Free Synbat by Bob Mayer Page A

carrying a day pack with something stuffed into it. Freeman, wearing a suit and dress shoes, didn't look ready to go traipsing through the woods, but Riley figured that was the man's own problem. Ward had changed into slacks and a short-sleeved shirt under a windbreaker, along with a pair of sneakers. Slightly better to go beating the bush, but not by much in Riley's estimation.

The men of 682 were wearing the same uniforms they'd had on for their PT ruck march this morning prior to the close-quarters combat training: lightweight battle dress camouflage fatigues, jungle boots, load bearing equipment, and patrol caps. The only addition was the M16s. On their LBE each man sported two canteens, two ammunition pouches, a butt pack containing survival equipment, a first-aid pouch holding two dressings on the nonfiring shoulder, and at least one knife. A shoulder holster was strapped on beneath the LBE, holding each man's 9mm Beretta semiautomatic pistol.

Riley pulled his Silva compass out of its case on the LBE. He laid the Silva down on the map, then rotated the fixed arrow in the compass base to line up with the penciled-in azimuth. By keeping the north arrow aligned with the outer ring, all he now had to do was follow the arrow to stay on the desired azimuth.

At the present moment the arrow pointed straight from the lab toward Lake Barkley. Since the map sheet was the same as the one they used for Fort Campbell, Riley knew the declination difference between magnetic north and grid north. His compass was preset to compensate for that difference.

Riley looked up and called out to the team. "Azimuth is two-oh-two degrees magnetic." He waited while the rest of the team set their compasses. "It's three klicks from here to Lake Barkley, so that's our far limit." He designated personnel with quick jabs of his finger: "I want you five to my left and you four to my right." He checked with Freeman. "Ready, sir?"

"Let's do it."

Riley swept his free hand overhead and they started. The team moved around the building and then spread out on the indicated azimuth. To Riley's immediate left, Chief Knutz beat his way through the undergrowth; to Riley's right, Doc Seay was the closest man. Ward and Freeman followed several paces behind Riley.

Immediately behind the building the terrain dropped off into a creek bed running southwest. Riley selected a tree on line on the far side of the ravine and used that as his aiming point.

As he went down into the creek bed, he wondered what the remains of the monkeys would look like. An explosive charge in a band around the neck was pretty nasty. Riley could understand the concern, though, about letting any sort of biological hazard get free. Stringent control measures did seem necessary.

Despite that, a few things about the operation didn't fit, in Riley's opinion. Knutz's question about how the four had escaped was a valid one. The lab seemed to have a good security system, and if those Biotech people had gone to the trouble of rigging homing beacons and explosive collars, they must have taken other strong steps to prevent an escape.

Another thing that bothered Riley was the lack of any security personnel at the building. He very much doubted that one of the doctors had been on the guard shift last night when the escape had occurred, yet there had been no sign of a guard. Riley had noticed the old pickup truck in the lot: It had a retired enlisted sticker on it, which authorized the driver to enter the closed Fort Campbell main post. He wondered who that belonged to. Obviously not to Ward, Freeman, or Merrit.

Riley was a suspicious and observant person. Harsh experience had imbued him with those characteristics. His boyhood, growing up on the streets of the South Bronx, had taught him the value of observation. A person who couldn't learn to notice the warnings of various developing situations didn't stay healthy very long on those streets. Riley had survived the Bronx for seventeen