The Geneva Strategy

  “We need to go farther inside before they reach that door and we’re all dead,” Smith said.

  Arden nodded and ran to him as the four opened the emergency door. One man dropped three feet from the opening and died so suddenly that another man right behind stumbled on the body and pitched forward.

  Smith heard a louder buzzing noise and the lawn darkened as the shadow of a much larger drone passed overhead. It dropped another cloud over the building, like a massive crop duster spraying crops. From somewhere outside Smith heard several gunshots and he hoped it was Russell and Beckmann and not security guards losing their minds. He and Arden ran toward the rotunda, yelling at those who still thought the building was on fire and were intent on leaving. From around a corner came Wyler followed by twenty people but no Secret Service guards.

  “Ambassador Wyler, where is your Secret Service detail?” Smith asked. Wyler waved Smith in the direction that he’d just left.

  “Go back. They’re behind me and they’ve lost their minds. They gunned down two people and they’re hunting me.”

  “We can’t go that way either,” Smith said. “The emergency door was opened. I think whatever chemical the drones are dropping on the building has wafted inside.” Smith pointed to a third hallway that branched off the rotunda. “What about that direction?”

  “Let’s try it,” Wyler said.

  Arden, Wyler, Smith, and Meccean began herding the remaining attendees into the hallway. Arden hung back, grabbing a couple of women running past and warning them not to go in that direction. This passageway didn’t empty into the circular hall like all the others but instead to an exit door with a glass window in the upper section. Arden, Smith, Wyler, and another woman attendee stopped. The other fifteen or so people filled the hall.

  “We’re trapped,” Wyler said.

  60

  Russell and Beckmann parked the car on a frontage road near the conference center. Both wore bulletproof vests and both carried weapons. Beckmann’s was a high-powered sniper rifle with a telescopic sight and Russell carried an AK-47 and extra ammunition. They also were equipped with two hand grenades each. What they didn’t have were face masks. The small safe house hadn’t any.

  They worked their way to a location at a forty-five-degree angle from the conference building. Close enough to see what was happening but far enough to avoid being drenched by the drones’ payloads. Beckmann looked at his watch.

  “Been ten minutes since they dropped the chemical. Didn’t Taylor claim that the drug didn’t last long?” he asked.

  “And she also said that a few batches did, so we’re taking a risk here,” Russell said.

  “Move ahead carefully,” Beckmann said. Russell nodded and they walked together, six feet apart and in lockstep. Halfway to the conference center’s back door they saw the first body. It was a woman. Her face was turned toward them and her eyes were open and staring. Ten paces later they found another, but she was sitting back on her heels and gazing into space.

  “Hello? Are you okay?” The woman didn’t acknowledge either Russell or Beckmann. “You should come away from the building. If you go half a mile in that direction you’ll see a group of local police and firemen. They can help you.” Russell pointed in the proper direction. The woman didn’t move. Beckmann glanced at Russell and shook his head. They walked past her, stopping at the line where the trees met the perfectly manicured grass.

  Twenty more steps closer and they saw a man with a gun stalking around the building. He wore an earpiece but was dressed in plainclothes.

  “Someone’s private security,” Beckmann said.

  Russell nodded. “But he doesn’t look normal.”

  “Agreed. He’s definitely been drugged.”

  From above Russell heard the buzzing sound of another incoming drone and tried to tamp down the immediate anxiety she felt.

  “I hate that noise,” she said to Beckmann, who just scanned the sky in silence. From behind she heard the crunching of boots on the ground and they both turned to see the local police commander wearing a gas mask.

  “Another incoming,” he said. “Get back. And take these. They’re temporary and only good for seven minutes, but the long-term ones are all in use.” He handed them both masks made of a clear plastic hood with an attached nozzle.

  The wandering security guard spotted them and sprinted toward them.

  “Watch out for this one,” Beckmann said. “Don’t turn your back on him. And be prepared to shoot if he raises his weapon.” He, Russell, and the commander waited until the security guard was about twenty feet away. Beckmann glanced at the gun in the man’s hand and raised his own.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Beckmann said. The man stopped.

  “Can’t you hear it?” The man screamed the sentence so loud that the veins on either side of his neck stood out and spittle formed in the corners of his mouth.

  “Take it easy. I can hear it,” Beckmann said.

  “Then take that fancy rifle of yours and shoot it down!” the man screamed.

  The droning noise grew louder.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.” The commander’s voice held a warning note. “Now.”

  “Put down your gun and come with us,” Beckmann said to the security guard. “We need to leave the area.”

  “Shoot it!” the man screamed.

  “I can’t—”

  Before Beckmann could finish his sentence the drone was overhead. Russell wanted to clap her hands over her ears to muffle the awful buzzing sound.

  “Go away!” the man screamed at the drone. He raised his gun.

  “Don’t shoot!” Beckmann yelled. “You’ll rupture the tank.”

  Please let him miss, Russell thought.

  The man fired, and he didn’t miss. The drone jerked as the bullet hit it and it tilted sideways. The man fired six more shots in rapid succession and every one hit its target. Three hit the drone’s body and three more pierced the tank holding the payload. The drone tilted downward and smoke began pouring from the exhaust pipes along with a cloudy material from the ruptured tank. The drone angled its nose downward and headed for the conference center.

  “It’s going to crash,” Russell said and she took off running back into the trees. The commander and Beckmann ran along with her. The man stood on the grass, screaming, but Russell couldn’t make out the words. She slowed and looked back just as the drone slammed into the conference center’s floor-to-ceiling windows. They collapsed inward in a shower of glass and aluminum. The drone’s payload exploded outward in a massive white cloud. The man on the grass screamed one more anguished scream, aimed his weapon, and fired it into his own thigh.

  Russell ran as fast as she had ever run in her life. She held her gun before her in both hands and sprinted. The Swiss commander stayed with her, but Beckmann dropped behind. At first she could hear his harsh breathing in her ear and the next minute it was gone. She glanced back.

  Beckmann had slowed to a jog and was gasping for each breath. Russell spun on her heel, doubled back, and ripped the gun from his hands, trying to reduce the weight that he had to carry so that he could focus solely on running. She spun back around and picked up speed once again. She kept going for another quarter mile and only slowed when she reached the outer line of police cars and hazardous incident vehicles that had been summoned by the sirens. A fireman wearing a gas mask and holding a small, one-liter oxygen tank ran up to her, shoved her temporary hood aside, and clapped the mask on her face.

  “Breathe,” he said in French. “It’ll dilute whatever the hood didn’t block.”

  She inhaled, and startled him by shoving Beckmann’s gun into his free hand. He released his grip on the mask to clutch at it. She took the tank from him, then turned and ran back into the trees. She could hear the fireman yelling for her to return but she dodged the trunks and leapt over a log as she headed back to Beckmann. She had slung her own weapon over her shoulder by the strap and it banged against her back with each step. She
found him holding his side and gasping, but still moving at a fast walk. She inhaled one more time and held her breath while she shoved his hood aside and put the mask on his face.

  He nodded and put his hand over hers, holding the mask in place while he continued to stumble ahead. She saw him take a deep breath and then he removed the mask and placed it over her nose. They continued taking turns until they reached the emergency vehicles once again.

  Russell stood next to the fire truck and listened. In the distance she heard the sound of another drone.

  61

  The only door left leads to the outside,” Wyler said.

  Before Smith could respond the building shook and with the vibration came the sound of exploding glass and creaking metal. The collected people screamed at this new threat and several tried to run past Smith. He blocked their way and pointed at a side door with a sign that indicated it led to a stairwell.

  “Up the stairs,” he yelled. A man in the lead pulled open the door and the crowd surged ahead, pushing their way up the stairwell. Both Wyler and Arden hung back to wait for Smith.

  “Go. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  Wyler nodded and started up. Smith shifted to a crouch behind the metal door and waited for the Secret Service detail to appear. The first man came charging down the hall, with his gun held high and a crazed look in his eyes. Smith aimed at his foot. He wanted to disable the man, not kill him. His shot missed and he heard the man scream and grab his ankle. Smith heard a banging noise and saw the second Secret Service agent standing outside. He pounded on the exit door glass before taking aim at him. Smith dove into the stairwell and the agent’s shot smashed through the glass and hammered into the closing metal door.

  Smith ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Emergency lighting bathed the area in a white glow punctuated with a flash of red from a warning light. The strobe light effect was disorienting and Smith did his best to focus on the stairs. The building was only three stories high, so his options to hide were limited. He reached the second-floor landing and found Wyler and Arden waiting for him. Arden had her gun in her hand.

  “Where are the rest?” Smith asked.

  “Headed to the third floor,” Wyler said.

  “I shot one of your guards but there’s another still out there.” From below Smith heard the sound of a man pounding up the stairs. “That one. Get to the third floor with the others.” Smith took up a position near the railing of the final set of stairs. From that angle he would see the man once he emerged from the last landing. They’d be ten feet apart and the only thing separating them would be a metal railing. The footsteps slowed and stopped. Smith stood by the railing and did his best to see down the stairs, but the restricted view only showed him the cement steps. He heard a soft creak, like that of a shoe when the leather was new.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Smith shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been drugged. It’s affecting your judgment.” Smith heard the scrape of a shoe on cement, which told him that the man was still there. From above came a hollow, banging noise.

  “Get up here,” Arden called.

  Smith spun and took the stairs two at a time. From behind him he heard the man resume climbing the stairs as well. Smith reached the last landing and saw Arden standing in the doorway frantically waving him forward. He leapt over the last step and through the doorway. Arden slammed the metal door closed behind him and Wyler helped her thread the wooden handle of a fire ax through the lever to block it from being opened. Smith heard a booming noise as the man on the other side kicked the metal panel. The door opened a fraction as he pulled on the handle from the inside, but the ax successfully blocked it from opening.

  “Where are they?” Smith asked.

  “In a far room that has a drop-down ladder access to the roof,” Arden said.

  “They can’t go out. The drones may still have some payload left.”

  She nodded. “We realize that. Wyler’s on the phone trying to get a helicopter rescue patrol here. His idea is to airlift everyone off the roof. But first he’s trying to figure out where the drones are and if the air is still poisoned.”

  The Secret Service agent unloaded what sounded like an entire clip into the metal door. Smith yanked Arden out of the direct line of fire and watched as the metal deformed with each shot. He thought he counted sixteen shots and that, coupled with the earlier shots, might mean that the magazine was empty. Smith only wished that he could be sure the man didn’t carry a spare.

  He headed in the direction Arden had waved. He found Wyler in the second-to-last section with a phone to his ear as he listened. His eyes lit up when he saw Smith.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said into the phone. He lowered the receiver. “Are you Smith from USAMRIID?”

  “I am.”

  “Meccean told me that you may have some idea of how long the drug remains toxic.”

  Smith rocked his hand back and forth. “It can be anywhere from two minutes to an hour depending on concentration.”

  Wyler looked at his watch. “It’s been at least that since the first onslaught. So that round should be almost dissipated.”

  “But the second was more dense and delivered only ten or so minutes ago. You should tell whoever you’re talking to that he’s taking a risk. Waiting would be prudent.”

  Wyler returned to his conversation and Smith edged to the window on the side facing the rear yard. One of Wyler’s Secret Service guards staggered down the lawn holding his leg, which was gushing blood. Smith was almost certain a major vessel had been hit and the man wandered, wide-eyed, in an aimless circle. After a moment he dropped to his knees, then fell to the ground and lay still. Smith dialed Russell.

  “Russell, you there?” he said into the phone. Wyler jerked around to look at Smith at the mention of her name.

  “I am,” Russell said. Smith exhaled in relief.

  “Thank God. What’s the status out there?”

  “The forward guards are all dead. Those who didn’t drop from the dust turned on each other. Several attendees are dead and those that survived are wandering around behaving bizarrely.”

  “Where are the drones?” Smith asked. But he didn’t need to, because at that moment he heard the buzzing in the distance.

  “The drones flew up and out, but I can still hear them,” Russell said. “We’ve called the local police and also warned the security detail at the UN building, because we’re concerned that they’re heading that way. Fighter jets are taking off to shoot them down, but the CDC is in contact warning them not to fire until they’re sure that they’ve got an empty payload. The concern is they’ll shoot them down and they’ll crash, rupturing the tanks and disseminating the drug. I can attest to the risk, because that’s what just happened.”

  “The entire building just shook. Was it a bomb?”

  “No. The man on the lawn shot at the drone and it crashed into the building.”

  “He was a member of the Secret Service.”

  “Oh, no,” Russell’s voice sounded anguished.

  “I see the problem with shooting down the drones, but what other choices do they have?”

  “They’re going to flank them and wait. Technicians in Djibouti are trying to hack into the dashboard and retake flight control.”

  “And until then?”

  “Until then we need to come up with a plan, because I’m told that their flight path is set to come back here. The authorities have set up even farther away.”

  “They can’t stay aloft forever,” Smith said.

  “Forever doesn’t worry me; it’s the next forty-five minutes that does.”

  “What are the Swiss authorities doing in the meantime?”

  “Trying to figure out how to safely evacuate everyone left standing.”

  “Ambassador Wyler is here. I understand that he’s trying to arrange a helicopter airlift from the roof. What do you think?” Smith waited, but Russell didn’t respond. “Russell, did you hear me?”

&nb
sp; “Sorry, yes, I was distracted a moment. I think it’s a good plan as long as we can hold off the drones. They seemed to be preprogrammed to fly in circles around the perimeter.” Smith’s phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. “Let me know what the local authorities decide.”

  Smith switched to the next call and was relieved to hear Howell’s voice.

  “I heard that you were flying in, but stay the hell away. We’ve got a lot of trouble here,” Smith said.

  “I’m already at the perimeter. I’m flying with an RAF helicopter pilot and we’ve locked onto the nearest drone.”

  “He knows not to shoot, right?”

  “He does. Hold tight. We’ll get you out of there.”

  “I’ll wait to hear the plan,” Smith said. He hung up.

  Arden stood near the window and watched the circling drones. After a moment she glanced at Smith and he could see a level of rage in her eyes that startled him. She pointed out the window.

  Smith walked up to her.

  “What?”

  “They’re marching in to kill us?”

  Smith looked where she was pointing and saw a troop of soldiers fanning out through the trees. They appeared to be military, though they wore no insignia.

  “Swiss army?” Smith said.

  Wyler came to stand next to them. “No insignia, but they look official.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit unusual that they’re coming in from the side that has no driveway or road access and opposite the official rescuers?” Smith said. “Every other division is over there.” He pointed to a cluster of police at the opposite end of the course near the front gatehouse.

  “A quiet governmental action to clean up without having to reveal that they’ve been engaging in illegal wiretapping and while doing so one of their employees went rogue?” Arden suggested.

  “You can’t really believe they intend to kill us. Who?” Wyler asked.

  “I have no idea, but they don’t look official—and wouldn’t the authorities have told you that they were coming in?” Arden asked.