We’re running out of days. The notion festered in Karla Raven’s thoughts as the distant profile of the NetJets flight dropped out of the morning sky on approach to the Colorado Springs airport.
What kind of people, what kind of morality, would use an entire planet filled with innocent human beings to conduct biological experimentation?
“Makes an ISIS jihadist look warm and fuzzy.”
Karla lifted her wraparound sunglasses and raised compact Steiner binoculars to her eyes. Through the chain-link fence she watched the jet touch down, wisps of blue rising as the tires hit the runway.
She then glanced at the NetJets office where she knew Savage was waiting. He had rented a Toyota Land Cruiser for the pickup. It now baked in the parking lot, a hot morning sun gleaming on the vehicle’s chrome and glass.
“If we don’t get this wrapped up, Grazier’s never going to cough up that motorcycle the Skipper wants so desperately.” Word of the bet had been a hot topic of conversation after the Skipper let it slip.
Assuming, that is, that they ever heard from Grazier again. An ominous silence had come from his direction. Though neither Savage nor Dr. Ryan were talking about it, she could sense the tension.
And Grazier—as she so well knew—was currently a high-priority target for someone.
“What did you do, General? Let someone less capable than me cover your six?”
Allowing herself a brief and humorless smile, she slung the heavy backpack over her shoulder and strolled back to her latest “requisitioned” transportation. She’d picked it up on a whim after her long night of driving.
Bracing herself on the seat, she opened the bag and pulled out a Taco John’s burrito. Couldn’t find Taco John’s outside of the Rocky Mountain region. She’d developed a taste for the super-hot green sauce.
Unwrapping her prize, she bit down, delighting in the dribble of warm fluid that leaked out the corner of her mouth. As she savored the taste and studied the parking area, the arriving aircraft roared as it reversed thrusters.