Free Burn by Bill Ransom Page A

intelligence agencies of a dozen governments as well as the Godwire, and Noas trusted Tekel’s judgment.
    The commander pulled on his black pants and black sweater and finger-combed his blotches of blond hair before snugging them down with his black beret. The missionary was still on the line, and now she was crying. He slipped into his boots and squeezed the closures.
    David Noas stood up to his full height of nearly two meters and activated the visual pickup on his bedside Watchdog. He knew that his rank, his size and the burn scars across his face cut an intimidating picture. That’s why he kept the scars. That, and to remind him of what a government could do to a God-fearing people.
    “If you know the situation, Corporal, by all means share it.”
    The commander heard a lot of shouting in the background, and Innocents weeping. The corporal started to speak, but what came out was a sob.
    Exasperated, the commander snapped, “Are you under attack?”
    She shook her head no, then tried again.
    “It’s . . . it’s the Master.” She pulled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. “He’s dead, sir.”
    His heart, Noas thought. He refused the replacement, after all.
    The commander felt the hot fingers of grief at his throat, but swallowed and shook them off. The Gardeners and their interests must be protected while they mourn, the Master’s family notified. . . .
    “Has anyone notified his son yet?”
    Joshua Casey had been a geek of an older brother to the adopted David Noas, but he was a brilliant geek who lived to please his father. At times, his enthusiasm to please his father overstepped his theology. On this ground Joshua Casey and David Noas had formed a secret partnership to secure the Gardeners, their land and their installations worldwide. And to keep the Master alive by means that the Master did not necessarily approve.
    “He’s dead, too,” the missionary reported. “Somebody blew up a dam in Costa Brava and he’s dead. Every one of them that went down there . . . they’re all dead. . . .”
    The rest trailed off into sobs.
    The commander’s belly went cold.
    “ViraVax,” he whispered.
    A chill spread up his spine and out to his fingertips.
    ViraVax, he thought, means ‘Artificial Viral Agents.’
    And AVAs meant an international incident and a big cash-flow problem if he didn’t get the cap on it right now.
    “Pull it together, Corporal,” he growled. “You have a job to do. Your Master would not want you to let him down.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Now, has anyone secured the area of the flood?” he asked. “Anyone at all?”
    The missionary dropped her headset into position, and the commander watched a flicker of indistinct data blur the air in front of her face like colorful fishes.
    “Our source at the embassy reports a U.S. SEAL team and a Costa Bravan merc unit on-site,” she said. Angry shouts of grief in the background distracted her for a moment. “No response on any facility channels.”
    The one piece of information David Noas wanted was the one that was ultrasecure, one that he asked the corporal for anyway.
    “Is this a contamination situation?”
    She showed no undue reaction to his question, and he breathed a little easier for that. As far as she was concerned, ViraVax produced vaccines, pesticides and certain agricultural enhancements in Puerto Rico. If the cover was still good on the Costa Brava facility, they probably didn’t have to worry about a runaway biological catastrophe like the one in Japan a few years back.
    “No word on any kind of contamination, Commander. Should I ask . . .?”
    “ No!” he barked. “No, I’ll catch up at Sanhedrin. Monitor embassy output and route it to me in chambers.”
    Commander Noas cut the connection and rubbed the scars at his forehead.
    Who dares to smite the Master of the Children of Eden on my watch?

Chapter 10
    You are a little soul, bearing about a corpse.
    —Epictetus

    Manuelito Kax strained the thin straps of his