Devour

by L. A. Larkin

  ‘Mummy!’ Melanie wails. ‘Mummy!’

  Thomas is picked up and thrown over an agent’s shoulder like a sack of beans and carried to the nearest chopper, the blades on all Sea Kings already turning, readying to leave.

  Sinclair sits the little girl on the rail, her legs dangling, her back to the dam and the deep ravine below. He grips her tightly with one arm and tilts her slightly backwards. Melanie gives an ear-piercing scream. If he lets go of her, she will plummet to her death.

  The CAT team from the Suburban has taken up a semicircle formation around Sinclair and the President’s daughter, their R-16s trained on him. But they can’t take a shot and risk losing her. Close behind Wolfe, the heavy rapid thud of boots: a second CAT team. Wolfe fights her way closer.

  ‘Don’t come any closer! I’ll push her over!’ says Sinclair. ‘Shoot me and she dies!’

  Wolfe has reached the crowd-control barrier that’s been opened to let the CAT team through.

  ‘Stay back!’ says a uniformed officer.

  ‘Let me through! I can stop him.’

  Over the cop’s shoulder she watches Sinclair slowly put the gun away in his jacket’s upper pocket. The movement causes Melanie to jolt a fraction. With his free hand, Sinclair takes from a hip pocket a glass bottle with a red cap and lever, and holds it over the rail.

  ‘See this? Psychosillius. The most destructive bacteria known to man. If I drop it in the river, it will decimate your country and turn America into a wasteland.’

  ‘Stop him!’ Wolfe yells, trying to dodge the cop.

  Suddenly Wolfe is hit from behind and thrown to the ground. A police officer has thrown his weight on her.

  ‘Don’t move!’ he yells.

  She’s being handcuffed. Winded, she tries to speak but can’t. As she is yanked up to standing, Wolfe hears Sinclair shout, ‘Get me Olivia Wolfe. Now!’

  74

  Surrounded by Secret Service agents and police officers, Wolfe tries taking a deep, calming breath but the bulletproof vest she’s been fitted with is like a straitjacket. Her mouth is so dry her tongue feels like Velcro. She wears an earpiece and a microphone hidden beneath her sleeve so Pine can direct her.

  Pine wipes sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand as he uses his mobile phone to talk tactics with his agents back at Creech Air Force Base.

  ‘Get him to Air Force One now!’ says Pine, ending the call.

  Lightbody grabs his attention. ‘Sinclair’s refused, sir. He’ll only talk to Wolfe.’

  Pine turns to Wolfe. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’

  Wolfe nods, then fiddles with her earpiece. It’s a little loose.

  ‘This is all about getting Snowdrop to safety, okay?’ says Pine. ‘We need her off the rail, feet on the ground. Then we take him out.’

  ‘Sir,’ says Casburn, stepping in. ‘I don’t think you understand how destructive that bacteria is—’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  ‘It will be if he drops it,’ says Casburn. ‘You’ll be responsible for the decimation of your country.’

  ‘Like hell I will.’

  Pine steers Wolfe away from Casburn. ‘Listen to me,’ he says. ‘Get Sinclair to release Snowdrop. That’s all you need to think about.’

  Casburn isn’t so easily thwarted and steps between them. ‘Inside that bottle is a biological weapon, as destructive as a nuke. Sinclair must stay alive until we have it.’

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  Casburn shoves Pine in the chest. ‘Make time! No kill shot, not till we have the bacteria.’

  Pine yells at him, ‘Get out of my way before I have you arrested!’

  Casburn throws his arms in the air and walks away, then pulls out his phone. Wolfe guesses he’s going above Pine’s head.

  ‘Keep to Sinclair’s right, okay?’ Pine says to her, pointing up at the ravine wall behind them. A sniper lies prone, looking into the telescopic sight, finger on the trigger. ‘Dickson will take the shot as soon as Snowdrop is off the rail. If he can’t take it, O’Reilly will.’ Pine nods in the direction of another sniper.

  She prays they’re accurate.

  ‘Give me time to grab the bacteria,’ Wolfe says.

  Pine shakes his head.

  Wolfe persists. ‘Imagine a swarm of locusts but, instead of devouring crops, it devours anything with steel in it: cars, homes, offices, bridges, airports. If Sinclair breaks that glass bottle, the United States of America will look like a war zone.’

  ‘Enough! Take this phone. Record what he has to say.’

  She’s wasting her breath. She takes the phone. ‘Why?’

  ‘He wants media coverage. He’s not getting it. You make him think he is with that. Ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  Pine leads her through the throng of uniformed officers and agents, who part like the Red Sea for Moses.

  ‘Get him talking,’ Pine continues. ‘Don’t interrupt. Show him you’re listening. Empathise and build rapport. You need his trust to change his mind.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Move nice and slow. Keep your hands where he can see them.’

  Pine’s mobile rings. He looks at the number and answers.

  His eyes open wide in surprise. ‘Yes, Mr President.’ He hands his phone to Wolfe. ‘The President wants to speak with you.’

  All her working life, Wolfe has dreamed of interviewing the President of the United States. She never imagined it would be in such dire circumstances.

  ‘Mr President? It’s Olivia Wolfe speaking’

  ‘May I call you Olivia?’ His voice is deep. It sounds controlled. She cannot imagine the turmoil he must be in.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘What you are about to do is very brave. I thank you. All I ask is you do everything you possibly can to save my little girl. I don’t feel Presidential right now. I’m just a dad who wants his little girl back safe.’

  ‘I will do everything I can, I promise. But, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Olivia?’

  ‘Sir, I’m sure you’ve been briefed on the biological weapon he’s threatening to drop into the Colorado River?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Your agents are naturally focused on saving your daughter, so I need to ask, sir, as the President, if I have to choose between saving Melanie and preventing the bacteria’s release, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Dear God!’ the President exclaims. Then he’s silent. Somebody is talking to him in the background, possibly advising him. ‘That’s an impossible question, Olivia. As President, I’ve taken an oath to protect my country, but as a father, there’s nothing more important to me than protecting my children.’ He pauses. ‘I need you to do both.’

  Wolfe inhales sharply.

  ‘You have to talk him down, Olivia.’

  Her mind has gone blank.

  ‘Can you do that for me?’

  She replies without thinking. ‘Yes, Mr President.’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Special Agent Pine,’ he says.

  Wolfe hands over the phone. Pine listens.

  ‘Yes, Mr President, will do,’ he says, then puts his phone away.

  ‘He wants me to save both,’ Wolfe says. ‘Keep the bottle in one piece and Melanie alive. I don’t know how . . . ’

  Casburn steps close. ‘Olivia, you can do this.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Pine, leading her to within ten feet of Sinclair.

  Melanie clings to her captor, whimpering. His arm muscles must be tired by now, probably shaking with the strain of hanging on to a forty-pound girl. The CAT agents have backed away as Sinclair earlier demanded, but are ready to attack on command. Wolfe reminds herself that she has been in great danger before. She’s faced worse and survived. But, if she fails this time, the repercussions are catastrophic.

  Pine calls out, ‘Toby! We have Olivia Wolfe for you. You want me to send her over?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replies.

  Sinclair tenses, and Me
lanie cries out as his grip on her tightens. Wolfe takes her first trembling steps towards Sinclair. She has never felt so alone.

  ‘Hello, Toby,’ she says, trying to smile.

  ‘Stop there,’ Sinclair says when she is a couple of feet from him. Wolfe does as he directs.

  Melanie stares at Wolfe, her cheeks stained with tears. ‘Please help me,’ she sobs.

  ‘It’s all right, Melanie, my name’s Olivia and I’m here to help. Just keep hold of this man, okay?’

  ‘I want my mummy,’ the little girl wails.

  ‘I know you do, but just hang on to this man while I talk to him, okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ Melanie replies, sniffing back tears.

  ‘Toby, tell me what this is about.’

  ‘You’re here to make sure the world knows how the United States murdered my wife and children.’

  Wolfe remembers when she first met Sinclair. Nervous and uncommunicative. Excited by the prospect of an imminent scientific breakthrough. Unassuming. Now, his eyes are hard as granite. He’s poisoned with hatred.

  ‘Pacify him,’ Pine says through her earpiece.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Toby. They died needlessly. You must have loved them very much.’

  ‘They were my life . . . ’ His voice trails away.

  ‘Sally was about the same age as Melanie, wasn’t she? Do you really want another little girl to die?’

  ‘The President must feel the pain. Know what it’s like to lose a child.’

  Sinclair tilts Melanie back further so her head and torso lean out over the ravine. The terrified girl screams. There’s a collective gasp. Wolfe instinctively steps forward to grab her.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ Sinclair shouts. ‘Stay where you are!’

  ‘Calm him!’ Pine says in her ear.

  ‘Toby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t hurt Melanie,’ Wolfe says, holding up her hands to pacify him. ‘You want to tell me your story? I’m here. Talk to me. But keep Melanie safe. Please, Toby. She’s only six.’

  He slowly pulls Melanie towards him so she sits upright on the rail once more. Wolfe notices a dark stain on the little girl’s jeans where she’s peed herself in terror.

  ‘Where are the media crews I asked for?’

  ‘You’re armed. It’s too dangerous. But I’m here. Tell me your story. I’ll broadcast it.’

  ‘I want you to record it.’

  ‘Can I use my phone’s video? It’s in my right hand.’

  ‘Show me,’ he says.

  Wolfe holds out her hand and opens her palm. ‘Can I move closer?’

  ‘One step. Just one.’

  She does exactly as he asks.

  ‘Move to your right,’ she hears through her earpiece.

  Wolfe is blocking the line of fire. But if she moves to the right, she will be too far away to catch the bottle if he drops it. She stays put.

  ‘Olivia, if we have to take a shot, you’re in the line of fire,’ Pine says.

  ‘Olivia, this is Casburn, you have to move.’

  Their voices irritate her like buzzing mosquitos. Wolfe presses the record button on her phone.

  ‘Okay, it’s recording. What do you want to tell me?’ Wolfe says.

  ‘I don’t feel. Anything. For two years I’ve just existed. I died with them. Their needless deaths.’ His words catch in his throat.

  She remains silent, waiting for him to continue. Her eyes flit to his hand holding Melanie and then to his other hand clutching the glass bottle full of cloudy Psychosillius. His thumb holds down some sort of lever attached to the red lid.

  ‘They were killed by a drone strike in Afghanistan,’ Sinclair says. ‘A drone controlled by operators at Creech Air Force Base. They never admitted responsibility. Huma was volunteering at the local hospital. She’d finished her shift and was having dinner with her family. It was the first time the kids had visited their relatives in Kandahar. I’d only spoken to them an hour before. They sounded so happy . . . ’

  ‘Huma sounds an amazing woman.’

  ‘She was. Selfless and loving. All my life I’ve been dull old Toby. Never invited anywhere. Ignored. Overlooked at work, despite my ground-breaking discoveries. But Huma saw something in me nobody else did. She believed in me, in my research. She made everything I did worthwhile. I loved her more than life itself. And still do.’

  ‘What would Huma think of this?’

  ‘What does it matter what she’d think? She’s gone!’ he yells.

  Wolfe sucks in a breath, terrified she’s gone too far.

  ‘Please, go on,’ she urges.

  It takes a few moments for Toby to compose himself. ‘This isn’t about revenge, if that’s what you’re thinking. If I wanted to hurt people, I could’ve engineered a virus. But I didn’t. This is about saying, “Enough!” Someone has to do it. Stop the war machine. Destroy their weapons. Psychosillius does exactly that. Tanks, battleships, drones, guns - anything with an ounce of steel in it; they’ll all be useless and the world will be better for it.’

  ‘Get him talking about Snowdrop again, then ask him to hand her to you,’ she hears through the earpiece.

  ‘You’ve got everyone’s attention, Toby,’ Wolfe says. ‘You’ve succeeded. But the best person to convey your message is you. Give yourself up. The coverage will be wall-to-wall. You’ll be centre stage. Just let Melanie go and hand me the bottle.’

  Sinclair stares at her as if he hasn’t heard. ‘You know, back in the sixties, Eisenhower warned us about misplaced power, about the military-industrial complex.’

  ‘I know that speech.’

  ‘Then you know he was talking about the military and weapons manufacturers controlling government. What did he say? “We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes.” But it’s already happened. It’s too late. Can’t you see that, Olivia?’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying, but releasing Psychosillius isn’t the answer. It won’t just attack military targets. It’ll hurt innocent people. Children will die. Homes will collapse, sports centres, schools, playgrounds. Surely you don’t want that?’

  Sinclair looks down and his shoulders shake and for a moment she wonders if he’s laughing. When he looks up, his eyes are watery and their expression has softened.

  Through her earpiece she hears the sniper, Dickson, complaining he can’t get a clear shot and neither can O’Reilly.

  ‘Give Melanie to me,’ Wolfe urges, trying not to betray her rising panic. ‘You have my word nothing will happen to you.’

  ‘As soon as I let her go, I’m dead.’

  Wolfe is so close to Sinclair she can smell his fear, his vinegary sweat. His voice is weary. She takes a gamble. She puts out her arms. Sinclair doesn’t stop her. She lifts the girl off the rail. When Melanie’s feet touch the ground Wolfe tells her to run. Arms wide, she races for the grey-haired agent, who scoops her up in his arms and runs to a waiting helicopter.

  ‘Good work,’ says Pine. ‘Now, talk him into giving you the bottle.’

  ‘That was good, Toby. Very good,’ she says. ‘Now hand me that bottle. If you want change, you need to speak up, but nobody’s going to listen if you release the Psychosillius.’

  ‘Know what this is?’ Sinclair says, holding the bottle up.

  His thumb holds down a plastic lever connected to the bottle cap.

  ‘No.’

  ‘A dead-man’s switch. You or anyone tries to grab it, I release the lever and the glass explodes.’

  ‘Please, Toby, just give it to me.’

  ‘Do you know what our government intends to do with Psychosillius? Hmm?’

  Wolfe hears Casburn shout, ‘Shut him up! She can’t know this.’

  ‘Don’t say any more, Toby. You’ll get us both killed.’

  In that second she’s aware of a terrible irony. All her career she has sought out the truth and now she is begging a man not to tell her.

  ‘Just hand me the bottle,’ Wolfe begs.
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  ‘They’re going to use it as a WMD. To my eternal shame I’ve helped develop the most dangerous biological weapon the world has ever seen.’

  ‘Stop him!’ yells Casburn.

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ Wolfe screams at Sinclair.

  ‘Take him out! Now!’ Pine orders.

  Wolfe lunges at Sinclair, seizing the hand clasping the bottle, and wraps both her hands around Toby’s fist, squeezing tight. Startled, he yanks his hand away, leaving her gripping the dead-man’s switch.

  She hears the unmistakable fut, fut of a rifle firing twice in rapid succession. Then nothing.

  Casburn hears the wet thwack and the crack of a sonic compression wave he remembers all too vividly from his SAS days, as the bullets hit.

  Sinclair’s body jolts as his head explodes. Blood and bone and brain matter sprays up and outwards like a Catherine wheel, crimson and grey against the pale blue sky. He sinks to the ground; Wolfe staggers, then collapses on top of him.

  Casburn sprints over to Wolfe and skids to a halt on bloody concrete. He can’t see the bottle. He slides his hand between Wolfe’s body and Sinclair’s, and finds her hands. She still grips the dead man’s switch, hands clasped tightly. The bottle is in one piece.

  Wolfe lies face down in a burgeoning pool of blood, hair slick with gore, eyes shut. Motionless.

  75

  Two weeks later, on a bitterly cold, grey day, Jerry Butcher stands outside the crematorium chapel smoking a cigarette. At least he’s not back to twenty a day. He can’t. If he did, his wife would never have him inside the house again. But since he heard about what happened in Nevada, he finds that only a cigarette settles the shakes. Strange really. He can only remember suffering the shakes after one, maybe two, particularly gruesome cases. But this was personal.

  As he blows smoke up towards the 1930s slate roof, he watches his nicotine-stained fingers tremble, like the almost imperceptible pulse of a butterfly’s wings. Emma wants him to get tested for Parkinson’s but he doesn’t want a doctor asking questions he doesn’t want to answer. Like, how did he fail Olivia so badly? He should never have let her get into such a terrible mess.

  Only ten or twelve people have turned up. He expected more. The emptiness of the chapel reminds him how easily we are forgotten and how little we are forgiven.