“He had to take an earlier flight,” said Mitchell. “His wife is sick.”
“Whatever, you’re the one we really want. I think you should see this, Mister Mitchell,” said the man with the blond hair as he handed Mitchell a cellphone.
Mitchell looked at the image on the screen. His blood instantly began to boil in his veins when he saw Jen, Sam, Yuri, and Cardinal in a cell sitting at a table. Mitchell took a deep breath to calm his brewing anger and handed back the phone. He had to play it smart; any foolishness on his behalf and the woman he loved and his friends would die.
“If you want to see them alive, you’ll come with us,” said the blond man.
“Yeah, do the smart thing, mister, and come with us,” said the other man.
Mitchell grinned at the men. “Lead on, then.”
The curly-haired man took Mitchell’s luggage and stepped behind him as the blond-haired man led them outside, to where a car was waiting for them.
On the third floor of the terminal, Jackson lowered his binoculars and quickly jotted down the tail identification number of the Learjet that Mitchell had just boarded, accompanied by two cagey-looking men. He dug out his disposable cellphone and dialed a number that Mitchell had given him. A moment later, a woman with an Asian accent answered the call. Quickly passing on the plane’s tail identification number and nothing else, he waited for the person on the other end to repeat the number just to ensure that she had it correctly. Jackson hung up and swore as he watched the plane taxi down the runway and take off into the cloud-covered sky. He hated leaving Mitchell on his own, but his plan made sense, and if there was going to be any chance of getting everyone out alive, he had to let his friend go on alone.
Jackson was about to take a swig from a can of Diet Coke when the phone in his pocket began to buzz. He answered the call and listened intently while the woman on the line gave her message twice before ending the call. Jackson packed his binoculars away and hurried downstairs until he came to the booth for Lufthansa Airlines.
The woman behind the counter was tanned, in her late thirties with shoulder-length blonde hair. She smiled at Jackson and said, “May I help you, sir?”
“You sure can,” replied Jackson. “I’d like to get on the next available flight for Frankfurt. Also, can you arrange a connecting flight for me to Tirana, Albania?”
“Certainly, sir,” answered the woman, with a flash of her pearl-white teeth. “Business or pleasure?” she asked, trying to make small talk with Jackson.
“Oh, it’s business, but it’s going to be quite pleasurable when I run into an old friend I haven’t seen for some time,” replied Jackson, thinking about choking the life out of McMasters.
33
Airstrip
Dinaric Alps, Albania
The Learjet came down through the narrow mountain pass, lined itself up with the runway, and began its final approach towards the private airfield. The flight, which included a refueling stop in Spain, had taken almost twenty hours. Mitchell, drugged and shackled the whole trip, was brought out of a deep sleep when smelling salts were wafted under his nose.
Instantly awake, Mitchell sat up and took a deep breath through his nose to clear the foul smell. He tried to focus his eyes.
A blurry figure hovered over him.
“He’s awake,” called out the curly-haired thug.
“Cover him,” ordered his blond-haired partner as he dug out a key from his pocket and undid the cuffs on Mitchell’s hands and ankles.
After a few seconds, the men in front of Mitchell came into focus, as did the pistol aimed at his chest.
“Stand up and no funny business,” warned the curly-haired thug.
Mitchell glanced out the window and saw that they had landed on an airstrip surrounded by tall, tree-covered mountains. There was snow on the peaks of the highest mountains.
“I said get up,” growled the thug.
Mitchell stood and stretched out his sore muscles. “How long was I out?”
“About twenty hours,” replied the blond-haired man.
“No more questions,” said the curly-haired thug. “Now walk!”
Mitchell made his way off the plane and felt the warmth on his face from the sun hanging high overhead. We’re probably not in Russia, thought Mitchell. He turned and saw the wide-open, heavy steel doors leading into a mountain installation. Mitchell chuckled; he knew exactly where he was.
“Move,” insisted the thug behind Mitchell, who gave him a good push to get him moving.
They had barely gone twenty meters when an electric-powered cart pulled up and three armed guards jumped off.
“We’ll take him from here,” said a black man with a strong West African accent to the blond-haired man.
“He’s all yours,” replied the man.
“Cuff him,” said the black guard to one of his men.
Before Mitchell could object, a set of handcuffs was placed on his wrists. Manhandled into the back of the cart, Mitchell sat back and smiled at a black-bearded thug that sat beside him with his assault rifle jammed into Mitchell’s ribs.
Mitchell was surprised to see a row of jets parked outside of the installation. He counted no fewer than twelve of the expensive jets. An old Albanian military installation was hardly the place he would have expected to find some of the world’s richest people.
The cart stopped just inside the installation.
“Out,” ordered the black guard to Mitchell.
With a smile, Mitchell got down from the cart and took a quick look around. He was amazed at the size of the base. There were six brightly lit tunnels branching off from the main hangar floor. At least ten brand new luxury cars, including BMWs, Mercedes, and Ferraris were parked off to one side. Dozens of workers moved about the installation. What caught Mitchell’s eye were four black up-armored Hummers, a Mercedes SUV, an armored truck, and a sleek looking semi-trailer all in a line as if ready to leave in a moment’s notice. Armed guards seemed to be everywhere. It would take a battalion of marines to take this place, thought Mitchell.
The black guard motioned for Mitchell to follow. “This way.”
Taking in every detail, Mitchell followed the man across the hangar floor and then down a long corridor until they came to a closed door guarded by a couple of well-armed security personnel.
“He’s expecting us,” the guard said gruffly to the men at the door.
The guards stepped aside to let Mitchell and the black thug pass. The room was spacious and decorated with Southwestern American art.
“Afternoon, Ryan. I was wondering when you’d get here,” said Houston as he walked into the room from a side door.
Mitchell almost chuckled when he saw how Houston was dressed. He had on his usual outfit of blue jeans, cowboy boots, a white shirt, and a new, tan-colored cowboy hat on his head.
“Don’t you think that you’re a little overdressed for Albania, Mister Houston?” asked Mitchell.
“You’ve got a good eye, Ryan. Top marks for knowing where you are,” replied Houston jovially. “As for my outfit, I happen to like the way I look.”
Mitchell glanced over at a clock hanging on the wall and saw that it was mid-afternoon. His watch and his body were still on Colombian time.
“Where are my friends? I’d like to see them.”
“First things first, Ryan. If you give me your word that you’ll behave, I’ll have those cuffs removed.”
“And if I don’t give you my word?”
“Come on, Ryan; let’s not play games with one another. Give me your word that you’ll act in a civilized manner, and the cuffs will come off. If you don’t, I’ll have your friends killed one by one right in front of your eyes.”
“In that case, you have my word,” replied Mitchell with a forced smile.
“See, you can be reasonable when you want to. Release him,” said Houston to the black guard.
A couple of seconds later, Mitchell was free.
The guard stepped back out of arm’s re
ach and brought his weapon up to cover Mitchell.
“You have quite the collection of expensive cars out there,” remarked Mitchell.
Houston grinned. “What can I say? I like nice cars and beautiful young women. What else is a single billionaire going to spend his money on?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Mister Houston, this is all very nice, but I’d like to see my friends.”
“You’ll see them soon enough,” replied Houston. “However, I’d like you to meet some friends of mine first.
“Come with me, Ryan,” said Houston as he led Mitchell out of the room. Standing in the hallway was Houston’s nephew, Owen, with a puzzled look on his face.
“Ah, Owen, I’m glad to see that you finally made it,” declared Houston cheerfully as he moved to embrace his nephew.
Owen stepped back. “Sir, just what the hell is going on here? You told me not to worry about how you were using your discretionary funds. However, this…this enterprise of yours is unbelievable. How much did this all cost?”
“That’s not important right now,” replied Houston. “Come with me, Owen, I have some people you need to meet.”
They walked together down a side corridor dug into the rock until they came to a set of locked doors. One of the guards unlocked the door and held it open.
The room was the old base’s command center. It had been substantially improved and upgraded. Numerous screens hung on the walls, showing images from CNN, BBC and several other news agencies. In the middle of the room was a large oval table where the other eleven members of the Plutus Society sat quietly. Mitchell could tell from the bitter looks on their faces that these people weren’t the slightest bit amused with what was going on.
“It’s about bloody time you showed up,” grumbled Gavin Dearan. “You have a lot of nerve making us sit here for hours. Your goons wouldn’t even let us out of this bloody room except to go to the bathroom.”
“It was for your own protection,” replied Houston.
“David, this is unacceptable,” added Dimitri Kazan. “You take half of our companies and then dare to treat us like common criminals.”
“Please everyone, please calm down,” said Houston as he walked to the head of the table and took a seat. He pointed over at a couple of empty chairs and waited until Mitchell and Owen sat down before continuing.
“David, I’m scared. Please tell us what is going on,” pleaded Reika.
A large screen on the wall lit up.
Mitchell watched as a map of the world came up on the screen.
Houston stood up and walked over beside the screen. “Folks, the last time we met, I told all of you—except my nephew, Owen, and Mister Mitchell—that I had already commenced operations to reduce the world’s population by one-third.”
Owen flew from his seat. “Sir, did you just say that you’re planning to kill billions of innocent people?”
By his visceral reaction, Mitchell saw that Owen was just as horrified and in the dark as he was. It was something he knew he could exploit if he had the time.
“Please hear me out, Owen,” replied Houston. “I know this all may come as a bit of a shock to you. If, after this meeting, you still have any concerns, I’ll gladly take the time to go into greater detail with you. You have to understand that the planet cannot maintain its current level of population growth. Already, economic refugees are making their way north from the impoverished nations of Africa, Asia, and South America. There is only so much land to grow crops, only so many fish in the sea to feed people, and something has to give.”
Owen protested, “Sir, you cannot play God with the lives of billions of people. To do so is unconscionable.”
Houston smiled over at his nephew as if nothing was wrong. “Owen, please take your seat.”
The black guard stepped close in behind Owen and cocked his weapon.
Owen scowled at his uncle and sat down.
“Now, where was I?” said Houston to himself. Turning to the screen, he pointed to northern Russia with a laser pointer. “Several months ago, I was able to acquire a baby mammoth that died suddenly sometime around 11,000 BC.”
“David, what does that have to do with why we are here?” asked Shofu, the heavyset Nigerian.
“Everything,” replied Houston. “We all know about the extinction of the dinosaurs millions of years ago. However, did you know that the last major extinction on the Earth occurred a mere thirteen thousand years ago? Across the globe, species of all kinds—from the woolly mammoth in North America to the giant apes in Africa and Asia to the giant sloths of South America—all inexplicably died off. There are many theories as to why they disappeared. Some scientists believe that man hunted them to extinction. Others believe that climate change drove them to extinction when they were unable to adapt when the world around them changed. While some theorize that it a hyperdisease of unknown origin, possibly transmitted by man, killed off the large animals of the era.”
Changing the image on the screen, Houston brought up a picture of the dissembled Luna 15 probe’s return vehicle. “Ladies and gentlemen, I can state categorically that the reason that the animals went extinct was a hyperdisease. Not a terrestrial one, but one of extraterrestrial origin.”
“David, how the bloody hell did you come to that conclusion?” asked Dearan.
“It’s the only theory that has ever made sense to me. In 1969, the Soviet Union accidentally discovered an unknown pathogen still alive in a rock on the Moon’s surface. It was this pathogen that caused the world-wide extinction 13,000 years ago.”
“Why have we never heard of this?” said Heike, Houston’s German co-conspirator.
“Because the Russians didn’t want anyone to know about their discovery,” replied Houston. “They were so concerned that the pathogen could be harmful to human life that they programmed their probe to burn up in the Earth’s atmosphere. Fortunately, for us, their calculations were shoddy and the probe landed safely on an island in the South Atlantic. Mister Mitchell and his people were instrumental in recovering the probe for us and for that he has my thanks.”
“Please don’t be upset if I say you’re not welcome,” said Mitchell sardonically.
Houston smiled. “No need to be a sore loser, Ryan.”
With a push of a button, Houston brought up the map of the world once more. “What my scientists believe happened is that a small asteroid containing the pathogen hit the Moon, shattering into thousands, if not tens of thousands, of fragments. Some of which were blasted back out into space and then caught in Earth’s gravitational pull. Coming down all over the planet, the pathogen spread death wherever it fell.”
“What exactly fell to earth?” asked Dearan, growing uncomfortable.
“Anthrax,” answered Houston. “Not the anthrax we’re used to dealing with today, but a highly virulent strain of the disease that spreads incredibly fast and is deadly to anything that contracts the disease.”
“There are vaccines for anthrax,” pointed out Kazan. “Even if you could engineer an outbreak, it would be quickly contained.”
“You are correct, Dimitri, there are vaccines for anthrax. However, the strain that killed off the giant mammals 13,000 years ago is unknown to modern science. From the baby mammoth’s blood, we were able to identify the virus that killed it. Regrettably, we were unable to synthesize the virus. That was, until I obtained the pathogen in its purest form from the sample brought back inside the Luna 15 space probe’s return vehicle.”
“You’ve been able to duplicate the pathogen?” said Reika, her voice unsteady with fear.
“Yes, I have. In fact, my people have turned it into an aerosol so it can be delivered via the air. As of now, we don’t have all that we are going to need in the long run, but there is enough for us to commence the operation in about twenty hours from now. The remainder will be ready for distribution in two to three weeks from today.”
Shofu looked over at Houston. “If you release this unknown form of anthrax, who is to say that i
t won’t kill three or four billion people before it can be stopped?”
“Shofu, my old friend, the beauty about this disease is that it burns itself out after ninety days,” replied Houston, triumphantly. “There will, of course, be some remote regions where it may go longer. But it has been projected that after ninety days, the virus will be gone and along with it, one-third of the world’s population.”
“What about the world’s supply of farm animals such as cows, pigs, and sheep? If they die as well, you will be dooming billions more to starvation,” pointed out Heike.
Houston shook his head, “I was worried about that too. However, the virus has been modified by my scientists to be harmful only to human beings.”
“What if it doesn’t burn itself out?” asked Mitchell. “What if, like most viruses, it mutates and becomes something that you cannot control?”
The room went quiet.
Houston, paused, smiled at his accomplices and then said, “Mister Mitchell, we have run through countless computer simulations, including the one you just described. I can assure you and everyone in this room that the disease will burn itself out ninety days after it’s released.”
“What if you’re wrong?” asked Mitchell.
“I’m not.”
Kazan asked, “How do you intend to distribute the virus?”
“Initially, it will be dispersed via human hosts into the air at several major airports around the world,” replied Houston. “As it is the Christmas season, the airports will be packed with holiday travelers who will be unwittingly exposed to the virus and take it home with them. Within days, people will start to die all across the planet. The second wave of the disease will be dispersed via a supposed cure for anthrax, which will be sold through several shell pharmaceutical companies in Asia and Latin America. Once the disease hits, people will be clamoring all across the globe for a cure.”
“This is madness!” yelled Owen. “Please think about what you’re about to do and stop it before it begins. Uncle David, you don’t need to do this.”
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