Seed Police

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Seed Police Page 9

by Gayla Prewitt


  Landon motioned to the reverend, then directed the minister to a small snack room near the lobby.

  “Where’ve you been?” asked the minister.

  “I didn't get there in time,” confided Jack.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The government agents were already there. They took the families and the seeds,” informed the congressman.

  “So, that’s it.”

  “There’s a long shot. Kyle Sanders told me he kept a small packet of seeds under the floorboards. His son knew about it.”

  “How do we find him?” asked the reverend.

  “I’m going to need some help. No more playing it safe,” replied the congressman.

  Miles from there, Chance emerged from the forest, Emily still draped across his shoulder. He made his way to an alley near another all-night convenience store. He placed Emily on the ground, leaning her against a brick wall. Unconscious, she groaned a soft sigh. Knowing the risk he was taking, Chance went inside and approached the clerk.

  “I need to use your phone,” said Chance.

  “It can't be long-distance,” responded the clerk.

  “No problem.”

  I'll dial the number. “Where you need to call?”

  “The nearest hospital,” said Chance.

  The clerk quickly looked up the number, dialed the phone, and handed the receiver to Chance.

  “County General, how may I help you?” responded the receptionist.

  “My friend’s very sick,” said Chance.

  “I'll put you through to the nurses' station,” assured the receptionist. A nurse answered the phone. “Can I help you?”

  “My friend’s really sick. She has a fever, and I can't get her to wake up.” Just then, Chance observed the store clerk talking with men at the front of the store.

  “You need to bring your friend to the emergency room, now,” insisted the nurse. There was no response. “Hello? Hello?” The phone lay on the counter. Chance was gone.

  In a remote area sat an unmarked white van. A man inside wore a headset. With one hand on the earpiece, he monitored the phone conversation. “Got it!” he said.

  Not far from the store, Chance staggered, barely able to continue under the burden of carrying Emily, still unresponsive. The ear-popping sound of a helicopter rotor consumed the night sky over the pair. A spotlight zeroed in on the two of them. “You below. Stop Now!” blasted a voice from the helicopter loudspeaker.

  Chance, not heeding the command, gathered all the strength he could muster. He quickened his pace, hoping to get out of the sights of the helicopter. However, even with the adrenaline surge, he was unable to run. The aircraft landed just in front of the fugitives. Several men scurried from the chopper. One of the men, Congressman Jack Landon, approached Chance holding out his hand to greet him.

  “Chance Sanders?” asked the Congressman.

  “Who are you?”

  “I know your dad. I know about the seed packet.”

  A short time later, the rescue chopper landed at Community Hospital. Dr. Rogers and Dr. Simpson waited nearby. Workers loaded Emily onto a gurney, as Chance tagged along beside her, holding her hand. Inside the exam room, Chance questioned the two doctors. “Can you help her?”

  “I think so,” replied Dr. Rogers. “But we’re going to need the seeds if you have them.”

  “No, Chance,” Emily protested, her voice faint. Chance reached into his pocket and pulled out the seed pouch, handing the packet to Dr. Rogers.

  “I think this should be enough,” assured the good doctor.

  Chapter 31

  Saving the World

  In the hospital hallway, the congressman approached Reverend Cameron. “I need a computer. Mine’s in the car.”

  “What's up?” asked the reverend.

  “I don't know. Maybe the end of the world as we know it,” said the congressman.

  The reverend spotted hospital pathologist, Phil Wannamaker at the nurses’ desk. “Do you know where the congressman can get access to a computer?” he asked Phil.

  “Yeah, Dr. Simpson's office.” Phil escorted the men to the office, motioning the pair inside the room.

  “It’s all yours, gentlemen,” said Phil.

  At the desk, Congressman Landon logged onto the computer. Reverend Cameron looked over his shoulder. “It seems the government has been working on a program involving something called terminator seeds,” explained the congressman. “Pollen from the seeds would make all seeds sterile — meaning crops would not be able to produce seeds for new plants.” The congressman moved through several login screens. “I haven’t been able to get in.” The computer displayed “Goliath Project” & “access denied.”

  “You're kidding me — Goliath?” observed the reverend.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack.

  “You know, the Bible story — David and Goliath,” said the minister. “The shepherd boy defeats the giant.”

  “Look to the book.” The congressman mumbled, remembering the words spoken by the voice in the parking garage. Landon typed the letters, D-A-V-I-D.

  “Clever. Hiding behind a Bible story,” commented the reverend.

  Once again, “access denied,” posted on the computer window. “Wait, the original text would have been in Hebrew,” advised the minister. “Try this, D-A-H-V-E-E-D.” Congressman Landon began typing; looked puzzled at the reverend. “David — in Hebrew,” explained the reverend.

  “Who would think of that?”

  “Exactly,” responded Cameron.

  This time, success, with “access granted,” visible on the screen. “All right!” said the congressman. The two men viewed what appeared to be a schematic of an aerial drone launch. The plan pictured arrows pointing at the clouds with a flight plan showing the drone exploding in the air.

  “They’re going to release the pollen into the atmosphere,” declared the congressman. He continued his computer search. A new window opened, it read, “Launch, 19 minutes, 45 seconds.”

  “We don’t have much time!” said Jack.

  At a government hanger facility, a technician directed the countdown. “Launch, one minute, 15 seconds,” read the monitor. Outside, flashing lights and sirens exploded on the tarmac near the facility. Congressman Landon catapulted from one of the military police cars with his computer backpack in tow. Military officers and the congressman rushed to the hanger. Reverend Cameron trailed close behind.

  Inside, one of the soldiers spotted two guards near the entrance to the computer control area. The entourage stopped to regroup around the corner, out of view of the guards. An Air Force MP handed noise-blocking headphones to the congressman and reverend. The MP motioned everyone to don the ear protection. Just then, another soldier hurled a silver spherical device next to the unsuspecting guards. The device emitted an ear-piercing sound sending the guards to the ground covering their ears, screaming in agony. With the guards removed, MPs grabbed the technician from behind the console. An Air Force specialist replaced the arrested man. Fire bellowed from the launch rocket attached to the drone as the force pushed the drone into the sky.

  “It's too late,” said the military specialist.

  “Can you get it back?” asked the congressman.

  “I'm gonna try, sir,” said the specialist. He spoke into a microphone attached to a radio headset. “Black Jack Rendezvous, need you to intercept drone at 11 o'clock.”

  Two air force pilots on stand-by took off from the strip, roaring into the air. “Roger that,” acknowledged one of the pilots.

  “They can't destroy the drone. That will release the pollen,” said Congressman Landon.

  “If it reaches the jet stream, the contamination will be even more devastating,” responded the specialist.

  “How long?” asked the congressman.

  “Sixty-seconds,” responded the Air Force technician. Speaking again into the headset, “Black Jack Rendezvous, what is your status?”

  “Have visual of target,” re
plied the pilot.

  “Thirty seconds until drone reaches jet stream altitude,” said the specialist.

  “Target locked. Ready to fire,” said the pilot.

  The specialist kept typing, hoping to gain access to the program controlling the drone as the countdown continued. “Seven — six — five—four,” his voice clicked off the numbers. The pilot moved into firing position, thumb on the trigger. “Three — two … Abort! Abort! Abort!” commanded the Air Force technician. “I've got control!” The instruction was too late. The pilot fired the missile, luckily just missing the drone by a few feet. The split-second signal to return had taken the drone off target. The room ignited with uproarious cheers. The congressman grabbed the specialist giving him a hearty pat on the back.

  In Ted Harris’ office, the phone rang. Harris picked up. “They did what? Override it!” Harris slammed the receiver.

  Back at the hanger, the celebration continued when the technician spotted a disturbing sign on the monitor. The red blip regained altitude. He sat down amid the commotion to get a better assessment of the situation.

  “We have a problem.” His voice interrupted the festivities. “I’ve been locked out. Someone’s taken control.” By this time, a commanding officer arrived at the facility.

  “What’s the situation, soldier?” the Colonel asked the specialist.

  “There must’ve been a back-up code.”

  “Are the pilots still in position?”

  “Yes, sir. But it is too late, sir, the drone has already reached the jet stream.”

  “How long before detonation?”

  “Fifteen minutes, sir,” replied the technician.

  “We’ve got to stop that drone. If we don’t, there’ll be famine like the world has never seen,” interjected Congressman Landon as he paced behind the control module. “There’s got to be a way.”

  “There’s a kill switch, but it’s not in this building and can’t be accessed remotely,” said the specialist.

  “Where?” asked the congressman.

  “Looks like it’s in this bunker.” The technician pointed to the spot on a map of the base. “But there’s no one here with the skills needed to get access.”

  “Maybe I can help,” said the congressman.

  “I looked at the plans. There are security devices...explosives,” said the technician. “You’ll have only three attempts. The first attempt will activate a timer. You’ll then have five minutes to get access to the kill codes.”

  “What happens after five minutes,” asked the congressman.

  “No more bunker,” answered the technician.

  “If you’re going, I’m going and don’t try to stop me,” said the reverend to Congressman Landon. “After all, who else are you going to get to keep an eye on the time and an eye upstairs?”

  A few minutes later, Congressman Landon and Reverend Cameron arrived at the bunker. “Good thing I’m back in good graces,” said the congressman. With his government clearance restored, Landon punched in a code, opening the door.

  “We’re in,” radioed the congressman.

  “Copy that,” responded the technician.

  At the drone command center, Ted Harris towered over the technician toiling at the drone controls. “They’ve reached the bunker,” he informed Harris. Harris slammed his fist on the desk, inches away from the man.

  Inside the bunker, Landon and Cameron reached the timer. The congressman quickly connected his laptop to the detonator terminal. “Okay, work your magic,” said the reverend. The congressman wiggled his fingers above the keyboard, took a deep breath.

  “You ready for this?” asked the congressman.

  “Ready. No matter what. How bout you?” replied the reverend. The minister bowed his head. In silence, he clasped a medallion attached to a silver chain adorning his neck. When finished, the reverend opened his eyes, releasing his hold revealing a shiny metallic cross.

  “I’m having the computer do a search for the most logical sequences,” explained the congressman. Thousands of combinations of numbers and letters scrolled down the screen. After a minute, the cursor stopped, locking onto the chosen sequence. “Here goes,” said the congressman, as he typed in the combination. When he finished the entry, an alarm bell rang. The bunker detonator activated, giving the pair only five minutes to find the key.

  Meanwhile, high above the Atlantic, six minutes remained on the drone’s timer. Back at the bunker, the congressman had two tries left to access control of the drone and prevent the annihilation of himself and Reverend Cameron. Only three minutes left.

  “I’m going to try a different database,” said the congressman. Once again, the computer ran the numbers, and once again, the congressman entered the code. The clock kept ticking. The congressman moved his hand over the keyboard for the third time. The reverend grabbed his hands before he could start a new search.

  “Wait,” he said. “I think this time we need to take it on faith.”

  “Okay, what are we missing?” said the congressman. He paused. ‘Goliath Project’ — David —,” he muttered the words to himself. “Maybe that’s it. Something about conquering — winning —destroying. Look to the book,” he mumbled once again. The congressman returned his fingers to the keyboard.

  “What is it?” asked the reverend.

  “I developed an algorithm years ago. Uses keyword search,” responded the congressman. Landon typed the words, "David," "Goliath," "battle," "victory." Symbols scrolled across the screen. A word number combination displayed. "F-I-R-S-T-S-A-M-U-E-l-1-7-4-9."

  “That's it! “ exclaimed Cameron.

  “What?”

  “The verse where David conquered the giant,” responded the minister.

  Congressman Landon moved his hands back over the keyboard.

  “Stop! In Hebrew, remember? Try this,” advised the minister. “1-S-H-U-M-E-L-1-7-4-9.”

  Less than 55 seconds remained on the detonator clock. The congressman punched the number-letter combination into the control panel. The timer froze. Both the congressman and reverend breathed a small sigh of relief. The congressman returned his fingers to the computer keyboard to gain access to drone controls. “I've got it!” he announced.

  Reverend Cameron radioed the air force technician. “He's got control. He's got control.”

  “Bogey's under control,” relayed the technician.

  The news was not so welcome in the drone control center. “They've stopped the detonator,” said the drone tech.

  “Fix it!” demanded Harris.

  In the bunker, Congressman Landon and Reverend Cameron packed up their gear and headed for the exit. Just a few feet from the doorway, a massive steel security door slammed shut in front of them. Landon glanced at the timer. Tick, tock it went again.

  “What's going on?” asked Cameron.

  “Someone's restarted the detonator,” responded Landon. The congressman scrambled to reconnect the computer.

  “What about your algorithm?” asked the reverend.

  “I wouldn't even know where to start.” said the congressman.

  The reverend again bowed his head. The clock continued to tick down the time. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Thirty-three seconds left. The reverend looked up. “I've got it! I've got it!” he exclaimed. “The code. The code that beats death.”

  “Give it to me,” said the congressman.

  “J-O-H-N-3-1-6,” said the reverend.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Twenty-four seconds, 23...22.

  “In Hebrew?”

  “Oh, yeah,” remembered Cameron. Y-O-C-H-A-N-A-N-3-1-6

  Eleven seconds remained. Landon's fingers flew across the keyboard as the reverend shouted the letter-number combination. Five seconds, 4...3...2. The timer stopped. Sweat rolled from the faces of Landon and Cameron, as their smiles grew to hysterical laughter.

  In the drone control center, the technician frantically punched the keyboard. “What is it?” asked Harris.

  “I've lost control, replied the
tech. “They've stopped the timer, again.”

  “Get it back!” demanded Harris.

  “I can't. They've activated the fail-safe code.”

  “I told you not to do that!” Ted Harris swept his hand across the desk, shooting office supply projectiles into the wall.

  “Bogey's home,” radioed the air force technician as the drone returned to the runway.

  Back at the bunker, Reverend Cameron wrapped his arm around the congressman. “What is this John 3-16, anyway?” asked Landon. The reverend smiled.

  Chapter 32

  Lessons Learned

  Days later, word of recent events traveled the country. Studio lights beamed onto the news anchor for KYT5 as he prepared to address the nation with the latest information. “It would appear doctors at Community Hospital have discovered a cure for the latest epidemic that has taken nearly thirteen thousand lives,” announced the anchor. Video of a news conference with Dr. Rogers and hospital staff played over his narration. “Today, a spokesperson for the hospital appeared with Dr. Benjamin Rogers to explain how an extract made from non-genetically modified seeds seems to be reversing the deadly illness.”

  Ted Harris watched the coverage from his office. “It’s time to do unto others before they do unto us,” he told an assistant. A short time later, Harris and his men arrived at Artifice Foods’ headquarters. Barreling past the receptionist, Harris marched into the office of Waldo Boatwright.

  “Mr. Boatwright, it is my duty to inform you that you are under arrest for corporate fraud and involuntary manslaughter,” said Harris.

  “Harris, if I go down, you go down,” threatened Boatwright.

  “You sold the government a faulty product, costing thousands of lives, and provided bogus safety results to government inspectors,” accused Harris.

  “You knew the dangers,” said Boatwright.

  “I don't know what you’re talking about. Take him away, gentlemen.”

  “You won't get away with this.” Harris’ men handcuffed the CEO and escorted him out of the office.

  “I think I already have,” Harris whispered.

 

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