Don’t miss DEAD ALERT by Bianca
D’Arc,
Coming next month . . .
Fort Bragg, North
Carolina
“I’ve got a special project for you, Sam.” The
commander, a former Navy SEAL named Matt Sykes, began talking
before Sam was through the door to Matt’s private office. “Sit down
and shut the door.”
Sam sat in a wooden chair across the
cluttered desk from his commanding officer. Lt. Sam Archer, US Army
Green Beret, was currently assigned to a top secret, mixed team of
Special Forces soldiers and elite scientists. There were also a few
others from different organizations, including one former cop and a
CIA black ops guy. It was an extremely specialized group, recruited
to work on a classified project of the highest order.
“I understand you’re a pilot.” Matt
flipped through a file as he spoke.
“Yes, sir.” Sam could have said more
but he didn’t doubt Matt had access to every last bit of Sam’s
file, even the top secret parts. He had probably known before even
sending for him that Sam could fly anything with wings. Another
member of his old unit was a blade pilot who flew all kinds of
choppers, but fixed wing aircraft were Sam’s
specialty.
“How do you like the idea of going
undercover as a charter pilot?”
“Sir?” Sam sat forward in the chair,
intrigued.
“The name of a certain charter airline
keeps popping up.” Matt put down the file and faced Sam as his gaze
hardened. “Too often for my comfort. Ever heard of a company called
Praxis Air?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s a small outfit, based out of
Wichita—at least that’s where they repair and maintain their
aircraft in a company-owned hangar. They have branch offices at
most of the major airports and cater mostly to an elite business
clientele. They do the odd private cargo flight and who knows what
else. They keep their business very hush-hush,
providing the ultimate in privacy for their corporate
clients, or so their brochure advertises.” Matt pushed a
glossy tri-fold across the desk toward Sam.
“Looks pretty slick.”
“That they are,” Matt agreed. “So slick
that even John Petit, with his multitude of CIA connections, can’t
get a bead on exactly what they’ve been up to of late. I’ve been
piecing together bits here and there. Admiral Chester, the traitor,
accepted more than a few free flights from them in the past few
months, as did Ensign Bartles, who it turns out, was killed in a
Praxis Air jet that crashed the night we took down Dr. Rodriguez
and his friends. She wasn’t listed on the manifest and only the
pilot was claimed by the company, but on a hunch I asked a friend
on the National Transportation Safety Board to allow us to do some
DNA testing. Sure enough, we found remnants of Beverly Bartles’ DNA
at the crash site, though her body had to have been moved sometime
prior to the NTSB getting there. The locals were either paid off or
preempted. Either option is troubling, to say the
least.”
“You think they’re mixed up with our
undead friends?” They were still seeking members of the science
team that had created the formula that killed and then turned its
victims into the walking dead. Nobody had figured out exactly how
they were traveling so freely around the country when they were on
every watch list possible.
“It’s a very real possibility. Which is
why I want to send you in undercover. I don’t need to remind you,
time is of the essence. We have a narrow window to stuff this genie
back into its bottle. The longer this goes on, the more likely it
is the technology will be sold to the highest bidder and then, God
help us.”
Sam shivered. The idea of the zombie
technology in the hands of a hostile government or psycho
terrorists—especially after seeing what he’d seen of these past
months—was unthinkable.
“If my going undercover will help end
this, I’m your man.” He’d do anything to stop the contagion from
killing any more people.
Sam opened the flyer and noted the
different kinds of jets the company offered. The majority of the
planes looked like Lear 35’s in different configurations. Some were
equipped for cargo. Some had all the bells and whistles any
corporate executive could wish for and a few were basically
miniature luxury liners set up for spoiled celebrities and their
friends.
“I’d hoped you’d say that. I’ve
arranged a little extra training for you at Flight Safety in
Houston. They’ve got Level D flight simulators that have full
motion and full visual. They can give you the Type Rating you’ll
need on your license to work for Praxis Air
legitimately.”
“I’ve been to Flight Safety before.
It’s a good outfit.” Sam put the brochure back on Matt’s
desk.
“We’ll give you a suitable job history
and cover, which you will commit to memory. You’ll also have
regular check-ins while in the field, but for the most part you’ll
be on your own. I want you to discover who, if any, of their
personnel are involved and to what extent.” Matt paused briefly
before continuing. “Just to be clear, this isn’t a regular job I’m
asking you to do, Sam. It’s not even close to what you signed on
for when we were assigned as zombie hunters. I won’t order you to
do this. It’s a total immersion mission. Chances are, there will be
no immediate backup if you get into trouble. You’ll be completely
on your own most of the time.”
“Understood, sir. I’m still up for it.
I like a challenge.”
Matt cracked a smile. “I hear that. And
I appreciate the enthusiasm. Here’s the preliminary packet to get
you started.” He handed a bulging envelope across the desk. “We’ll
get the rest set up while you’re in flight training. It’ll be ready
by the time you are. You leave tomorrow for Houston.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam stood, hearing the tone
of dismissal in the commander’s voice.
“You can call this whole thing off up
until the end of your flight training. After that, wheels will have
been set in motion and can’t be easily stopped. If you change your
mind, let me know as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, sir.” Unspoken was the
certainty that Sam wouldn’t be changing his mind any time
soon.
