by Alex Howell
At the next signal he made a U-turn and turned the cab right around. Luca startled out of his stupor, shouted, “Hey! Where are you going? The Vatican is the other way!”
The Cabbie knowing now that he was dealing with a very deranged man, informed him, “That’s alright son, I’m going to take you to a nice hospital in Rome where they can take care of you.” Setting his car’s GPS to Rome, he let his car’s AI drive them back in the thick of the ancient Roman capital.
Luca realizing that his big mouth had ruined the plans, practically wailed in despair, “Please! I don’t need anyone to take care of me! I don’t need any help! I just need to go to the Vatican!”
Alonzo felt sorry for the disheveled young man, but he wasn’t about to chauffer someone with murderous intentions, threatening the Pope—and drop him off at the Vatican’s doorstep. He was neither that callous, nor that idiotic.
His car fortunately was built as strong as police cruiser and no matter how much he banged on the glass partition separating him from the backseat, Luca couldn’t do any damage. Alonzo had also locked all the doors to be sure the maniac couldn’t get out until he could get him to the hospital psych ward he was driving to.
Luca realizing that he was essentially trapped, grew increasingly desperate. He knew that if he didn’t do something soon, the whole plan would come to naught. He would most likely be arrested, and either locked up in prison or an insane asylum. And as his family starved, he would be a failure once again.
So it was, that Luca made his decision. And right there in a busy intersection in Rome, while the cab was stopped at a red light, he pressed down on the detonation switch that he had carelessly shoved in his front pocket. A split second later the bombs wrapped around Luca’s chest exploded with fury—flames searing through his skin and melting the upholstery in the back of the cab.
But this was nothing, because in the next second after the blast, a tongue of fire made contact with the fuel tank of the vehicle, essentially turning the entire car into a giant bomb and in a tremendous blast that would shake all of the immediate downtown area, the entire cab went up in flames.
Both Luca and Alonzo were dead at this point, yet the misery was only beginning because the vials of Ebola had been shattered and the viruses they contained were now sent aloft on the flames and plumes of smoke ready to enter into the lungs of any curious passerby.
Luca hoped that his dark deed would help him get his wife one last payday. But in reality, there was no check. It was all a lie from the beginning. He had trusted the dishonorable to be honorable and all he had to show for it was death and destruction on a massive scale.
12
Is it All Just a Coincidence?
J UST A FEW HOURS LATER AT AN IRISH PUB IN BALTIMORE.
Mason was seated at the bar waiting for Luke Simon to arrive. Luke had informed him that he had some valuable new intel and possibly a new assignment for Onyx. The bartender catching Mason’s gaze asked him, “What would you like to drink my friend?”
The very suggestion made Mason’s stomach seize up. He was still recovering from the drinking binge of the day before, and found himself in no shape to drink any further, as he sputtered, “Uh—do you guys have Coca-Cola?”
Prompting the bartender to laugh, “Coke? Uh, yeah sure—sure thing.”
Mason felt a bit emasculated for ordering such a soft drink, but he knew his limits, and as he got older, his hangovers only got worse. As such, he knew that he had reached the point to where his drinking threshold had been reached.
It was just as the bartender handed Mason a glass filled with the syrupy soda, he heard Luke’s voice behind him, greeting him, “Hey Mace—thanks for waiting for me.”
Luke then sat down next to Mason and began his debriefing routine. Scrolling through his phone, he informed him, “Okay, so far it looks like all of our immediate loose ends have been tied.”
Mason then cut in, “Well—what about that Nelson guy? I know Marshal Oliver is still on my case for not playing nice with civilians.”
Luke nodded, “Yeah—but that’s all a bunch of hot air he’s blowing—don’t worry about it.”
Mason wasn’t going to let it go however, as he repeated, “So… what about Nelson? Raina thinks the guy is liable to file a complaint against me.”
Luke shook his head, “I wouldn’t worry about that either. From what I’ve gathered he’s since been checked into a hospital for his injuries and he hasn’t said a word about it.”
Mason taking a sip of his soda remarked, “The guy’s probably too busy picking maggots out of his leg to bother me.”
Luke not exactly sharing the grim humor of his compatriot, laughed uncertainly, “Ha ha—uh, yeah—right.”
While they were speaking there had been the distant roar of a football game on the television. Mason and Luke had automatically tuned it out while the rest of the bar was focused on the TV. But then suddenly the roar stopped and Mason looked over to see the words “NBC Breaking News” flash across the screen.
A familiar face—an old news anchor named Chester Holtz then appeared, and with serious demeanor, narrated, “Greetings everyone. We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news…”
Mason couldn’t quite hear the rest of the sentence since it was followed by the howls of several football fans infuriated that the game was being interrupted.
Regardless, Mason focused at the screen and watched as it transitioned from Chester to a scene of utter carnage and chaos. Amid old classical architecture of a downtown European city were scores police and ambulance vehicles. And several screaming patients were being shoved into the back of the ambulances on gurneys.
At the bottom of the screen Mason could then read the words, “Deadly virus attack. Rome under siege. Death toll unknown.”
Mason and Luke both looked at each other as Luke swore in surprise, “Shit!”
The bartender who was hovering nearby somehow misinterpreted Luke’s remark of shock to be one of disdain, and picking up a remote commented, “I know this shit sucks—here let me see if I can change the channel. I think ESPN is covering the game without interruption.”
Mason then surprised the bartender by physically grabbing his arm and telling him, “No! Wait! I want to hear it!”
The bartender shot Mason a stern and angry look but after jerking his arm away he relented, placing the remote back on the bar. To the chagrin of just about everyone else in the room, Mason then grabbed the remote and began turning the volume up so they could hear what was happening.
The reporter on the scene was addressing Chester Holtz, talking directly into the camera, “That’s right Chester—and from what we can tell right now, it does indeed appear that this attack was premediated and a purposeful one. The virus was dispersed over downtown Rome by way of a car bomb—detonated by a still as of yet, unknow assailant. This attack is as insidious as it is malicious, and one which employed one of the worst viral agents known to man—Ebola.”
In disbelief at what he was hearing, Mason looked to Luke and remarked, “Damn! Do you think it’s the same creeps that tried to unleash Ebola in DC?”
Luke sighed, “I don’t know…. It’s possible…”
Mason then practically shouted, “This is terrible, we’ve got to find out.”
At this point the bouncer of the bar took notice, and tapped Mason on the shoulder. When Mason turned around on his barstool the big man with arms the size of tree trunks asked him, “Alright what gives buddy? My bartender just told me you manhandled the remote away from him”
Mason shrugged, “I just wanted to hear the news.”
The bouncer grunted, “What? But the other 99 percent of the bar wants to watch the game—what about them?”
Luke growing uneasy, was seeking to avoid trouble, as he directed Mason, “Come on Mace—just give him back the remote.”
Mason tired of being pushed around muttered, “After the news report sure….”
The bouncer none too pleased then dispens
ed with all pleasantry as he pointed at the remote and shouted, “Give me the freaking remote! Now!
Mason’s eyes narrowed as a spirit of defiance welled up within him. Did he really just trek through some of the most treacherous jungles of the Amazon to have some lowlife of a bouncer bully him like this? For a split second he considered refusing the meat head’s directive.
But he knew that no good would come of it. Even if he was the victor of the battle that would no doubt ensue, he knew full well that in the aftermath police would be called, reports would be filed, and it just wouldn’t be worth his time. It would also be more fuel to the fire in Oliver Marshal’s efforts to brand him as being a loose cannon.
Taking all of this into consideration, he tried to take the high road instead. And handing the glowering bouncer the remote grunted, “Here ya go chief.”
The bouncer wasn’t through with them yet however, and after taking a look at the soda Mason was drinking and the lack of a beverage at Luke’s command, he found further reason for complaint.
He told them, “Hey uh—Gentlemen. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but this is a bar. It’s not a place to sippy sip on your soda all day and chit chat. I suggest that you either get a real drink or get out of here.”
Being subjected to this kind of harassment, Mason’s blood was just about boiling at this point. But again, knowing that an altercation would just not be worth it in the long run, he steeled himself, as he sarcastically answered, “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Thanks for the tip bud.”
Mason hadn’t done anything to merit the bouncer’s wrath but the utter fearlessness he displayed, irked the musclebound aggressor to no end. And as he clenched both his jaw and his fist, it was obvious that the tough guy did not appreciate the way Mason dismissively called him “bud”.
Mason had played his cards right however, because even though he hadn’t crossed any lines or said anything inflammatory for someone to use against him later, he managed to express just how little he felt about the ogre before him. The man glared at Mason as if he wanted to hit him, but knowing that he didn’t have enough rationale to do so, he simply turned around and went the other way.
Mason wasn’t going to push his luck any further though, and so looking to Luke he told him, “Come on Luke, let’s get the hell out of this joint.”
Mimicking the same dismissive tone Mason had used earlier, Luke joked, “Alright sure thing bud .”
The two then strode out into the street where they continued their discussion. Mason staring into the passing afternoon traffic declared, “This is all our fault—we’ve got to do something!”
Luke taken a bit aback, asked, “Our fault? How is it all our fault?”
Mason coughed, “I mean Onyx in general… We blew it…” Mason sighed, “We let those vials of Ebola get out of our hands and now it’s come back to bite us in the ass.”
Luke shook his head, “I know it may seem like a pretty damning coincidence, but until further notice that’s all it is—it’s a coincidence. ”
Luke sighed, “We can’t say for sure if the perpetrators are the same group of people—or that any of this is connected. At the moment we just don’t know.”
Mason with a look of determination vowed, “Well I know one thing—I’ll be damned if I don’t find out.”
13
The Meeting of the Minds
L ATER THAT DAY, AT ONYX HQ IN WASHINGTON DC.
Although it was a situation that was still unfolding, Luke knew things were pretty dire, and as such he didn’t hesitate to convene a meeting for all the team members at the DC office.
As they all sat around the conference table, Luke Simon was the first to speak. He told them, “I know that this one has been brought upon you guys kind of all of a sudden, but I think you can all appreciate the urgent nature of this assignment.”
Raina seated next to Mason spoke up, “So they have the virus? That’s terrible.”
Mason then acknowledged what he had been feeling, “I know, and I feel completely responsible for it.”
Raina immediately tried to reassure him however, telling him, “No—no way! You can’t say that Mason! It’s not your fault!”
She paused before adding, “The only ones whose fault it is are the psychopathic terrorists who unleased the virus! How can you blame yourself?”
Mason shook his head, “No—I dropped the ball. And now the vials that I failed to acquire on the previous mission are coming back to haunt us.”
Luke interrupted the heated discussion by offering, “Well—whatever the case may be, bemoaning the past is certainly not going to do anyone any favors.”
Mason knew exactly what Luke meant. He needed him to shut up, stop beating himself and everyone else up about prior failures, and move on with the current mission. For Mason—someone who increasingly found it difficult to get over the past, this was a task much easier said than done.
Mason was the one that couldn’t get over his past wife and get on with his life. He resented Luke for pointing out his tendency to mope and regress, but he knew it was the truth all the same.
Raina, like usual, seeking to comfort the storm clouds that brewed just under Mason’s hardened surface gently tapped his arm as she asked, “Hey, did you get my message earlier.”
Mason feeling a bit bad for missing her calls and not calling her back, sighed, “No—no I didn’t.”
Raina wasn’t trying to make him feel bad however, and simply told him, “Well if you did, you would have heard what I found out about that Nelson guy.”
Mason interested in tying up this loose end from the last mission perhaps a little more than he would openly like to admit, asked, “Really?”
Raina nodded, “Yeah—turns out he wasn’t so innocent after all.”
Mason watched her as she elaborated, “Yeah, it seems that he was being used as a mule.”
Mason practically roared in triumph, “Now why doesn’t’ that surprise me?”
Raina nodded, “Yeah he’s facing charges here too.”
Raina then quietly added, “But the odds of him ever standing trial are absolute zero.”
Mason feeling the indignation rise up within him at the thought, exclaimed, “What? Why not?”
Without blinking Raina answered, “Because he’s dead.”
Mason was surprised, “Huh? But his injuries weren’t that bad…”
Raina shook her head, “No he didn’t die from his injuries he was murdered. Found shot to death in a bathroom stall in the airport.”
Mason gasped, “Your kidding?”
Raina confirmed, “No—it’s true. And it looks like a hit job courtesy of Amigos dos Amigos.”
Mason exclaimed, “Ain’t that some shit!”
Raina then clarified, “The investigation is still ongoing, But, anyway…Since he himself was an unlawful combatant after all, it would appear that you would be in the clear for any charges of wrongdoing or overreach.”
Mason muttered, “Damn… I guess you are right about that.
Luke meanwhile, interrupted the discussion by flipping on a wall monitor and announcing, “Alright guys listen up—I need your full attention here.”
Upon hitting the power button, the same stock footage, they had been watching at the bar appeared on the mounted wall screen. It was scenes of absolute carnage and agony with people crying, screaming, and moaning at the state that their shattered lives had become.
It was then Marshal that spoke up, “Such death—is there any work on an antidote?”
Luke paused for a second as he mulled it over, “An antidote for Ebola?”
He grimly nodded, “Yes, but it has only been approved by the Food and Drug Administration for emergency situations.”
Luke motioned toward the screen and acknowledged, “And this would indeed seem to fit that criteria.”
Luke continued with the gravity evident in his voice, “But as bad as these things are, from early intelligence that has been gathered, it would seem that this is in f
act just the trial run of something that could be potentially—much, much worse.”
Mason raised his eyebrow, “Where? In Italy?”
Luke shook his head, “No probably not. I mean, we don’t know for sure but it seems that other countries might be targeted.”
It was at this point that Chris Bradley who had been quietly sitting at the end of the table asked, “Is this the same bunch of wingnuts and religious whackos that had wanted to cleanse DC just a few months ago?”
Luke flatly answered, “Could be—we just don’t know yet.”
Benton who had been sitting on the other side of Mason suddenly declared, “Whoever they are. We’ve got to stop these guys.”
Mason echoed, “You got that right.”
Luke finalized this sentiment by solemnly directing, “Alright, let’s get to work.”
ABOUT 30 MINUTES LATER. Each team member was their own unique flurry of activity as fingers typed and eyes scrolled over countless news feeds and other important sources of data. Sifting through the mountains of information, they were desperately trying to connect the dots so that they could figure out just who it was that were deranged enough to carry out these egregious attacks.
Mason asked Kyle who was seated at a desk behind him, “Any luck?”
Kyle shook his head, “No—so far, nothing. Just the same old information repeated on the same news stations every few minutes.”
Kyle sighed, “They just keep talking about a car exploding in downtown Rome from an unknown assailant releasing the virus… but still haven’t connected any dots yet.
It was just then that Mason’s phone began to ring, vibrating on the table. Mason grabbed it as he read off the caller ID, “What—that’s the Pentagon!”
Mason answered, “Hello?”
As he listened in for a moment, a grave look came across his face, “Oh—I see.”
Mason then ended the call with a curt, “Yes sir—will do.”