Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2]

by Craig McDonough

  He snatched at the phone. “Yes. Calgleef!” He hadn’t woken fully and didn’t realize he’d answered the sat phone and thought it might be the test results.

  “What the hell is going on over there, Calgleef?”

  “Err…well, sir…” Calgleef tried to gather his wits.

  “Riots have broken out all over Dez Moynes,” Thorncroft continued to butcher the name of the Midwest city.

  “Riots? I’ve not heard—”

  “Well, you have now, Calgleef. Just what the hell are you doing anyway, sleeping?”

  How the fuck does he know what I’m doing? Calgleef asked himself, then immediately began looking around the room for a hidden camera.

  “I-I’ve been busy getting this test organized, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, I don’t doubt you have, but we are in dire straits right now.”

  Thorncroft filled in the Director of the CDC on what had just occurred—even as Calgleef slept.

  The part of most interest to Calgleef was that the CEO of Thorn didn’t mention anything about the rioters suffering from the virus—that they were normal in every way.

  Just very, very angry.

  Of concern to Calgleef was the destruction of the vaccines. If there was to be any hope for the people of Des Moines, then it would come in the form of the vaccines, but now…

  And if any of those vials have the active virus, then… Calgleef wished he hadn’t thought of that.

  Calgleef had to think of something fast. There was always the possibility that Thorncroft could close ranks and walk away. Lay the blame entirely on Moya—or perhaps Delaney and her confederates—along with the inefficiency of the American health services charged with delivering the vaccine. He could do that, Calgleef understood, destroy all traces of the vaccines, the deliberately mutated H1N1 viral bacterium, all records associated with its development, and all financial transactions to date. Calgleef was also sure that with the standing of the big pharma CEO and the money involved, access to professional hitmen wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Individuals like himself could be removed once and for all, guaranteeing silence.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen. Calgleef could hear Delaney’s voice ringing in his head, “He must be held accountable, he must!” and he now believed that to be the only outcome.

  “Mr. Thorncroft, sir, if I may.” Calgleef started off cautiously. “Des Moines may well be a lost cause, but if we’re able to sell the notion that the flu entered the country via the unwary Dr. Moya, we’ll still be able to salvage the program and continue with the vaccinations.”

  “But the TV, your main channels are broadcasting the possibility the vaccine itself spread the flu!”

  “Yes, and we can easily dispel those rumors when I get the test results. I’ll doctor them, so to speak, and take them immediately to Washington.”

  “Do you really think you’ll be able to see your president?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s not taking this situation lightly and early nights aren’t on the agenda. I’ll get to see him and I’ll get him to see things my way.”

  There was a lengthy pause at the other end of the conversation before Thorncroft finally answered. “I’m sure you will. Well…at least you’ll try.”

  Calgleef ended the call, but stared at the handset a good while. “What did he mean by that?”

  18

  Eighteen

  The Dodge Ram 2500 motored away from Carlisle and headed toward Avon—and closer to Des Moines.

  Grace made her case for moving closer to the city. “I don’t feel we should get too far from the city just yet. The further out we go, the more isolated we become. Like it or not, if this virus breaks out, we’ll need the protection of the cops and the National Guard as much as anyone.”

  “Must admit I never thought of it that way, but yeah…makes sense,” Mike agreed.

  “Well, I don’t like it.” Steve sounded more like a kid who didn’t want to go the bed when his parents told him to.

  “What’s new there?” Grace said.

  “You need to stop being the voice of doom. Everything Grace has done up till now has been for our survival, and it’s worked out so far. Get with the program, because if you don’t, I for one will be glad to let you out somewhere.”

  Grace was surprised at Tilford’s outburst but wasn’t entirely displeased with it. Quite the contrary, it was confirmation of support for her plans. It also showed support for her.

  Maybe when this is all over, we…oh, stop that nonsense at once! She reprimanded herself—this wasn’t likely to be over anytime soon.

  “We need to keep our wits about us, Steve. Constantly focusing on the negative won’t help. You got me?” Grace turned around from her position in the passenger seat and eyeballed the TV reporter. “It’s obvious we’re not in an ideal situation, but we have to deal with it. Because whether you like it or not, the fate of this city and perhaps America depends on us. And that means you too, hotshot!”

  Grace hit the reporter where his heart resided—fame. The moment she mentioned those magic words, “America depends on us," Steve stiffened up in his seat, realizing the story he’d have would blitz anything previous.

  Woodward and Bernstein would no longer be the most famous American journalists of the modern era—if not ever. He’d be the only reporter to know the entire inside story, but the fame he’d achieve would be because of the role he played in rescuing America from the clutches of the virus.

  He could see the reporters clamoring to interview him, and the headlines:

  Television Reporter Saves America.

  Yeah, he liked the sound of that—it had a good ring to it.

  Talk show appearances, magazine articles, books—by him and about him—and a shitload of money. Yeah, that’s what it was all about.

  Maybe I better lift my game a little, put on more of a positive outlook, he told himself.

  Steve lifted his head, “Yes, I…I understand, I do. I’m sorry, Miss Delaney, everyone. Really, I’m sorry.”

  If he’d have looked up and to the front of the vehicle, he would have seen the squinting eyes of Richard, staring back in the rear-view mirror.

  Though Grace hadn’t known Steve Donalds all that long—something she was thankful for—she pretty much had his type pegged. But the apology from the reporter more than took her by surprise.

  And he sounded so sincere, she said to herself. Whatever his motives, I don’t have time for it now.

  “Anyone know of a good place to lie low, besides a dilapidated factory?” she asked.

  “Richard is the local. If anyone knows, it’s him,” Mike said.

  “Well, what do you say, Rich?” Grace turned and asked.

  “Thinking on it.”

  “Think faster, pal. Being out here in this pickup has me feeling vulnerable.”

  “Ease up a bit, Mike. I’m sure everyone feels the same.” Grace noted the longer their adventure went on, the less confidant Mike sounded. Was it the tension, Steve’s attitude, being on the run, or the confined living he now found himself in? She supposed that for a helicopter pilot, there would be a certain feeling of freedom. Grace had no idea how he lived when not flying TV reporters around, but she wouldn’t be surprised if Mike took part in motorcycle and horse-riding—skydiving, perhaps. She didn’t see him as a person who stayed home by the fire in winter, curled up with a good book.

  On the other hand, she could see Tilford doing that—but she’d like to see him to curl up with her rather than a good book.

  If Calgleef can get the test results to the president, then maybe we could,

  Their situation looked much better since Calgleef agreed to assist with her plan—she didn’t admonish herself for such thoughts this time.

  As Grace pondered over a possible celebratory dalliance, Steve—and his newfound attitude—spoke up with some urgency from the back seat. “Hey, hey, hey. Richard, stop. Turn back.”

  “What is it?” Grace asked.

  “I saw a sign on the corner
back there—a for sale sign.”

  “And?” Grace didn’t make the connection.

  “I don’t think too many people will be looking for a house in Des Moines at the moment, do you? Considering the lock-down around the city and cops everywhere. Hell, I doubt any business is being conducted right now, including real estate.”

  No one said anything as they listened to Steve’s idea. It made sense—good sense.

  “Yeah, I get it, a house. We can use the fucking house!” In case anyone was still in the dark—Mike had just clarified it.

  “We’ll have to keep a low profile.” Grace still seemed unsure.

  “No one’s going to be looking at buying or showing houses in Des Moines right now, so…”

  “All right, let’s do it!” She went along with the majority decision.

  “It’ll be much warmer than that smelly old factory, that’s for sure,” Tilford added his approval.

  “Right,” Richard brought the pickup to a halt at the next intersection. “I’ll take a left here and come back around.”

  After completing the turn back to where they came, the Dodge 2500 cruised slowly along, looking for the house that was for sale.

  Approaching the premises, Steve asked a reasonable question. “How do we get in? I doubt anyone’s left the key under the doormat.”

  “I’ll go around back, see if I can get in through a window or something. I know a few tricks,” Mike said.

  Mike had obviously been around. The chopper pilot was no choir boy—he’d been around, which Grace understood. “I bet you do at that.” she said.

  There was a time when bad boys like Mike held an undeniable attraction, but that was before she became an important field officer for the CDC and responsibility became more than a catch phrase.

  Yes, Isaac Tilford was more her type now, though the age difference might make respectable a hard sell.

  She still liked to walk on “the wild side.”

  With the possibility of unmasking the conspiracy and all the key players, Grace Delaney’s mind began to consider these normal activities again—and no longer as daydreams of a life missed. This was a positive move in the right direction, as it eased her tension, but it was also a distraction.

  She reprimanded herself—yet again. It’s not over yet girl, girl, not by a long shot.

  “Pull up in the street.” Mike’s voice brought her back to the activity at hand. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll signal from the door, okay?”

  Mike opened the door and stepped out onto the asphalt road. But before he closed the door, he bent over and asked, “Hey, Grace, is there any paperwork in the glove compartment?”

  “Yeah, looks like some statements.”

  “Okay that will do.”

  She handed the papers over, then watched Mike casually walk over the path, look down at the papers in his hand, then check the address of the house. He turned and nodded to Richard, then headed up the driveway and to the side gate.

  “He almost looks like an inspector, apart from the tattered jeans, shirt, and the three-day growth,” Richard commented.

  “With the panic that’s surely on, it could go one of two ways. Either the residents are watching everyone come and go, or they’re so frightened, they don’t give a shit,” Grace said.

  “Let’s hope it’s the latter,” Tilford said.

  “There he is,” Richard pointed to the front door.

  “I have to hand it to him—he knows how to make things happen.” Richard sounded somewhat reluctant in his praise, however.

  “Look, he’s waving for us to pull into the drive.” Richard started the engine up and drove in. The houses on this street had typically well-manicured lawns—some with large trees in front a driveway that led to an attached garage. Many had hedges dividing the properties. There were a few cars in driveways and on the street itself, but there was no hint of human activity.

  Richard stopped just short of the garage door as Mike ran up to the driver’s side window.

  “Don’t turn it off. I’ll open the door so you can drive straight in, okay?” Mike referred indicated to the connected garage, which could be accessed through the house.

  A vehicle in the driveway of a house on the market was more likely to call attention—which they didn’t need.

  Once inside, each took their own way to look around the house and get familiar with it. They were all pleased to see that it was still furnished—sparsely—and the power was on. There was a water fountain in the kitchen which immediately saw use. The fridge was empty, as were the cupboards, but there were three beds with blankets and towels in the linen closet, plus soap. A good scrub-up would be welcomed by everyone.

  “This looks as good a place as any to hide out in,” Grace said as she walked back into the kitchen.

  “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about inspectors or cops and—if we stay low—nosy neighbors.” Mike peeked out through the drawn curtains over the kitchen sink as he spoke.

  Grace was pleased that Mike took the lead in the management of their security, leaving her to contend with Calgleef—when he called.

  In the back of her mind, there was the nagging feeling Calgleef could be playing her. But—as had been brought up—she contacted him and he hadn’t asked for her whereabouts. That could be part of the sell too, she had to admit, and there was also the chance he would be found out. Grace never suspected the Director of the CDC to be all that bright, and definitely not the undercover type.

  It wouldn’t take long for him to talk should his motives be discovered. That was an awful lot to swallow, when put all on one plate.

  “We still got these supplies we…liberated the other night, but now that we have refrigeration, maybe we should go for some fresh food?” Richard said as he carried one of the bags in.

  “We could, but with things the way they are, there might not be any fresh food left.”

  “Mike’s right, it could be dangerous to go looking now. I suggest we make do with what we got.” Grace believed the group had to stay together until Calgleef could present the test results to the president. Then they may be able to get an airlift from Iowa, to another state and fresh clothes and food and all the things normal people do.

  “With only these two pistols and limited ammo, I wouldn’t be comfortable about it either.”

  “I suggest we settle down and get a shower and clean-up. Don’t know about you men, but I’m in need of one.”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling a bit that way, too,” Tilford added.

  “Okay, with five of us, I think we need to be conservative with our water use,” Mike said.

  “Are you saying we should all shower together?” Grace asked

  “Err, no. I meant a specific time limit. Five minutes, no more,” Mike answered.

  Just over half an hour later, all five had showered, but unfortunately had to wear the same clothes. Their jeans and shirts were still good but the underwear was getting a bit tacky by now. They all then sat in the living area that had a wide window and afforded excellent view of the street outside and waited for Calgleef to call.

  19

  Nineteen

  It was nearing midnight in London as Thorncroft sat in his plush upholstered chair in the den of his luxury estate. With only a robe on, he was more than comfortable. He looked at his watch one more time—he had a call to make to his main contact in the United States and it was a time-sensitive one. Too early or too late and he ran the risk of others being privy to the call.

  At precisely the right time he made the call—on his sat phone, of course. After short introductions, Thorncroft got straight to the point.

  “You’re aware of the situation now in Des Moines. And it’s not just the infected that are the concern, the citizens are rebelling and I can’t say I blame them. I wouldn’t like to be encircled by troops knowing highly contagious sufferers could be on the loose. But if the thing had been handled a bit better on your end—”

  “Now, look here Thorncroft.�
� The contact was the only man on the entire North American continent to call the pharmaceutical mogul by his surname. “There was nothing more I could do, not without risking exposure and that would have fucked everything.”

  “It’s pretty well-fucked right now, wouldn’t you say, old boy?”

  Thorncroft waited for an answer, but continued when he didn’t get one. “There might be one last chance to salvage something from this mess. It depends entirely on selling the story of the flu being brought in by Dr. Moya to your fellow Americans. An unwitting and unfortunate carrier—and that’s how we need to present it—but that’s how it has to play out, you follow?”

  “Yes, yes, I think I do.”

  “Your press will have to work diligently to sell this story. My man from the CDC will have the results of a test conducted on the first vaccines used in Des Moines and will present it shortly.” It was the second time Thorncroft had pronounced the city correctly. “Now listen here…”

  Thorncroft went into detail about how to play it once the results were delivered and that his man—Calgleef—was not to be prevented, slowed, or indeed harassed at all.

  “It will be up to the media to sell this. Do you think that can be arranged?”

  “You bet your bottom dollar—err…pound it can,” Thorncroft’s contact said confidently into the phone. “The media can sell anything to the public in America. Hell, we can even sell it to the world. Remember the story about an old man in a cave in Afghanistan, four hijacked planes and three buildings collapsing in New York on the same day? Yeah, we sold that one pretty good and we can sell this one, too. Fear not, Thorncroft.”

  “Now you have to know this. Your troops and officers manning the barriers around the city will need to be issued Level 4 biohazard suits, understand?”

  “Err…no, I don’t—”

  “Let me spell it out for you, then. Des Moines is lost. The virus has probably spread to more than ten percent of the city’s population, that ten percent will become contagious and exhibit an uncontrolled burst of fury.” Thorncroft paused to allow the severity of the information sink in. “So you see, my good man, no one—regardless of their condition—can be permitted to leave Des Moines. A rescue attempt would be too costly, in lives and money.”