by Mark Alpert
The president wasn’t angry anymore. Not in the least. There was nothing but fear on his face now. His lips quivered. His eyes were wet and pleading.
Vance refolded the signed letters and put them back in his pocket, allowing himself a satisfied smile. Everything had gone according to plan. The president had shown some resistance at first, but Vance had known all along that POTUS would surrender. His acquiescence was a direct result of the steps Vance had taken at Citi Field—the aerosol sprayers installed in the stadium’s rotunda, the airborne virus that infected the crowd, and most crucially, the selective vaccinations. Although Vance and Colonel Grant had been vaccinated to stop the gene-altering virus, POTUS hadn’t been. At the last minute, Vance had replaced the president’s vaccine with a placebo.
The virus had subdued him. His edge was gone, the fierce inborn mulishness that had made him so infuriatingly successful. It simply wasn’t in his DNA anymore.
In its place was the Serenity sequence.
TWENTY-NINE
The New York police saved Jenna’s life—and more important, her father’s—so she should’ve been grateful. But she quickly discovered that the cops on Randalls Island weren’t a whole lot better than the officers in the FSU.
The trouble started on the footbridge, just seconds after the shoot-out. The New York cops got the jump on the Federal Service officers and killed most of them before the FSU men could fire back. Jenna didn’t see much of the firefight—she lay facedown, on top of her father, on the bridge’s walkway—but she heard the bullets whistling overhead. Then the cops ran past her and Abbu, leaping over their prone bodies, and chased the surviving Feds across the bridge. But a few NYPD officers stayed behind and pointed their assault rifles at Jenna and Hector and Carlos. One cop planted his boot on Jenna’s back and pressed his rifle’s muzzle against her head.
It was crude, cruel, humiliating. The New York cops were acting like assholes. Then it got worse.
The cops cuffed them. And marched them at gunpoint across Randalls Island. The police officers led them to an old brick building that sat in the shadow of the Triborough Bridge. Jenna had driven past this building many times—it was near the highway junction where the taxis and trucks from Manhattan merged with the traffic from Queens and the Bronx—but she’d never realized what was inside. When the cops guided her and Abbu into the lobby, she noticed a logo painted on the wall, depicting a bald eagle and the New York City skyline, encircled by the words COUNTERTERRORISM BUREAU. Then they stepped into a command center full of high-tech video screens and a long row of gun lockers, each packed with assault rifles and ammunition clips.
Now Jenna understood. This building was home to an elite police squadron, a paramilitary counterterrorism unit. Because it was full of military-grade weapons, the New York officers had chosen it as a headquarters for their rebellion against the FSU. Using those weapons, the cops had forced the federal agents off Randalls and seized control of a major transportation hub at the heart of the city. It was a big victory for the NYPD and an embarrassing defeat for the Feds. But unfortunately for Jenna, the New York cops didn’t seem to realize that she and Hector were on their side. And when she tried to tell the cops who she was, they ordered her to shut her fucking mouth.
The police officers took them downstairs to the basement and led them into a windowless interrogation room. They pushed Jenna and her father to the left side of the room and Hector and Carlos to the right. In between them was a gray steel table, massive and sturdy and surrounded by chairs. Four of them were empty, but the two chairs at the far end of the table were occupied by a couple of men in civilian clothes.
Jenna recognized the older, gray-haired man first. It was Steven Hayes, the New York City police commissioner. She’d seen his picture many times in the newspaper, always wearing a dapper suit and tie at press conferences and swearing-in ceremonies. Now, though, his tie was missing and his suit badly wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it for the past couple of nights. His face was drawn and furrowed, his eyes red-rimmed and half-closed. The change in his appearance was alarming. He looked like he’d aged twenty years since his last press conference.
But the other man at the end of the table alarmed Jenna even more. He’d changed so drastically that it took her much longer to recognize him, even though she knew him a lot better than she knew the police commissioner. Her breath caught in her throat.
“David?”
He didn’t respond. Her old boyfriend stared straight ahead at the doorway she’d just walked through. He wore a red T-shirt and a loose-fitting lab coat that was slightly gray because it hadn’t been washed in a long while. His hair was a mess, his face was covered with black stubble, and his nose was swollen and purple. But what disturbed Jenna the most were his eyes. There was no life in them at all.
“David, what’s wrong?” She stepped toward him. “What happened to you?”
The cop behind Jenna grabbed her arm and pulled her back. But the police commissioner gave the man a hand signal, and he let go. Then Commissioner Hayes looked at her. “You can sit down, Dr. Khan. Your father too.” He pointed at the empty chairs, then turned to Hector and Carlos. “All of you, please sit down.”
Jenna frowned. She didn’t trust this man. “What’s going on? Why did you arrest us?”
The commissioner shook his head. “You’re not under arrest. My men were just being careful. We needed to check our records and confirm who you were.” He gave another signal to the cops behind them. “Officers, you can remove their cuffs now.”
The cops took off the handcuffs, then stepped back and stood guard by the door. Jenna put her arm around her father, who was practically falling asleep on his feet, and guided him to one of the chairs. As soon as she lowered him into the seat, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Then she sat down beside him.
Meanwhile, the two Latin Kings sat on the other side of the table. Carlos was jumpy, turning his head this way and that, but Hector grinned and looked straight at the commissioner. “Señor Hayes, I’ve seen you before on the TV news. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Hayes didn’t smile back at him. “I know you too, Mr. Torres. The detectives at the Gang Division have been monitoring your organization for some time.”
“Well, thank you. I’m flattered.” Hector leaned back in his chair. “It was very kind of you to send your officers to the footbridge to rescue us. But I’m curious about the timing. How did you know we were coming?”
“That’s one of the things I’d like to discuss.” The commissioner pointed at David, who was still staring straight ahead, silent and motionless. “This is Dr. David Weinberg. He arrived at this station a few hours ago and asked to see me. My detectives talked to him first, and he told them a very strange story.”
Jenna leaned across the table and glared at Hayes. “How did he get the broken nose? Did your detectives do that to him?”
The commissioner shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, I apologize for that. Our officers have been under a lot of stress since martial law was declared. Because Dr. Weinberg’s story was so hard to believe, the detectives questioned him intensively, and I’m afraid they got a little overzealous. But—”
“Overzealous?” Jenna rose from her chair. Her hands were shaking. “You knocked the shit out of him! Look at him, he’s punch-drunk! You beat him so hard, he’s half-comatose!”
Hayes shook his head. “No, that’s not the detectives’ fault. He’s been like that ever since he got here. Like he’s in shock or in a trance. He won’t talk unless you ask him a direct question. Here, watch this.” He turned to David and raised his voice. “Dr. Weinberg, do you recognize any of the people sitting at the table?”
David nodded, very slowly. “Yes.”
“What are their names? And how do you know them?”
He turned his head toward Jenna and her father but didn’t make eye contact. “They are Jenna and Hamid Khan.” His voice was flat and emotionless. “Dr. Jenna Khan and I were coworkers
at the Molecular Genetics Laboratory until she lost her job six months ago. Hamid Khan is her father. I encountered him at the Federal Service detention facility on Rikers Island and helped him escape from the jail.”
“And how did you manage this escape?”
David reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a security card with his picture on it. “I used this to get Hamid out of the Research Center.” Moving stiffly and mechanically, he put the card back in his pocket. “Then, at the security gate on the Rikers Island Bridge, I convinced the guards that he was a fellow scientist.”
The commissioner pointed at David again. “You see? At first, my detectives thought he was just a nutcase. But then he told us so much about the FSU and the research they’re doing at Rikers, and we realized he was serious. He’s the one who told us that you were coming to the 103rd Street footbridge and that the Feds would be chasing you. He was right about everything.”
Jenna couldn’t stand it. She had her own questions for David, and she couldn’t wait anymore. So she pushed her chair back, stepped around the table, and bent over him. She got right in his face. “What about Raza? Where is he? You left him behind?”
David nodded again, just as slowly as before. “It would’ve been impossible to take your brother out of the jail complex. But he gave me instructions. He told me what we needed to do.”
This last sentence was just as disturbing as David’s trancelike demeanor. Like Abbu, he was making the absurd claim that Raza had communicated with him. Either the delusion was spreading, or there was some truth to it. Jenna found this very hard to believe, but as a scientist, she had no choice except to keep an open mind. “And what did Raza say?”
“He said it was up to us to stop the Federal Service Unit. We need to shut down Phase Three of the Palindrome Project. The FSU is deploying a dangerous bioweapon against its enemies.”
She stared at him. David was one of Palindrome’s chief researchers. Unlike Jenna, he’d done all the experiments he’d been ordered to do, and he’d moved up to the supervisory ranks of the laboratory, so he was in a position to know the details of the classified project. But she was still skeptical. “A bioweapon? Using CRISPR?”
“We engineered an airborne virus that could deliver the CRISPR treatment. And we targeted a different DNA region, a section called Tame-1.”
Jenna’s throat tightened. She was familiar with that particular strip of DNA. She’d studied it in her experiments on the genetics of animal behavior. Tame-1 contained many of the genes that determine whether an animal is wild or domesticated, aggressive or tame. And most of those genes were also present in human DNA. “You identified the variant sequences that cause tameness? And you put those sequences in the airborne virus?”
David nodded a third time. “I helped prepare the first large-scale test of the bioweapon, which was released at Citi Field earlier today. Now the FSU will disperse the virus in airports, train stations, and other enclosed structures where the microbe can be transmitted to large numbers of people.”
She backed away from him. It was disorienting, listening to David talk in such a calm, robotic voice about a plan to genetically pacify the population. Jenna almost laughed out of sheer dismay. My God! Those arrogant idiots! What the hell were they thinking?
Shaking her head, she retreated to her chair. Then she looked at the police commissioner. “Yeah, your detectives were right. David’s shell-shocked or something, but he’s on the level. He’s not making this up.”
“So it’s really possible?” Commissioner Hayes seemed distressed and disappointed. He’d clearly hoped that Jenna would ease his fears and dismiss David’s wild claims. “The Feds can do something like that? Release a virus that can warp people’s minds?”
Jenna shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past them. Nothing they do surprises me anymore.” She propped her elbows on the table and rubbed her forehead with both hands. She suddenly felt very tired. “If you’re planning another battle with the FSU, you better do it soon. Once this virus gets around, it’ll be hard to find anyone brave enough to join you.”
Hector swiveled his head and gave her a sharp look. “Let me tell you something, chica. No fucking virus is gonna stop me. And the same goes for all the Latin Kings.” He glanced at Carlos and raised his right hand to make the gang sign. “Amor de Rey!”
Carlos made the gang sign too. “Amor de Rey!”
Hector turned to Commissioner Hayes. “Señor, I’d like to offer our help. The Almighty Latin King Nation wants revenge on the Federales for murdering our brothers and sisters. And you want revenge for the assassination of your mayor. So we have a common enemy, yes?”
The commissioner frowned. Obviously, he had a deep-rooted distaste for gangbangers. “Mr. Torres, we don’t want revenge. We just want to defend our city. The president’s administration is endangering the lives of our citizens and trampling on their constitutional rights. So we’re going to stop them.”
Hector nodded vigorously. “I agree with you, Señor, with all my heart. And I’m asking you to let the Latin Kings join the fight. I have hundreds of men under my command, spread across the whole city. And with one phone call I can get in touch with the Bloods, the Crips, and the Trinitarios too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a burner phone, one of the cheap, disposable models you could buy at a drugstore or bodega. “There must be something we can do to help. Do you have a plan of some kind? How are you going to fight the FSU?”
Hayes kept frowning for a few more seconds. But then he nodded. “I don’t like you, Mr. Torres, but I’m not stupid. I’m squaring off against the most powerful military force in the world, so I’ll take every bit of help I can get.” He glanced at David, who’d reverted to blank-faced silence. “During our interrogation of Dr. Weinberg, he gave us some useful information about the FSU headquarters on Rikers. He drew maps for us, showing the locations of all the laboratories and detention centers and guard posts. So yes, we have a plan.”
Now Hector looked concerned. He raised his hand to his chin and rubbed it. “You’re going to attack Rikers? Madre de Dios, that’s risky. Why attack the place where they’re strongest?”
The commissioner glanced at David again. “According to Dr. Weinberg, that’s where they’re keeping the vaccine against this airborne virus. He says the FSU has stored thousands of vials of the stuff in their Research Center. If the virus is really as bad as he claims it is, then we’re gonna need that vaccine.”
Hector tapped his finger against his lips, deep in thought. “Okay, that makes sense. But I still don’t see how you can pull it off. I did some time at Rikers back when it was a city jail, so I know the place pretty well. The only way to get there is that long bridge from Queens, and it’s a choke point. If the FSU puts barricades on the bridge, you’ll never get past them.”
“We’re well aware of the difficulties.” The commissioner seemed annoyed. He clearly didn’t like having his tactics questioned.
“What about sending your assault teams there by boat? The police department has plenty of boats for patrolling the harbor, right? I’ve seen some of them at your marina in Sunset Park.”
After hesitating for a moment, Hayes nodded. “Yes, that’s an option we’re considering. Our Harbor Unit also has a marina here on Randalls, just west of this station. It’s our repair facility, but we have several boats there that are ready to go.”
Hector grinned, delighted. “All right, good! But an attack by sea is risky too. You need to draw the Federales away from the island’s perimeter before the operation begins. If they see you coming, they’ll sink your boats and kill your assault teams before they can even land.”
Jenna watched Hector and Hayes, fascinated by their back-and-forth. The commissioner cocked his head, mulling it over, taking Hector seriously now. He seemed to have developed a grudging respect for the gangbanger. “We’ve been thinking about that too, staging a diversionary attack before the main assault on the island. We could send several counterterrorism tea
ms to the Queens side of the Rikers Island Bridge and fire on the security gate there. Then the FSU would have to pull its officers away from the island perimeter so it could reinforce the soldiers on the bridge.”
Hector leaned forward and pointed at Hayes. “And that’s where the Latin Kings can help you, Señor! My muchachos should be the first ones to attack the bridge. We’ll fire on the security gate, then retreat to the streets on the Queens side and wait for the FSU pendejos to come after us.” He waved his hands over the table, growing more excited as he outlined the plan. “After they start chasing us through the streets, you can send in your counterterrorism officers and slaughter the Federales behind us. The FSU will have to put even more soldiers on the bridge, and the perimeter will be undefended. Then you can land your harbor boats anywhere on the island.”
Hector’s excitement was infectious. The police commissioner nodded and even smiled a little. Carlos smiled too and sat upright in his chair, eager to get started. Jenna also felt it, the hope and exhilaration, although she worried about what would happen to Raza during the attack. She needed to tell the commissioner about her brother and make sure that the police officers did everything they could to protect him.
But before she could mention Raza, she heard a distant whistling noise. It came from outside, from above the roof of the police station.
Jenna looked up. All she could see was the ceiling of the interrogation room, but in her gut she knew that something was plunging toward them. She grabbed her father and shoved him under the steel table. Whatever it was, it was coming down fast.
Then the room exploded.
THIRTY
Colonel Grant watched the air strike from the rooftop of the FSU’s Research Center. Because it was the tallest building on Rikers, Grant had an excellent view of the explosions on Randalls Island, just a mile to the west.
Through his binoculars he saw the cruise missile hit the police station. It streaked down at a steep angle, then detonated against the station’s roof. A brilliant orange fireball rose from the building, and chunks of masonry flew in all directions. The ball of fire and debris expanded so quickly that in a moment it engulfed the station, hiding what was left of the building. A thick column of smoke rose from the site and climbed into the sky above the Triborough Bridge.