Fatal Serum

by Sam Black

  Other articles spoke of the CIA as being precious; it couldn’t be entrusted to the American people. Moral restraint had a very low priority inside the Company.

  During the 90s, the CIA entered sleep mode. Some people said that’s when they are working the hardest. Others believed it was due to the budget cuts imposed by the administration. After the turn of the century, the CIA informed The White House there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq. When 9/11 killed over 3000 men and women in New York City, fingers were pointed at the CIA. The CIA insisted it had proof Iraq was buying uranium from Africa. Then the war began, and thousands died, not to mention the tens of thousands who were maimed, both physically and mentally.

  No one knows outside its walls how many the CIA employees. The CIA budget for 2009 exceeded 30 billion dollars. Questions get asked, but it is never revealed where the money is spent.

  Any covert action by the CIA must be approved by the President. The CIA’s primary duty is to gather information on US enemies, terrorists, drug smugglers, or anything else which may cause harm to the United States.

  Chapter 14

  FATHER AND SON

  Travis called his father on the 2nd of April following the October meeting. “Shear speaking.”

  “Father, this is Travis. I need to talk to you soon.” Sterling felt his voice seemed hurried.

  “Okay! How about meeting at the yacht on the lake?” Shear checked his calendar. “How about Thursday morning, say about 11:30?”

  “I’ll be there.” The phone went dead. Sterling’s armpits felt sweaty. Shear pondered, with his hands holding his face and his elbows on the solid mahogany desk. The people dying didn’t bother Shear. The risk his son would be taking didn’t bother him. The billion dollars that hadn’t reached his bank account yet worried him.

  Shear didn’t give a damn about the people of Mississippi, as long as he got their votes. He could care less about his wife, unless he needed her to campaign on his behalf or help entertain friends or colleagues from the Senate. Rhonda was his mistress, slut, whore and money maker. He could care less about her, as well. He could easily find another bitch to screw. Another bitch to make him money, yeah! Rhonda’s getting old anyway.

  Thursday morning at 11:25 Sterling arrived at his yacht on Lake Champlain. His son, Travis, stood on the dock, hands in his suit pants. He squinted from the sun as his father approached him. “Morning, Travis. It sure is a very beautiful morning.” Sterling, whistling, walked toward his son at a good clip.

  “Hello, Father.” Travis followed his father onto the boat and into the main cabin.

  “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “We have found the Civil War tunnels that lead directly to the plant. I can’t believe when they built the plant they didn’t see them. They were within a few feet of them. The house has a tunnel right under it that we can use to take Abbott’s wife out. Anyway, we can use the tunnels to lead them out of the plant and then gas them while they’re in the tunnel. We’ll capture Abbott’s wife seconds before Abbott, himself, gets to the house. You won’t believe this father: The Abbotts are going to New Zealand on the 12th of October. They booked this trip three weeks ago. How did you pick the date?”

  Shear smiled, scratched his chin and replied, “The drug companies gave me until October 30th to shut SAWWS down.”

  “Wow! It sure worked out great. We’ll have to time it just right. Our only hitch is the gas we will use. It’s a new product our labs in Kenya have developed. It will kill you in a matter of minutes, but some people can be immune to it. The percentage is very low, like less than .2%. They have used it in Kenya for several years to curb their population. This gas works better than AIDS.” Travis grinned. “The people in the tunnel will die, anyway, from lack of oxygen.”

  “We can access SAWWS’ bank accounts real easy. The money will be transferred to the underground account in the Caymans. Abbott and his wife have three checking accounts and three saving accounts. We can access those quickly, as well. We will deposit their money into a Swiss account named, “Tunnel One.” His credit cards will be stopped on October 12th at ZERO HOUR, the time of his wife’s capture. The electric will be turned off at precisely the same time Abbott leaves the office. We will shut down the phone lines seconds after he enters the home.” Sterling showed a shit-eating grin from ear to ear while playing with his Rolex.

  “Abbott’s cell phone and his wife’s cell phone will be disconnected within seconds after he walks into his home. He has three emergency phones in the house that send a message to security, the FBI, and the CIA. They will be shut down an hour before ZERO HOUR. Security people will all be destroyed one hour before ZERO HOUR, except those in the plant. They have, maybe, three inside the plant at any given time.

  “His hangar for the jet will be locked down and its starter switch dismantled. Abbott knows how to fly. SAWWS’ two pilots will be executed on the morning of the 12th and dumped in Oconee Lake. They won’t come up.

  “Abbott’s wife will be executed by cutting her throat. She’ll also have her teeth knocked out and her fingers cut off. She’ll eventually float to the top of Oconee Lake. It will take weeks to identify her.” Travis grabbed a cold Heineken from the refrigerator. He twisted off the cap and slugged half of it down. “Everything we do will look as though Muslim extremists are responsible.” Travis swallowed more beer.

  “The Muslims severely mistreat their women.” Sterling smiled.

  “I believe you have everything under control. What about Abbott? How do you take care of Abbott?” Sterling grabbed a bottle of Jamison Irish Whiskey and poured himself a triple shot over three ice cubes, in a crystal glass. He put the glass to his lips and drank half of it in two swallows.

  Travis slugged the remainder of his Heineken down and grabbed another one. “We’ll let him live for two or three days; then, hope he finds the tunnels. He’ll be gassed in the tunnel. He can’t get out of the complex without tunneling. The gates will be locked down with no electric source to open them. If Abbott lives, more than likely he will head for his brother’s place in Atlanta. We will kill Randy, Abbott’s brother, and make sure that the police in Atlanta see enough evidence to incriminate Sam Abbott. We will work with the FBI and make them believe Sam Abbott went berserk and killed all of his people, or the Muslims committed the crime.”

  “What about Randy Abbott? Isn’t that a friend of yours?” Sterling shot a half-grin at his son.

  “Yes, father, but ten million can buy me another friend.” Travis had a big grin on his face.

  “What if someone lives? What can they do?” Shear asked, with a twisted grin on his confident face.

  “I guess nothing, but it would be better if no one survived.” Travis gulped the last of his second beer.

  “No one is to be left alive. I don’t want any loose ends. Do you understand? I don’t want any questions unanswered. I want you to make sure, damn sure, that everyone is dead. Do you understand me, son?”

  “Yes, father.” Travis grabbed another beer from the refrigerator.

  “I’m heading back. Your mother and I are going out to dinner tonight. She said it was something important. She’s buying.” Sterling grinned like he knew what it was about.

  “We will handle it father, don’t worry, and tell mother I said hi.”

  Chapter 15

  OCTOBER—24 HOURS LATER

  I woke up with my face laying in my vomit. The time: 2: 29. It has been twenty four hours since I talked to Jen. My head hurt and my body lay limp.

  I tried to move, but the muscles in my body seemed frozen. My skin seemed cold. I breathed slowly, afraid to inhale more poison. I inhaled faster, making my body twitch. I moved very slowly until I was able to sit up. I shook my head trying to rid the pain that lingered above my eyes. I massaged my temples and took in deep breaths. A few minutes later, I rose from where I thought I had died and followed my instincts back to the house.

  I reached the basement of my house and climbed out of the tunnel that ha
d almost become my grave. Lying on the basement floor, I sobbed and began to pray. Something I hadn’t done since my childhood grade school days. I believed all my people had perished in the toxic gases. I thought of Gin, then the others. How they had given their all to SAWWS for all these years. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?”

  I managed to pick myself up off the floor and climb the wooden stairs. I collapsed in my leather chair. My heart ached with the losses.

  I heard the roar of a chopper and glanced at my watch. I must have dozed off. Four hours had elapsed since I had sat in my chair. I ran to the window and looked up through the Georgia pines and spotted two OH-58D Kiowa warrior helicopters. They have two seats, a single engine and laser capabilities. My brother, Randy, had flown them in Afghanistan. I ran to the bathroom located in the center of the house. The choppers circled the 500 acres several times. My heart swelled again. I don’t trust anyone. The noise faded.

  I had to get out. I could neither drive nor fly. Even if I could, they would spot me for sure. I had to dig my way out. The existing tunnels are not safe. It will take me days to dig out of here. I looked at my blistered hands. My body ached. Thoughts of Jen raced through my throbbing head. Those thoughts tightly swelled my chest. I ran to the front door and sucked in some Georgia air. The tears ran down my cheeks. I dropped to my knees and prayed again.

  I had to have a game plan. First thing, make a list of all the edible food left in the house. My heart sank to my knees. I had, maybe, enough to last three days, if I stretched it. My decision was already determined for me. The thought of using the existing tunnel made my throat tighten. I swallowed, trying to take the tightness away. I did not have enough food or energy to dig a new tunnel. I had no choice but to use the existing tunnel. I sucked in some more fresh, Georgia air.

  A minute later I walked to the window in the den and looked past the two security fences. I captured a visual of Jen waving at me. My eyes watered. I rubbed my wet eyes with the backs of my thumbs. I grabbed the binoculars and stared out the window to the first PVC pipe sticking out of the ground. Thoughts churned in my head. What would I do when I escaped? Would Randy’s place be safe? Would he be put in danger? How would I get to his place? How would I get to anyplace? I don’t have much cash. Five hundred dollars is all. If I used a credit card, they, whoever they are, could trace me in a day. I can’t write a check, either. I might have to steal a car. No, then everyone would be chasing me. Maybe they are all chasing me now. I turned from the window. My heart filled with fear. I had to disguise myself. Jen occasionally used highlighter on her hair. I would let my beard grow out.

  I went to the bathroom off the kitchen and peered at a startled, wealthy man, who was running from fear and wanted so desperately to find his wife—find her alive. “God, how could this happen? Help me, God.” I sobbed; then threw cold water on my face. If only I had arrived ten minutes sooner, Jen and I would be in New Zealand. I slammed my fist at the wall. My hand had been aching; now, it hurt like hell. I looked at it and flexed my wrist. Bending my fingers, I realized nothing seemed broken. The swelling and redness, however, had begun.

  Randy lived in Atlanta. Randy had a former college roommate with the CIA. I need a friend. “Do I have any friends?” I reached for the phone, but the line remained dead. My cell’s dead, dead like concrete. “Wait, where is Jen’s cell phone?” I ran outside to the Hemi and grabbed everything I had put in the bed of the truck. I opened everything up; her phone was nowhere to be found. It must be in her purse. I searched everywhere. No purse—gone, like everyone else.

  I grabbed the same spade I had used to bury Rocky and headed back to the tunnel. Before entering the tunnel, I turned and ran upstairs to get a dish cloth from the kitchen drawer. I soaked it with water and put it around my neck. I would use the towel to cover my nose and mouth to prevent, or at least slow, the poison from entering my lungs again. I would dig an exit hole right next to the first PVC pipe protruding out of the ground.

  I located the first PVC pipe with my trusty flashlight. I stood the light on the floor; it shone on my escape route. I began to dig and thoughts of the awful poison smell trickled into my head. I shook my head and dug faster. When the spade slammed through the Georgia topsoil, my heart opened up like a new baby chick popping out of an egg. I only wanted a small opening until my escape, which I figured wouldn’t be until after dark. I headed back to the house with promise in my heart.

  Chapter 16

  THREE YEARS AGO—MACON, GEORGIA

  Cheryl Roberta Hanley graduated from Cochran High School in Bleckley County, Georgia. Cheryl had wanted to become a massage therapist since the eighth grade. Her Aunt Ruby, her mother’s sister, worked very hard in a pecan processing plant south of Macon. Ruby cared for Cheryl because her sister, Cheryl’s mother, Pearl, was a lewd woman, an alcoholic, and a delinquent trailer renter, who lived in South Macon. Cheryl would give her Aunt neck and shoulder massages every night after Ruby came home from work. Her Aunt swore her niece had magic fingers, even at the age of thirteen. She repeatedly encouraged her to become a massage therapist.

  Cheryl started massage school in Macon the summer after graduation. Her Aunt financed her schooling and Cheryl stayed with her Uncle Freddy Snodgrass. Freddy was her mother’s brother. Cheryl’s father, Wilber Hanley, had died while serving in the Marines at the age of thirty-eight; Cheryl was sixteen. Pearl had begun drinking and sleeping around at that time. Pearl had been a good looking, well proportioned woman in her thirties. Her father, a star athlete in three sports in high school, had full-ride scholarships to five colleges in the southeastern conference, but opted to go into the Marines right out of high school. He lay dying in the jungle of Columbia, South America, for days before his body was discovered. Several Marines had carried him out in a helicopter. He died on the way to the military hospital on a navy ship. The bullets that had killed him were from guns only the CIA were allowed to have. The reports trickled out from the CIA’s office months later about Wilbur Hanley being involved in drug operations with the Columbian cartels. Hanley became another dead person who couldn’t defend himself from the truth.

  Cheryl graduated in the top of her class in January. She worked for “The Touch of Class Health Spa” for two years. Working very hard and capturing her own clientele, she had earned enough money to open her own spa. “Magic Fingers Massage Spa” became an overnight success. Her customers followed her to her new spa, which was on the up and up. Her clients were a mix of men and women, most of whom were upper class citizens of the Macon area. Cheryl’s personality, empathy for her clients, integrity, and desire to be the best, made her a success—not to mention her magic fingers.

  Three years later, on a cold, wet, March afternoon around the five o’clock closing time, the bell on the front door of her shop rang as Cheryl was cleaning up her rooms. Cheryl turned around and walked toward the front door. There stood Herby Woody Saunders. Herby had been the Democratic Chairman for the State of Georgia for several years, but hadn’t held that position for several years, mainly due to his social life, especially with other women. Short, fat, bald, with a nose knurled like volcanic rock, he was one of the State’s wealthiest citizens. He had inherited most of his money from his father, who had been a large land developer in Macon. He continued to add to his wealth, in large part, by illegal means. One thing for certain, Herby Woody Saunders never did any physical work, let alone any work to speak of, during his entire lifetime. Herby had married four times and had beaten at least three of his former wives, but had never been prosecuted because they were paid off, or so the rumors ran.

  “Hi, may I help you?” Cheryl said, with a friendly smile, not knowing who she was speaking to.

  “You bet you can, sweetheart!” His eyes danced all over Cheryl’s tall, slender body, as if she were for sale. “I want a massage.” His hand reached down to his crotch and pawed his privates as if they were precious stones.

  Cheryl flushed immediately. She had never feared anyone since
getting into the business. However, she quickly became frightened of Herby. His eyes were telling her he wanted more than a massage. “When would you like an appointment?” Cheryl moved quickly toward her counter and opened the appointment book.

  “Right now, honey!” He grabbed at his crotch again.

  Cheryl’s mouth became dry and her heart hammered before she spoke. “This place is on the up and up. I think you may be looking for something else.” Cheryl’s eyes fixed dead on Herby’s eyes.

  I got a hundred dollars right here.” He pulled a wad of money out of his front pants pocket. “Tuck this in your cleavage, sweetie, and let’s get on with it.”

  “I’m closed and you need to leave now, or I will call the police.” Cheryl spoke fast, but her mouth stayed dry as old straw in a barn.

  “You refusing me, honey?” He walked toward her. Cheryl picked up the phone and dialed 911. “Put that damn phone down or I’ll have you closed down before you can blink.”

  “Get out!” She pointed toward the door. “I run a legitimate business here. I don’t cater to your kind.” Cheryl put the phone down with a crash.

  Herby’s face flushed. He marched toward the door, flung it open, turned, and said, “I will see to it that you are closed down and you will never have another business in this State.” His pudgy mouth spit a stream of saliva with every word.

  Cheryl locked the door and sat in the waiting area, crying.

  Chapter 17

  THE ESCAPE

  I gathered everything I thought I would need to survive once I got outside the fence of SAWWS Inc. I took a warm shower with the aide of the Honda generator and put on a pair of Calvin Klein jeans, a navy Izod pullover polo shirt and a pair of Nike tennis shoes. I carefully repacked the suitcase as Jennifer had it and placed the suitcase back in the Hemi, leaving the keys in the ignition. I made sure the house remained just as Jennifer had left it. I grabbed a new toothbrush, tooth paste and stick deodorant and shoved them into a backpack, along with two changes of underwear. I added two more Izod shirts from the closet and another pair of old Wrangler jeans. The backpack also contained a can of peaches, a can opener, spoon and three bottles of water, my 357 and two boxes of ammo. I dyed my hair blond. Looking in the mirror again, I didn’t recognize my face. I hadn’t shaved since all hell had hit SAWWS. My malnourished body looked old and sick. My nose bent to my left.