A Heartbeat Away - Michael Palmer [113]
CHAPTER 51
DAY 6
3:00 P.M. (CST)
Griff lay prone on the floor of the Kitchen, with a spin ratchet, a screwdriver, and a flashlight beside him. Working with any sort of tools in a biocontainment suit was like swimming in molasses—possible, but certainly no fun. The targets were the screws securing the slotted front grate of the ventilation shaft. The heavy screwdriver turned awkwardly in his gloved hand, falling again and again. Most of the lab equipment in the Kitchen was specially designed for the decreased mobility of BL-4 laboratory work, and the extra effort and concentration required to maneuver the tool had Griff’s heart racing. Droplets of sweat condensed on the inside of his faceplate, reducing visibility in the already dimly lit workspace. But turn by turn he was making progress.
Two screws out.… Now, three …
One to go.
The groove of the final screw was nearly gone, and the body was stripped, making the already difficult task nearly impossible. Griff needed some sort of lubricating spray, but there was none. The five minutes he and Melvin had allotted for this phase of the escape had already taken triple that. How ironic to have the fate of the country hinging on a tiny bit of rust. The notion brought a rueful smile.
Griff had overheard Stafford say that patrols along the roads bordering Kalvesta were being increased in response to the secretary’s unexpected arrival. Any delay on his part risked Melvin being spotted by one of those patrols—assuming, of course, that Melvin ended his Staghorn meeting in time to make their rendezvous. With his anxiety escalating, Griff brought in a small hammer and chisel to loosen the stripped screw.
For want of a nail, the shoe was lost, he said to himself, tapping on the chisel to the rhythm of the proverbial poem. For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.…
Another try with the screwdriver. Griff figured he could change the angle of the blade to improve the leverage.
For want of a horse, the rider was lost.…
The handle shook as Griff strained to turn it. The shank slipped free of the mangled screw head, and he felt the blade tear across the fabric of his suit. Hyperventilating, and fearing the worst, he checked the puncture. The suit’s several protective layers seemed to be intact.
For want of a rider the battle was lost.…
Griff tried another approach, gripping the sides of the vent with his gloved hands and twisting the already loose metal plate as he pulled. Home run! The troublesome screw budged, then creaked a fraction of a millimeter, then suddenly turned. For the moment, at least, the kingdom was saved.
The pre-filters removed easily enough, but the much larger HEPA filter looked to be a serious challenge. The angle required to use the spin ratchet on the stainless steel bolts seemed designed for a contortionist. Sweat continued dripping down Griff’s brow and stinging his eyes, until he was working nearly blind. To make matters worse, again and again his elbows displaced his flashlight.
He finally managed to unplug the connectors powering the fan, and held his breath. Despite Melvin’s assurance, he still worried about the alarm. The loud rush of air being sucked up the vent stopped suddenly. The only sound was his heart pounding in his ears. An inch at a time, he worked the cumbersome fan free from the aluminum duct. The razor-sharp edges of the filter’s metal casing were a continuous threat to the integrity of his suit, but he handled them well.
Finally, he took in a single deep breath and pulled until the heavy filter came free of the duct. He let it fall to the floor of the Kitchen with a loud, satisfying crash.
Buoyed by a second wind, he removed the remaining components—blowers and bags—with a great deal less effort. Now, it was time to get Rappaport out of the picture. In a short while, a powerful animosity had developed between the two of them. Rappaport was convinced of Griff’s guilt and lack of patriotism, and Griff was uncomfortable around