End Game

by Robert Stanek

  Life’s like a cigarette, the chief thought. Smoke it up and it’s gone.

  He thought of Captain Parker and Agent Evers out there somewhere risking their lives to bring resolution to the dangerous situation. Captain Howard had lost faith in the two at points during the day, but he never had. All day long he’d been wishing them luck and Godspeed, but now he just wished they were safe outside the walls of the palace.

  He knew the thoughts were crass when so many lives were at risk, but those two lives in particular were the ones he felt most responsible for. Parker and Evers had found success after success, they just hadn’t been able to stop the madman in time.

  A Petty Officer Third Class running across the deck with a satellite phone caught the chief’s eye. “Urgent, for you, chief,” the petty officer said.

  The chief took the phone and put it to his ear. “Master Chief Roberts here.” He sighed in relief as he listened to the familiar voice on the other end of the call. “Slow down, Agent Evers. Captain Parker, is she?”

  “Captain Parker’s driving,” Evers said.

  The chief took in a breath and let it go before he said anything, the tension in his gut dissipating. “You’re with Captain Parker? Not in the President’s Palace?”

  “I am,” Evers said. “We need air transport urgently. Take down these coordinates.”

  “Pen,” the chief shouted as he started below decks. A moment later the petty officer who brought him the phone put one in his hand. “Go.” As Evers read the coordinates, the chief wrote them down on his hand. “What’s happening? How can we assist?”

  “It’s time to box and cage the director. Is surveillance still in place?”

  “The director?” The chief shifted the phone to his other ear. “Last update put the director at an abandoned airfield southwest of Malta International. Talk to me. Tell me—”

  “There’s a chartered helicopter in for repairs. Is it still there? Is it flight-ready?”

  “Hold on,” the chief said. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned right. Sit 1 was twenty yards away. Once he was in the door, he scanned the latest status brief pertaining to the director. “There’s a twin-engine helicopter being prepped.”

  “Nothing out. Lock it down if our transport can’t get us there in time.”

  “Copy that,” the chief said, panting and trying to catch his breath after the brisk walk. “Complete lockdown if necessary.”

  As the chief hung up, he turned to the e-wall. Its banks of displays were currently being used for one purpose: a live status of the President’s Palace and the palace, with floor plans superimposed over the top, filled the viewing area.

  Each blinking dot on the massive collection of displays represented a real-time reading from a test device used by onsite hazmat teams. There were hundreds of blinking dots. Each red dot meant viral contamination was present at that location. Other colors meant other things, but all the dots were blinking red because every tested location was contaminated.

  Chapter 17

  Mediterranean Sea

  Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  Scott glanced over at Edie. She’d transformed back into the warrior woman he knew she was, wearing a field vest over her long black dress, her face still smeared with dirt.

  There’d been no time for anything after contacting the chief. Edie, in a race with the devil to meet the incoming helicopter at the rendezvous, had put the Renault coupe through its paces and then some while breaking just about every traffic law in Malta. Through it all, her eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun while her beautiful hair danced in the wind streaming in through the open driver’s window.

  Now though, her red hair was tied in a ponytail and her blue eyes were closed as he watched her try to collect thoughts and pull herself together. It wasn’t every day an operative played a part in unleashing a plague of biblical proportions—responsible or not, like it or not, they’d failed to stop a catastrophe. They’d been close, so close, but failure was failure. The only thing they could do now was pray containment held and hunt the last of those responsible.

  At this point, Scott didn’t really care what part the director played in everything that happened. Whether he’d just been a man in the right—or depending on view, wrong—place at the right time didn’t matter. What mattered was the fifty cent bullet he intended to put in the man’s brain.

  “Three clicks out,” the pilot said through headsets.

  “Roger that,” Scott said on Edie’s behalf.

  As Edie stirred and took assessment of her gear, the eight members of her assault team readied their automatic weapons. Scott flexed and rolled up on the balls of his feet, looking out the window he saw the abandoned airfield now and the twin-engine Dauphin.

  “Team, you know what to do,” Edie said. “Twelve on site that we know about, including four former Royal Marines Commandos, two pilots, the target and his female assistant. Deadly force authorized. The target, alive if possible.”

  Moments later, the chopper was coming in hot, taking ground fire while the assault team members repelled out four at a time, their guns blazing as they went. When the first four touched the ground, they dropped down to provide cover fire while the final four made their way down. It was military speed precision at its finest and Scott watched in awe of what he saw.

  As the chopper touched down momentarily, Edie and Scott followed, each having to fight their way out the door.

  While the fire teams moved off two by two, some to lock down the perimeter and others to go after the director’s associates, Edie and Scott hugged the ground and kissed the grass while doing their best to stay alive. The steady rat-a-tat-tat of Edie’s light machine gun was a stark contrast to the slow but steady fire of Scott’s pistol.

  A steady stream of calls and reports came in through his headset. What mattered most were the captures and the confirmed take downs.

  “There,” Edie said, snaking off through the grass toward the director’s helicopter.

  Scott followed at her side. “Keep your head down,” he hissed.

  “Want the honors,” she said, a grenade in her outstretched hand.

  “Wait till we see the S.O.B,” Scott whispered.

  “Suit yourself,” Edie said, jumping up and sprinting off.

  Scott ran at her side. They were headed toward a support building—the director’s last known location.

  Approaching the side door, they paused and glanced over at each other. Edie’s fixed stare said she was ready for whatever was on the other side. On a three count, they kicked in the door.

  “Drop the gun, hands up,” Edie shouted, twisting her way inside, surprising the director and Mila.

  Scott a step behind her, shouted, “Kneel, kneel!” He put the gun to Mila’s head and then the director’s. “Tell me why I shouldn’t pull the trigger?”

  He realized too late that putting his back to Mila was a mistake. She launched off the ground, tackling Edie. Edie went flying, her gun firing as she went down.

  “No, Mila, no,” the director said, his eyes wide.

  Scott spun around the director. When he was standing behind the other man, he saw what the director saw: Edie heaving Mila’s body away from her and the bright red trail left behind. Mila’s moaning told Scott that she was alive, for now.

  “I’m sure you think me a vile man,” the director said, tears real or feigned in his eyes, “but Mila’s an innocent in all this.”

  “Innocent?!” Scott exclaimed. “You’ve doomed hundreds, maybe hundreds of thousands. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

  “Not all of it,” the director said softly. “Save her and I’ll tell you whatever you want. Everything.”

  Scott glanced at Edie who shook her head slightly. Scott didn’t believe the director and she didn’t believe him either. “Tell us everything now and we’ll see what we can do. Remember, every moment you waste is another moment less to save her.”

  At the same time Scott was talking, Edie heard some
thing over her private command channel that put a big smile on her face. Scott didn’t know what was said, but he knew it was good news. “What is it?” he said.

  Edie walked over to him and whispered in his ear, “You were right about Blake. They found the antiviral. Two vials in a protective pouch, discarded outside the President’s Palace. This changes everything.”

  Stepping back from Scott, she pointed and said, “Now, you can put a bullet in his brain.”

  “It’s not going to be enough,” the director said raising his hands higher in the air.

  “What’s not going to be enough?” Scott asked, his Storm Special Duty pressed against the director’s head.

  “Whatever you found or think you’ve found,” the director said quickly. “It’s not enough. I have a hundred ready doses of the antiviral.”

  Over comms, Edie said, “Urgent medical assistance needed in support building three.”

  “No doubt ready for sale to the highest bidder,” Scott said as he reached out with his foot and kicked Mila to see if she was still alive. More moaning confirmed she was. “Keep talking and faster if you want her to live—and forget about the millions and billions you thought you were going to make from death.”

  “There so much you don’t know,” the director said. “Most of which is moot now that everything’s been set in motion. Where to start?” He paused. It was a rhetorical question. Scott said nothing. “The man you think is David Blake isn’t. I know who he really is.”

  “I’m listening,” Scott said.

  “The real David Owen Blake was a private man with few friends, many theories and even more resources. Some of which appear to have been worth killing for. A doctoral student named Logan Sebastian Christensen is responsible for Blake’s death.”

  “Responsible or the killer?” Scott said.

  “Logan waited until the professor was set to leave on sabbatical and then killed him. Afterward, he assumed the professor’s identity, mostly while traveling abroad. Discretely, he’d already been using the professor’s credentials in residence at the University of Chicago. It’s how he recruited the like-minded to his cause.”

  Two members of the assault team entered. One carried a medic kit. Edie pointed to Mila, but Scott shook his head.

  “Not yet,” he said. He took a long breath. “Why? Why would anyone do this? Why would anyone try to exterminate the human race? How much did you know about this beforehand?”

  The director’s hands had been lowering subtly as he talked, but now he raised them back up as high as he could. “You have to believe me when I didn’t know what Logan planned. I was pulled into his schemes just as you were and I was as surprised as you are. He’s a zealot, a transhuman futurist, who planned to change the world by ushering in a new age.”

  Scott brandished his weapon. “I don’t believe a word you say.”

  “And I don’t blame you,” the director said. “Most of what I know about Logan I discovered after I learned who you thought he was—and you are the ones who gave me the professor’s name.”

  “That can’t be true,” Scott said, his growing anger showing on his face. “You were behind everything from the beginning. Alexis Gosling and Peyton Jones are your operatives.”

  “I don’t own my operatives, Mr. Evers. They are freelancers. Like I told you, I was betrayed—and like you have perhaps guessed, I am not a man who takes betrayal easily. I’ve worked on the fringe for many years. I have contacts and resources, networks all over the world. I used those networks in the hours I had to piece together what I’ve learned, based on your own intelligence.” The director paused, his eyes fixed on Mila. “Not another word until you help her.”

  Finally, closer to truth, Scott thought to himself. He nodded to Edie who waved the soldiers on so they could begin treating Mila.

  The director seemed to relax somewhat now that Mila was being cared for. “Can I lower them?” he asked, waving his arms.

  Scott nodded. As soon as the director put his hands down, Edie pulled his arms behind his back and locked his wrists in plastic zip tie cuffs. “The antivirals, where are they?” The director hesitated and Scott quickly added, “You don’t want to test me.”

  “The Dauphin,” the director said. “The vials are on the Dauphin. Look for a black metallic box under the right pilot seat. It contains a shielded, temperature-controlled specimen container. The vials are inside.”

  Edie grabbed one of the soldier’s by the arm and both left the supply building at a run.

  “You’re wrong you know,” the director said, “about Logan. He wasn’t out to exterminate the human race. He meant to transform it. Transformation through cleansing fire and genesis. A beautiful notion from a demented soul.”

  “You have the demented part right at least,” Scott said.

  Over comms, Scott heard Edie exclaim, “We have it. Repeat we have it. Call in support. Get that helicopter back here.”

  Chapter 18

  Mediterranean Sea

  Late Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  Edie rushed out of the support building with SFC Hernandez at her side, both with their weapons at the ready. The abandoned airfield was growing quieter, but things weren’t entirely locked down. Her second in command, Master Sergeant Washington, squawked in her ear over the open channel. “All friendlies accounted for, no injuries. Nine confirmed take downs. One enemy kill.”

  “Copy that,” she said as she double timed it to the director’s helicopter. “Twelve were reported on site. Find those two stragglers.”

  “On it,” Washington replied.

  “Command,” Edie said over the private channel, “situation nearly under control. The director, detained. Nine confirmed take downs. One kill. Two to find. May have found additional antivirals.”

  “That last part, say again,” Major Powell from Command replied.

  “Antivirals reported to be on site. Seeking now. Quantity one hundred. Repeat, quantity one hundred.”

  Suddenly, she heard lots of chatter in her headset. Then Powell asking, “Can you confirm?”

  Edie was just about to answer when she spotted movement in the tall grass near the helicopter. She pointed two fingers to her eyes and away to the right. SFC Hernandez spun off while she raced on.

  Gun at the ready, she waited for Hernandez to come around from behind. When he did, she plunged in. Spotting the blue jumpsuit, she said over headset, “Got one, maintenance crew. Someone come over and lock him down for us.”

  Two of her team rushed over and took control, shouting “Hands, hands!”

  Edie and Hernandez scrambled away. As Hernandez opened the cockpit door, Edie jumped in. The lock box was right where the director said it would be. It took both her and the SFC to get it out of the chopper. Once they did, she told all channels, “We have it. Repeat, we have it. Call in support. Get that helicopter back here.”

  She heard lots of chatter in her headset again. Command had just keyed in and was about to say something when she heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet strike.

  “Sniper, sniper,” someone screamed over the open channel.

  Hernandez dropped to the ground, forcing Edie to let go of her end of the lock box, but she stood her ground, her eyes scanning. The person on the other end of the rifle didn’t miss. She knew that. The shot was a warning.

  “Scott, got a problem out here,” she said over headset.

  “Everything okay?”

  “No, no it isn’t.” She sighed. “Sniper,” she said to all channels. “Repeat, sniper. Requesting air support.”

  “Get your head down. Don’t be a hero,” Scott said.

  Edie fixed on a point in the distance. The late afternoon sun in her eyes made confirmation difficult but she knew in her bones the sniper was there. It’s where she’d be if the shoe was on the other foot. “I know, I know, going to come in hot. You got me?”

  “I got you,” Scott said.

  She swiveled her head around to the SFC. “Hernandez, you with me?”
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  “Ma’am?”

  Edie knelt down, looked Hernandez in the eyes. “If that sniper wanted one of us, he wouldn’t have missed.” She paused until she saw understanding in the enlisted man’s eyes. “Now, when I say go, we’re taking this box and running to that building. Understand?”

  Hernandez nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Edie grabbed one side of the box. “Go,” she said as she stood, “go!”

  Chapter 19

  Mediterranean Sea

  Late Afternoon, Wednesday, 20 June

  It’s not over.

  Scott watched the director and knew. He wanted to press the muzzle of his gun into the man’s throat and pull the trigger. Instead, he settled for smacking the butt of the gun against the side of the director’s head, sending him sprawling across the concrete floor. With his arms behind his back and wrists locked in plastic cuffs, there wasn’t much the director could do afterward but groan and squirm.

  The soldier attending to Mila eyed Scott but said nothing. Mila though had opened her eyes and she was staring at Scott, fresh hate in her eyes.

  Scott holstered his gun, pulled the director up with one hand gripped to his throat. “That sniper takes the shot next time, Mila dies first and then you. Understand?”

  “The shot was a warning,” the director said, smirking. “Let us go or there’ll be bloodshed. You know what he’s capable of.”

  Scott moved to the door and peered out to get a fix on Edie. He saw her running beside her subordinate, the black box carried between them. “You knew he was out there. There’d better be antivirals in that box.”

  “I assure you there are,” the director replied. “The matter at hand is what you’re going to do when you get them. Mila and I are collateral in all this. Let us go and I’ll make it worth your while.” He turned to the soldier. “Yours too.”

  “Screw you,” Scott said tautly. When he heard Edie coming, he whipped open the door.

  Edie and the soldier rushed past him. The look on her face wasn’t a happy one as she set the metal box onto a desktop. Scott saw why immediately. They were dealing with a custom-made strong box with an electronic locking mechanism.