The Suicide King

by Chris Fritschi

  “Because I’m not stupid,” said Jer. “When I finished analyzing the sample without finding anything interesting, I looked for something uninteresting. The most boring thing was that BCAA, and that’s what I focused my testing on. In its normal state, the amino acids are inert. Even though I had a limited control group, the variables…”

  Tate was suddenly feeling his will to live ebbing away, and stopped the doctor before he buried them in scientific jargon.

  “Doctor,” he said. “All of this is lost on me. Can you break it down to a novice level?”

  Jer looked at him, openly baffled. “That was novice level,” he said. “Didn’t you take basic science in school?”

  Rosse looked uncomfortable, while Tate answered Jer’s question with a look he reserved for insects and bratty children.

  Jer sighed loudly, but took the hint and continued.

  “Uh, okay,” he said, as his gaze wandered to the ceiling again, while he rethought his explanation. “Okay, the short version is that it’s an endothermic-triggered chain of amino acids that paralyze the hypothalamus and then… you die.”

  Jer saw Rosse’s and Tate’s uncomprehending expressions and chuckled.

  “I’m just kidding,” he said. “When you only work with animals you miss a good joke now and then. All right, this is what I found. The amino acid in that coke is like a booby trap, but it’ll only go off when it reaches thirty-seven Celsius. That would be ninety-eight-point-six degrees for you Americans. The average human body temperature. When it does, it attacks the part of the brain that regulates the automatic nervous system. Breathing, heart rate, digestion, like that. The amino acid paralyzes the organs and all the signals stop. Bam. Evil, right? But it gets better. After the body dies, the metabolic process stops, the body cools off. When the body gets below ninety degrees Fahrenheit, that amino acid breaks down, leaving no trace of itself behind. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to engineer a chemical whose sole purpose is to kill its host and disappear. You’d never be able to detect it unless you knew what you were looking for, and the only reason you were looking for anything in this coke is because it killed someone.”

  A sharp glance from Jer stopped Rosse as he was about to pat him on the back. “Did I tell you this guy’s great, or what?” he said.

  Tate was impressed, but masked it with a poker face. Nothing jacked up the price for something like letting the other guy know how valuable they are. Instead, he skipped what the doctor had learned like it didn’t mean a thing.

  “Have you dealt with anyone capable of this kind of chemical engineering, or maybe you’ve heard of someone with the resources to make this?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense for someone to poison their own product unless they can afford to go out of business.”

  “Okay. So, A, you’re welcome,” said Jer, mildly irritated. “B, I don’t kiss and tell, comprende? The black market isn’t a social network where we share pictures of food and publicize our friends list.”

  “I wasn’t asking for a name,” said Tate evenly. He projected an attitude of indifference to deflate the doctor’s suspicions. “If you don’t know anyone like that, don’t sweat it. The way Rosse talked about you, I thought you swam with the big fish.”

  Jer inhaled sharply as he was about to say something and angrily pointed his finger at Tate, but he paused as his face broke into an amused grin.

  “I see what you’re doing there,” he said. “You’re good. You’ve done this before, I can tell.” He squinted as he peered at Tate. “There’s a snake under that fat,” he said.

  Tate knew Jer hoped the ‘fat’ barb would knock him off balance, but he only smiled. “Thanks for your help. Maybe I can send some more business your way when I need small stuff.”

  Jer laughed good-naturedly, but couldn’t let the jab to his pride go unchallenged. “You can’t afford the items I can get.”

  “I can afford a lot,” said Tate, with a predator’s smile.

  Rosse watched the exchange, totally baffled, seeing Jer and Tate in a new light. Valuing the medical supplies he could get, at a reasonable cost no less, he’d always treated Jer with the greatest respect. He liked Tate, even if he did take Army rules too seriously, but this street-smart side of Tate was brand new to him.

  “Okay, big spender,” said Jer. “What do you want to buy?”

  “Five minutes with someone who knows about this symbol,” said Tate, as he handed Jer an empty plastic packet. Stamped on the packet was a crown with a sword through it.

  Jer considered the packet for a long moment, then quickly shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  * * *

  It had been two days since his meeting with Doctor Jer, and Tate was on the gun range with his team. Each of them were decent shots, with the exception of their sniper, Kasey Ota. He stood head and shoulders above all of them, with an almost eerie skill with a gun.

  Tate had spent time with Wesson, working up the shooting drills. It was something she could have done on her own, but he wanted to spend some time with her, one on one, hoping to quiet her concerns about what, if any, Kaiden’s addition to the team represented.

  He expected her to speak her mind about Kaiden, and every time she started speaking he cringed inwardly that she’d start asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

  The formation of the Grave Diggers was known throughout the base, but their purpose was known only to its team members, Colonel Earl Hewett, and a growing entity named The Ring.

  The emergence of the undead had caught the world by surprise. Some countries had completely fallen, all semblance of leadership collapsing under a denigrating population. The United States had hung on by its fingernails and, though some members of the government and much of the media did their best to sweep the facts under the rug, it had been the gun owners who had joined with the National Guard and state-side military that turned the country away from certain extinction.

  The country had been savaged and the true extent of damage became clear with the realization that it wasn’t just the number of lives lost. The country had lost engineers, doctors, skilled technicians, and more. Suddenly people like auto mechanics, plumbers and school teachers were regarded with greater appreciation than movie stars.

  The government had suffered loss and in spite of many who had previously speculated how much better the country would be if Washington DC were swept clean, the reality was the promise of complete anarchy.

  Emergency state and federal elections were held to fill the gaping wounds left by the undead. The country needed leadership, and Washington DC threw as many warm bodies into empty positions as quickly as it could.

  The budding America was able to cope with the inexperience of its founding fathers. While some limited legal training, many were merchants, investors, land speculators, and farm owners.

  The complexities of governing two and a half million people paled in comparison to the demands of hundreds of millions now. In fact, nobody knew what the total population was after the Vix had devoured their way across the continent. Depending on who you asked, the death toll ranged from seven million up to a hundred and fifty million souls.

  The federal government was flush with inexperience, and wholly unprepared members of the congress and senate. No amount of dedication from these new and unseasoned politicians could make up for the wisdom and detente gained over years of navigating politics. Infighting, conflicting agendas and simple ignorance soon clogged the flow of government, and that’s where the founding members of The Ring saw their opportunity.

  They professed to be like-minded individuals looking for patriots who wanted to stop what was happening to the country. Quietly and cautiously, they recruited powerful and influential members in the government, military, and businesses. The plan was to operate outside the red tape and bureaucracy that was dragging down the country’s ability to rebuild itself.

  Colonel Hewett discovered there was something deeper, darker going on. Hidden from many of the
members, they didn’t realize they were being used.

  Colonel Hewett convinced Tate to run secret missions for The Ring. They were supposed to be simple, but covert, reconnaissance missions to identify major resources in South America that could be used to accelerate the rebuilding of the country. Abandoned energy plants, natural resource productions, large stocks of stored fuel, raw material, and other material that would bring desperately-needed relief.

  To Tate, it was like air to a suffocating man. Even with a broken spirit, his heart still longed for the thrill and challenges of his time in the Night Devils. The missions were low risk, which was important because his newly-formed team were raw and untrained. Even their basic training was substandard. It would take time and experience to make them into soldiers and then the real training could start to make take them to the next level.

  But Tate’s first mission turned into an ambush. He and his team barely escaped alive. Anger and confusion lit a fire in his gut, and he was determined to get the truth behind The Ring.

  What he discovered from a captured spy froze his blood. The Ring was conspiring not just to influence the United States government, but were systematically executing an infiltration of the government until they could take it over.

  Taking a great risk, Tate confronted Colonel Hewett with his discovery. Colonel Hewett said he knew something suspicious was going on within The Ring, but he wasn’t a part of the inner circle and never knew of their real goals. Was the colonel telling Tate the truth, or was he manipulating him like a expendable pawn in a larger, and deadly, strategy that would lead to a coup of the United States?

  Not knowing the colonel’s true allegiance meant never knowing if, or when, he would be betrayed, but The Ring had to be stopped, and Tate’s years as a special operator had taught him the uneasy truth that you work with the tools you have… even if they try to kill you.

  Tate and the colonel devised an alliance; the colonel would pass on information to Tate about The Ring’s activities, and Tate would use the very team The Ring had sanctioned to undermine and sabotage them.

  When Grave Diggers was formed, Tate decided to tell the team members only what they needed to know, and made up what they didn’t know. As far as they knew, the Grave Diggers was a special missions recon team created by the Joint Special Operations Command.

  Operating under the radar, their tasks were to scout long-range targets of interest, beneficial to the restoration of the country; the best lies have a sliver of truth in them.

  The team was sworn to secrecy and to report anyone inquiring into their actions. Tate wanted to protect and seal off any attempts to infiltrate, or spy on them.

  With Colonel Hewett as his inside contact, Tate would walk the razor’s edge, always looking over his shoulder until he destroyed The Ring, or they destroyed him.

  * * *

  Sergeant Wesson walked behind the row of prone shooters as they aimed down their rifles at the targets a hundred yards away. The awning provided welcome shade from the afternoon sun, but did nothing against the humid air.

  Tate stood off to the side, in conversation with Kaiden, taking advantage of the crack of gunfire to counter anyone wanting to eavesdrop on them.

  “I sent Colonel Hewett my report about the Vix attack on the outpost,” he said.

  “Including Stockton?” asked Kaiden. “Or the poison coke?”

  Tate squinted against the glare of the sun as he watched the team for a moment. “No,” he said finally.

  “Why keep it secret?” she asked.

  When Tate had reunited with Kaiden and asked for her help, he’d told her everything he knew about The Ring and his dubious alliance with Colonel Hewett.

  “Do you see a connection between the outpost and The Ring?” asked Kaiden.

  “No,” said Tate. “Not yet. Maybe there isn’t one, but every contact we make, every time we progress, it’s more information the colonel knows about us. I hate not knowing the truth. Either the colonel is loyal to The Ring, which means he’s playing us, or he’s honestly working with us to bring them down from the inside.”

  “If he’s with The Ring,” she said, “and this unit gets too good, you risk ending up like the Templars. They became so powerful their king worried they were a threat.”

  “The last thing I need to do,” said Tate, “is give the colonel a reason to see us as a threat.”

  “Dieu n'est pas content, nous avons des ennemis de la foi dans le Royaume,”she Kaiden.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “God is not pleased. We have enemies of the faith in the kingdom,” said Kaiden. “It’s the first sentence of the arrest warrant King Phillip the fourth wrote when he betrayed the Templar knights. He had them tortured and burned alive.”

  “Nobody can accuse you of being a Pollyanna,” said Tate with a wry grin. He took a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Colonel Hewett isn’t stupid and he will suspect there’s more to the story than what’s in the report.”

  “It’s a fine line between saying too much, or too little,” said Kaiden. “Truth is like a weed. It’s always looking for a way to sprout up.”

  “If I say little, or nothing,” said Tate, “and he finds out later I was holding out on him, he won’t trust me.”

  “Or see you as a potential threat,” she said.

  “If I say too much,” he said, then exhaled heavily. “Templars.”

  “Templars,” said Kaiden.

  * * *

  The following day, Tate’s instincts were confirmed when his satellite phone rang. It was his direct line to Colonel Hewett.

  “Hello, Colonel,” said Tate.

  “How are you, Sergeant Major?” asked Hewett. “I got your report about the Vix attack on the outpost. I’m damned glad to hear you didn’t lose any of your people.”

  Tate could tell the colonel wasn’t going to waste any time getting to the point and quickly shuffled through how he’d answer the approaching questions.

  “We were lucky,” he said.

  The colonel laughed. “A camp in chaos,” he said. “Vix running wild. Dodging friendly fire and getting thrown out of a crashing helo. With that kind of luck, you should be playing craps at Vegas.”

  “Well, sir,” said Tate, “when you put it that way, it almost sounds like we were the target.”

  “Do you believe The Ring tried to take out your team?” asked Hewett, suddenly serious. “From my end, there’s been no signs they got you in their sights. As far as they’re concerned, you’re just another smooth-running operation.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s them,” said Tate. “It didn’t feel like a trap.”

  “What did you find out?” asked Hewett.

  “Colonel?” said Tate, feigning confusion, buying himself a moment more to decide how much of his investigation he’d reveal.

  “We lost nearly everyone in that outpost,” said Hewett. “You and your team could have easily been killed. And it happened with the gates closed, the fence intact, and sentries on duty. You’re not the type to dust himself off and walk away from something like that without a second look back. If I know you, you’ve been kicking over stones looking for answers.”

  The colonel was convinced he knew how Tate’s mind worked, and he wasn’t wrong. Tate knew he couldn’t play dumb, but it didn’t mean he had to put all of his cards on the table at once.

  He told the colonel about Private Stockton’s coke addition. He even told him how the coke was smuggled in the bottle of foot powder. It was a solid bet that the drug supplier knew the method of using bottles of foot powder was burned, and most likely had already switched to an alternative way to smuggle their coke. But, that’s where he stopped. He didn’t tell him about Doctor Jer, the analysis of the poison in the coke, or the effort needed or chemical engineering needed to create the poison.

  Tate believed if push came to shove, he could tell the colonel about that in the future without arousing suspicion.

  “Addiction’s a lousy way to die,” s
aid Tate, hoping to wrap up the conversation.

  “That weak-willed bastard,” said Hewett. “If I’d have caught him in my unit, I’d have had him shot. Addiction my left nut. It’s weakness, and it got everyone else killed.”

  The colonel’s tone showed there was no room for a second opinion.

  Standing in the ruin of Stockton’s creation, Tate had vehemently condemned him for his weakness, just as Colonel Hewett did now. But, after his emotions had cooled, his judgement of the private became less black and white. Tate had seen good men, better men than Stockton, break as life buried them with one burden after another, until morality and dignity was crushed out of them. Was Stockton weak, or was he was just a stupid kid who made a bad decision that took control of his life?

  The judgement was pointless. He was dead.

  “… Make it on the report?” asked Hewett.

  Tate snapped out of his own thoughts in time to catch the tail end of Colonel Hewett’s question.

  “Uh, you broke up, sir,” said Tate. “What did you say?”

  “Was there anything else,” said Hewett, “that didn’t make it on the report?”

  “No, sir,” said Tate. “Sir, if I can change the subject, a few months ago you mentioned the possibility of better equipment for our unit. I know you’re busy…”

  “I’ll stop you right there,” said Hewett. “I’m still in the process of moving those assets around. When The Ring lost the spy they had watching your team, it shook things up around here. There wasn’t anything that could connect either of us to it, but they’ve been keeping a close eye on my activities. Once they’re satisfied, they’ll back off, and I’ll have more breathing room to operate.”

  Tate might be running a special operations unit, but they were still assigned to Mortuary Affairs, and in the eyes of the United States Army, this non-combat division did not need the latest and greatest combat gear.

  As a result, Mortuary Affairs was the recipient of the Army’s surplus equipment. All of it functional, but in some cases bordering on relics.