“Several groups have put forward the suggestion that this is a hoax meant to send the message of what could happen. One Latin American organization is even taking credit for doing just that, but officials are saying the claim is baseless.”
Sanjay couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mysterious boxes shooting something into the air? Something biological? Today? The timing was too coincidental. This had to be linked to the spray Pishon Chem was unleashing on Mumbai.
Kusum looked over at him. He could see in her eyes she believed him completely now, and was thinking the same thing.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We have a long way to go.”
“My family?”
“We’ll try.”
“Thank you.”
They retuned to the bike, and raced west for Mumbai.
WITH EACH PASSING kilometer, the traffic seemed to be getting lighter and lighter. At first Sanjay didn’t think anything of it, but when it got to the point where he and Kusum were only one of a handful of vehicles on the road, he began to wonder. It had to have something to do with the news—people captivated by the reports and staying home, worrying that the same containers would be found in the areas around Mumbai.
But while there were fewer people about as they entered the city, Sanjay did start to see many of the boys and men walking through neighborhoods spraying Pishon Chem’s “mosquito-killing” poison. The public was so focused on the troubles abroad, it couldn’t even see the one right under its nose.
Each time Sanjay saw one of the people doing the spraying, he was tempted to pull over and tell them to stop, but he knew no one would listen to him. More importantly, any delay getting to Kusum’s family could be the difference between life and death.
They went directly to the fruit stand her parents owned, where Sanjay had first seen Kusum. But when they arrived, there was no fruit on display, and no one standing behind the cart. The stand was closed.
“No,” Kusum whispered.
Without even looking at her, Sanjay knew she was thinking her parents and sister might already be sick. But the spraying had been going on for only a few hours, and even if her family had been exposed, Sanjay doubted there had been enough time for them to fall ill.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’ve stayed home like everyone else. Look, most of the shops are closed.”
He could feel her moving around on the back of the bike, scanning the area. “Yes. Yes, that must be it.”
“Tell me where your home is.”
ONCE MORE, AS they drove along the streets of Mumbai, they saw more of the army of sprayers delivering the deadly liquid, neighborhood by neighborhood.
I should be shouting, Sanjay thought. I should be screaming for everyone to run. But again, who would listen? Save who you can, he told himself, ignoring the question of how.
The building Kusum’s family lived in was down a long, narrow alley. Thankfully, the closest Pishon Chem sprayers were nearly a kilometer away, and by the absence on nearby streets and sidewalks of the residual sheen from the spray, Sanjay knew they had not yet moved through this area.
“Where is everyone?” Kusum asked as they made their way down the alley.
He didn’t have to ask her what she meant. Sanjay had seen hundreds of streets just like this one, usually teeming with people at this time of day. But they’d barely seen anyone, and those they had eyed them suspiciously while hurrying to some unknown destination.
“There,” Kusum said after a moment, pointing over his shoulder at her building.
It was an old and tired-looking place, stained brown where water from the frequent rains had run down the sides for decades. Families would be stuffed inside, ten or more people in every two- or three-room apartment, doing what they could to collectively survive.
As soon as Sanjay pulled the bike to a stop, Kusum leaped off the back and raced for the door. He headed after her, passing through in time to see her running up a set of stairs. He tried to catch up but she was moving fast, and it was all he could do to keep her in sight. When he turned at the midway point between the second and third floors, where the stairs doubled back, she was gone.
“Kusum?” he called.
“This way!” she yelled, her voice coming through the door to the third floor.
Once he exited the stairwell, he spotted her three-quarters of the way down the hall, turning the knob on one of the doors. It seemed to be locked.
She knocked loudly and yelled, “It’s me! Kusum!”
There was a momentary delay, then the door flew open, and her mother rushed out.
“Where have you been?” she asked. She touched her daughter’s face, and pulled her into her arms.
“Kusum!” the voice of her father boomed out of the room. “Answer your mother’s question. Where have you been?”
Kusum pulled back from her mother’s embrace. “I…I…”
She glanced toward Sanjay, who had stopped several meters away. Her mother followed her gaze. Her father stepped into the hallway and did the same.
“You!” her father said. He started marching toward Sanjay. “What have you done?”
Her father was not a particularly large man, but at the moment he seemed like a giant to Sanjay. Fire raged in the man’s eyes, and his nostrils flared in anger.
“I can explain,” Sanjay said, backpedaling.
“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say!”
As soon as Kusum’s father was close enough, he grabbed Sanjay’s shirt with one hand and struck him across the face with the other.
“You have ruined my daughter!”
“No!” Kusum told him. “That’s not true.”
She reached out to stop him, but her mother pulled her back.
“I have not,” Sanjay pleaded. “I was only—”
“Shut up!” The man slapped Sanjay. “You expect me to believe your lies?”
Down the hall, a few doors opened and people peeked out, but none seemed willing to come to Sanjay’s aid.
“Nothing happened,” Sanjay said quickly. “I have done nothing to her. You can ask her.”
As Kusum’s father raised his hand again, Sanjay prepared to be hit once more, but the blow never came.
“Father, please.” Kusum had broken free from her mother, and grabbed her father’s hand. “Sanjay did nothing wrong. He was only trying to save me.”
Her father whirled on her as if he’d hit her, too.
“No!” her mother yelled. “Don’t.”
“He was trying to save me,” Kusum repeated.
Her father’s anger seemed to lose a bit of focus, the tension in his upraised arm wavering. “Save you from what?” he said, his tone all but accusing her of trying to fool him.
Kusum’s eyes moved past him down the hall toward their neighbors, who continued to watch the spectacle. “Please, Father. Let’s go inside. We can talk there.”
For a moment, it looked as if he wasn’t interested in going anywhere, but then he took a deep breath and nodded. Yanking on Sanjay’s arm, he shoved him toward the door. “You first.”
The apartment was predictably small. The main room served as the kitchen, dining, and living area.
In addition to Kusum’s parents, her younger sister Jabala was there, as were three others Sanjay didn’t know. One was an older woman, and two were young children, a boy and a girl who were about five or six.
The most expensive thing in the room was the television. Like the one they’d seen when they’d stopped for gas, it was tuned to BBC International.
Kusum’s father entered last and slammed the door behind him. “Saved you from what?” he demanded.
Sanjay pointed at the TV. “From that, I think.”
Her father looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe we should all sit down,” Kusum suggested. “Jabala, could you take Panna and Darshan into the other room?”
“I want to hear what you’re going to talk about,”
Jabala said.
“I know,” Kusum said softly. “I will tell you everything after, okay?”
Not looking happy, Jabala grabbed the hands of the two children and led them through the doorway at the far end of the room.
“Please, Father. Sit down,” Kusum said.
After a moment’s hesitation, her father did, and the others followed suit.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” her father said, looking at Sanjay.
Sanjay glanced at the floor, unsure how to begin.
“You need to tell them everything,” Kusum said. “Just like you told me.”
She was right, of course. It was exactly what he had to do, so it was exactly what he did.
If it weren’t for the crisis playing out on TV, he was sure they would have dismissed his claims immediately.
“The malaria spray?” Kusum’s father said when Sanjay finally finished, anger no longer underlining the man’s voice. “Are you sure?”
“I am as sure as I can be. It’s what was told to me.”
“And your cousin?” Kusum’s mother said.
“I saw Ayush with my own eyes.” He paused. “By now, I am sure he is dead.”
Both Kusum’s mother and the old woman—her aunt—looked visibly shaken.
“Then why did you come back if you were trying to keep her safe?” Kusum’s father asked. “You are saying they are spreading this…disease through the city right now.”
“The vaccine will protect her.”
“Are you sure?” Her father was starting to become angry again.
“Yes,” Sanjay said. About as much as I can be.
Before her father could speak again, Kusum jumped in. “He didn’t want to bring me back. I forced him.”
“But why?” her mother asked. “If he’s right, it’s too dangerous here. You should have stayed away.”
Kusum looked at her with surprise. “I came back for all of you. You are my family.”
“And what could you possibly do for us?” her father asked.
“Warn you. Save you.”
“Save us how?”
“We should all leave the city. Now.”
“This disease, it will be everywhere. Do you have vaccine for us?” he asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer. “How are we supposed to stay alive?”
Sanjay leaned forward. “We don’t have more vaccine. Not yet.”
The others all looked at him.
“What do you mean, not yet?” Kusum’s father asked.
“Do you have a car?”
“Do we look like we can afford a car?”
“But you can drive, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Then we will steal one.”
“Steal?” Kusum’s mother blurted out. “We are not thieves.”
Ignoring her, Sanjay said, “I have a plan that I hope will save all of you.” Plan was probably a little generous. “Get a car and take everyone out of town.” He looked at Kusum. “Do you think you can find your way back to where we were last night?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Go there.”
“What about you?”
He was silent for a moment. “I will go back to where I found Ayush. There might be more vaccine there.”
Kusum brightened. “Do you think so?”
“There is a chance.”
“I know where we can find a car,” Kusum’s father said, no longer sounding as if their fate was inevitable.
His wife looked at him, wide-eyed. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re talking about saving our family. Of course I’m serious.”
“What about Chandra and Rochi?” she asked.
Sanjay looked at Kusum, confused.
“My mother’s brother and his wife,” she whispered. “Panna’s and Darshan’s parents.”
With a nod of understanding, Sanjay said, “You’ll have to leave them behind.”
“What?” Kusum’s mother said.
“They’ve been through the city. There’s a chance they’ve already been exposed to the spray. If they have, then they are as good as dead.”
“We can’t just leave them here.”
“We can, and we will,” her husband said. “We can call them, give them the chance to get away, but Sanjay is right. We cannot tell them where we are going. If they are alive when this is over, we will find them then.”
Sanjay stood up. “You cannot wait here any longer. There is no telling how soon it will be before the sprayers arrive.” He also had to get going himself. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could be back with Kusum and make sure she was all right.
“You should not go alone,” Kusum said.
“It will be easier on my own.”
She looked unconvinced.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will meet up with you by this evening. No later than eight, okay?”
She stared into his eyes for a second, then nodded. “Eight.”
Sanjay gave her a reassuring smile, and turned for the door.
“Wait,” she said. She disappeared into the other room. When she returned, she was holding a mobile phone. “Take it. Father has one, too. His is the first number listed.”
“Thanks,” he said.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Come back to me,” she whispered.
Seventeen
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
3:03 AM EASTERN STANDARD TIME
A TOTAL OF fourteen suspicious shipping containers had been discovered within the five boroughs of New York City. The NYPD and FDNY had moved in quickly and cordoned off the areas surrounding the boxes. At first, the off-limits zones stretched for only a couple of blocks, but after news of boxes exploding elsewhere, they were increased to eight square blocks.
Unfortunately, there was not enough manpower to watch every inch of the boundaries around the restricted areas and continue basic services to the rest of the city. So unmonitored sections were unavoidable.
Joey Chin saw this as an opportunity.
Near the middle of the evacuated area was the building where Walter Natz lived. Joey had been trying to figure out how to get into Natz’s place for weeks. While the guy was often away on business, his building had a doorman, at least ten roaming security guards at all times, and cameras on every floor, meaning any kind of incursion was next to impossible.
Until the evacuation, Joey had been unable to work up any viable options, and, understandably, his client was getting antsy. Four weeks and no visible progress had a way of doing that. The documents the man needed were inside a safe in Natz’s home office. Joey knew he could get into the safe, no problem. It was getting to the apartment that was the challenge.
Until the evacuation order a few hours earlier. Officials had made it very clear there were no exceptions for anyone, security staff included. Best of all, Joey had found a vulnerable point in the boundary to the off-limits zone.
He had watched it for over an hour just to be sure, then simply walked across the darkened street, picked the lock on the door to a dry cleaner, and let himself in. As expected, the place had an alarm, but he quickly disabled it, and made his way through the building and out the back door.
From there, it was just a matter of working his way through the streets without being spotted by the helicopters that occasionally flew over the area. That was a piece of cake.
When he reached the block where Natz’s building was, he gave it a thorough scan to make sure no one had secretly stayed behind. As expected, it looked deserted.
Of course, there were still the cameras, but those he could deal with.
He went around to the alley behind Natz’s building, disabled the single camera covering the back entrance, and busted one of the low windows meant to allow light into the basement level. He knew the building’s alarm system utilized touch plates at all doors and windows, but not the more sophisticated motion sensor that would detect a window breaking. He had identified that as a weak point right
at the start, but the problem had always been the guards. The information he’d been able to obtain indicated one guard was always in the basement, which meant he would probably hear any breaking glass.
Not today.
Joey made his way to the utility room that controlled the power to the building. He had no intentions of killing all the power; that would make his job difficult. He was only interested in the power supply dedicated to the security system. The actual box was unmarked, designed to look like it was part of the larger electrical system. There were even dummy wires running from it to the main boxes. It was a good camouflage job. Someone not quite as experienced as Joey would have continued looking elsewhere. Joey, though, had studied the true plans, the ones most people would never be able to get their hands on. That was part of the skill set he brought to any project—his contacts and ability to get whatever he needed.
Cover off, wires cut, job done. The offsite monitoring facility would wonder what was going on, but what could they do? It wasn’t like they could send in cars full of security men. And even if they called the police, the NYPD had its hands full at the moment and would probably just hang up on them.
He headed for the elevator.
There were grander buildings in New York for sure, skyscrapers that allowed residents to live in the clouds. Natz’s building was not nearly as tall as those. While he lived in one of the penthouse apartments, it only put him nine floors from the street.
Once Joey got there, he wasted no time opening Natz’s door. As soon as he was inside, he glanced at the alarm and noted, with satisfaction, that the display screen was dead.
The only surprise was how warm the apartment felt. He went over to the thermostat and saw that it was set at seventy-eight degrees. He considered turning it down, but needed to limit his impact on the place so that his visit would remain undiscovered.
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 1: Books 1 - 3 (Sick, Exit 9, & Pale Horse) Page 62