attractive and energy efficient, had disappeared behind bolt-on steel armor. The roof had also been reinforced, and had sprouted a forest of communications antennas and weapons emplacements.

  On one side of the lab building, a pair of two story dormitories were being erected to house the small army of scientists and security personnel who had been brought in, and who were now living in tents arrayed in neat rows on the opposite side of the lab building until their permanent quarters were finished. A helipad and a maintenance hangar had been built in the open area in front of the lab, with fuel storage and a motor pool behind.

  The entire facility was ringed with a moat that could be filled with fuel to form a protective fire ring, backed up with a ten foot high metal wall with guard towers set at intervals along its length. From the wall to the double fence around th
e main buildings was a two hundred meter deep no-man’s land filled with mines and sensors that could detect harvester larvae.

  But the heart of the base, the reason for its existence, was buried beneath the lab building. That is where the research on harvesters and how to destroy them was being carried out.

  At a workstation in the second sub-basement, thirty feet below the surface, Naomi Perrault stared at her computer screen. Five hundred and seventy three new emails crowded her in box, all of them flagged as immediate priority. Many of them would be congratulations on mapping the harvester genome. Her team had just finished mapping the eight hundred billion base pairs of harvester DNA, the culmination of the work begun by the Earth Defense Society over two years before. It was a feat she should have been proud of, considering that it had taken the Human Genome Project ten years to map the three billion base pairs in humans DNA.

  She sat back for a moment and rubbed her eyes, which felt like they were full of sand. The elation she should have felt had been overwhelmed by the reality that mapping the genome was only the first step. Her team could analyze the terrain of the harvesters’ genetic structure, but still had no idea which parts of it were important, which parts could be turned against them. As her scientists explored this new world, more and more questions arose, but precious few answers.

  Blinking her burning, bloodshot eyes, she put her hands back to the keyboard and began to hammer out a response to one of the emails, the daily query from the president’s scientific advisor on her team’s progress.

  Nothing to report.

  The phone trilled.

  She glared at the phone, but stifled her curse when she saw on the caller ID display that it was Renee.

  Tapping a button on the phone, she spoke into her headset as she continued typing. “What is it?”

  “Hon, get up here right now.” Renee was breathless with excitement.

  Naomi frowned. “What is it? Can’t you route the call to me here?”

  “No, it’s on one of the secure lines. And no, I can’t say what it is on the internal phone. Just get your ass up here!”