Viral Resistance

by Robert Boren

  “Spit on the upper part of the suit jacket,” the brunette said, “and drool on the desk. Get it nice and wet.”

  “Sounds like good instructions for later,” Ivan said, shooting her a wicked grin.

  “Behave self,” the blonde said as she finished with the arms and leg.

  “Won’t they wonder where the torso and head went?” Ivan asked. “And the other leg, for that matter.”

  “No problem, we set up blast so most would be liquified,” the brunette said. “They eventually figure out.”

  “They see you live before they finish forensics,” the blonde said. “Why bother?”

  “They’ll go live on their propaganda outlets about my death,” Ivan said. “They won’t be able to help themselves. We’ll make monkeys out of all of them.”

  The blonde shook her head, smirking at him and the other woman. There was a knock on the door.

  “That must be the demolition team,” Ivan said. “You about done, ladies?”

  “Da,” the brunette said. “Don’t get killed. We see in new location.”

  “Yes,” Ivan said. The brunette opened the door, and several men rushed in, wearing surgical outfits, complete with masks and booties. One of them tossed a small gym bag on the couch across from the desk. Ivan went to it, pulling out clothes and putting them on. Blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He watched as the explosives were placed around the room and underneath his desk. One of the men was working a trigger mechanism, and he put it on the door, moving it open and closed to ensure that it was working correctly.

  “I’m ready to leave,” Ivan said. “How long before I can send out the tip?”

  “Give us ten minutes after you leave,” one of the men said, his voice partially muffled behind the mask.

  “Make it fifteen,” said another of the men. “We still have to get in the car and split.”

  “Got it.” Ivan smiled at them, then rushed out the door, joining others who were cueing up at the elevator. He rode it down with the next group, landing in the underground parking structure. Ben saw him walk up and snickered.

  “Wow, you look like a frigging middle-class family man in that getup,” Ben said.

  “Good,” Ivan said. “Ready?”

  “This van is waiting for us.” The two men got in, and the van took off, climbing out of the parking structure, making a right turn onto the busy San Francisco street.

  “Which way we going?” Ben asked.

  “We’re taking I-80 across the bridge, then all the way to Sacramento. We’ll go through the city to the south side.”

  They settled in for the ride.

  ***

  Jules was driving the battle wagon, Sparky in the passenger seat, Dana and Shelly on the couch behind them. Their phones all dinged.

  “Somebody check,” Jules said. “I driving.”

  Sparky pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked. “Elk Grove Auto Mall,” he said. “Southeast section. Dodge Chrysler Jeep underground structure and Subaru underground structure.”

  Jules grinned ear to ear. “Good.”

  “Aren’t people going to notice us there?” Dana asked.

  “Right off freeway,” Jules said. “Deserted.”

  “This freeway?” Sparky asked.

  “No, Highway 99,” Jules said. “We cross over on Highway 12. It’s late at night. We sneak in.”

  “This sounds kinda risky,” Shelly said.

  “How are we gonna get these damn things into an underground parking lot?” Sparky asked.

  “Trust me, we fit,” Jules said.

  “How do you know?” Sparky asked.

  “Ivan planned,” he said.

  “Ivan planned the communications center hit,” Sparky said. “We had tanks waiting for us.”

  “This I know,” Jules said. “He working to find out what happen there, but if we stop trusting because of one mistake, game over.”

  “Somebody died,” Dana said.

  “I know,” Jules said. “Sorry, but war is war. Changes happen on ground. Most Ivan setups work well, though, no?”

  “I get your point,” Sparky said. “Can’t blame us for wondering a little bit, though.”

  “Right,” Jules said. “Can’t blame.”

  “If we’re going to take Highway 12, better get ready,” Shelly said. “It’s coming up in three miles.”

  “Thank you,” Jules said. He glanced over at Sparky, who was looking at his phone. “Problem?”

  “Highway 12 isn’t a freeway, you know. It’s got stop lights, especially when we get close to Highway 99.”

  “We spaced out,” Jules said. “Should be fine. It’s dark, too.”

  “No hits on the apps,” Shelly said.

  “That doesn’t help us with the UN,” Sparky said.

  “True,” Jules said, “so keep eyes peeled, be ready to fight if we need.”

  “I texted the others,” Shelly said.

  “Good, thanks,” Jules said. He took the off-ramp, settling onto Highway 12, which ran through a rural area with wineries and lots of farmland.

  “It’s peaceful,” Sparky said. “I’ll give you that.”

  “There’s the residential area,” Dana said. “What town is this?”

  “Lodi,” Shelly said.

  “Nice little town,” Jules said. “Nobody on street.”

  “Wonder if they’ve moved most people out of here?” Sparky asked. “To urbanize the population.”

  Jules snickered. “They still trying, but people mad now. Helps us. Lots of vacant places to hide.”

  “Except we stick out like a sore thumb,” Dana said.

  “Look, freeway ahead,” Sparky said. “We make it. Highway 99 be fine.”

  “Make a left under the freeway,” Shelly said. “The onramp is real close.”

  Jules nodded, rolling through the intersection and turning left. The ramp was before them, and he drove up it. “There, see, we made it, no?”

  “So far,” Sparky said. “Wonder if everybody else is okay?”

  “No messages so far, and everybody responded to the text I sent them about Highway 12,” Shelly said. “I think we’ll be okay.”

  “I hope so,” Dana said. Sparky got out of the passenger seat and went to sit with her.

  “Take the passenger seat,” he said to Shelly.

  She got up and sat there, looking over at Jules. “You’re so confident, even when the rest of us are scared.”

  “That a must for commander,” Jules said. “You know this.”

  “Yes, I know this,” she said. “I’d trust you with my life. I’m not as sure about Ivan, but if you think he’s trustworthy, I’ll go along.”

  “He is,” Jules said, “but he can’t control all.”

  “I know,” Shelly said. “Wish this had a bench seat. I’d cuddle next to you.”

  He glanced at her, smiling. “I know, me too. We be there soon. Not long way.”

  The coach cruised quietly on the road, through miles of farm land.

  “It looks like the farms are being worked,” Shelly said.

  “Must,” Jules said. “California farms important. That’s why freeway not shut down. Truck traffic has to continue, or society fall apart, no good for us or enemy.”

  “Who’s running the state? That Lieutenant Governor?”

  “Kreski,” Jules said. He looked at her and grinned. “That blow hard is face of government, but not run. Daan run.”

  “How?” Shelly asked. “Why don’t the elected officials rebel?”

  Jules chuckled. “Some like what they do, push for it before. Green living, everybody in their cubbyholes by work, no private cars. They think they in charge with UN as helper.”

  “Not all of them are that stupid.”

  “True,” Jules said. “Some in on it. Many profit. State legislators get rich. Until we stop fun.”

  “What will happen to them if we win?” Shelly asked.

  “When we win,” Jules corrected. “Always have positive thoughts.”

>   “Okay, when we win,” she said. “Are we gonna line them up against the wall or something?”

  “Some, maybe. Most do jail time.”

  “Are you going to stay here? After the war’s over?” Shelly watched him as he looked at her, then back at the road.

  “We talk already. I be where you happy. Can run family business from where ever.”

  “Are you still sure you want me after this?”

  “Yes, sure. You?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s all I think about when we’re not in the middle of craziness.”

  “Rough times coming, but get better fast. You see.”

  “Think we’ll survive?” Shelly asked.

  “Yes,” Jules said. “I think, and you think that too, even if hard.”

  “Look, we’re on the outskirts of Elk Grove.”

  “Told you short drive,” Jules said. “Check apps, then find me off-ramp by Auto Mall, but must enter from southeast. Probably enemy target area in north part of complex.”

  “Do you know this place?” Shelly asked as she looked at her phone.

  “Looked, considered buying in with Volvo dealership,” Jules said. “Huge facility. Linked utilities, shared gasoline and other supplies.”

  “Why didn’t you go for it?”

  “Fees too high,” Jules said. “Rather be on own, like in Culver City.”

  “That isn’t a real business, though, is it?”

  “Not at first. Money laundering at first, and smuggling. Now just tax write-off, mainly. All legit. Sell big.”

  “How many dealerships do you have?”

  “Six,” Jules said.

  “Wow. How much money do you have, anyway?”

  “Enough to buy private jet if want,” he said. “I try to live normal life.”

  “Good,” Shelly said. “We’ve got a problem, if you want to avoid the north side of the mall.”

  “No good off-ramp before?”

  “Worse than that. No way to cross road except for on Elk Grove Blvd. We’ll have to get on that and come back south.”

  “Text Ivan, let him know we might be visible from north part of mall,” Jules said.

  She typed the text and sent it. Her phone dinged about five seconds later. “He says don’t worry about it.”

  “Good, then he already has trap location under control,” Jules said.

  “Get off on East Stockton and make a left. Follow it around and make a left on Elk Grove, then go over the freeway and make a left on Auto Center Drive. Then left on Laguna Grove. That will wind around to the dealership you were talking about.”

  “Watch, remind if I miss one. Lot to remember.”

  “You got it, Jules.”

  “We almost there?” Sparky asked.

  “Yep,” Jules said. He took the off-ramp and followed Shelly’s instructions, only needing to be reminded on one of the roads.

  “There,” Shelly said, pointing. “To the left, See it? Big Jeep sign.”

  “Yes, I see,” he said, making the turn onto the lot. He approached the service bay, and Mr. Black appeared, guiding him to the massive showroom instead of the underground lot.

  “Guess we not going in garage after all,” Jules said. He rolled the coach onto the linoleum floor of the showroom, pulling forward as directed by Mr. White, who was inside.

  “Those guys are scary looking,” Shelly whispered.

  “They worse than they look,” Jules said, “but they on our side. You know this… they help during your rescue.” He shut down the engine. Mr. White gave a thumbs up, and walked away.

  “This is kinda exposed, isn’t it?” Sparky asked.

  “We won’t be here for long, and we can crash out any of these windows if we need.”

  Jules went to the door of the coach and opened it, stepping down to greet Mr. White.

  “When next coming, my friend?” Mr. White asked.

  Shelly climbed out, looking at her text messages. “Next one in about two minutes. It’s Tex’s coach.”

  “Good,” Mr. White said. “Food in conference room down hall. Enjoy. I spread word.”

  “Thank you,” Shelly said.

  {3}

  Street Riot

  S aladin and Daan Mertins were through with dinner, and almost through talking. A dessert tray was brought in, with some coffee and brandy.

  “You know how to live,” Saladin said, picking up a small piece of cheesecake on an ornate plate.

  “I try my best,” Daan said. “We must always remain civilized.”

  Saladin chuckled. “As we do un-civilized things.”

  “It’s for the people’s own good. It’s for equality, and for the environment.”

  Saladin laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, brother. It’s really for power, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I thought you’d say it was for your religion.”

  Saladin shot him a wicked grin. “That’s a control mechanism. Works well.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Daan said.

  A UN official came in, looking nervous to see Saladin.

  “What is it, Gunter?” Daan asked. He eyed the strong-looking young man, with his good posture and crew cut.

  “We just got a tip on the whereabouts of Ivan the Butcher,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” Daan said.

  “I’m skeptical,” Saladin said.

  “Where?” Daan asked.

  “He’s in an office building in the financial district,” Gunter said.

  “Which city?” Daan asked.

  “San Francisco.”

  Saladin laughed hard. “He’s right under your nose, in a city that you control?”

  “I thought you were skeptical,” Daan said, glancing at him. He looked at Gunter. “Your people are on the way, correct?”

  “We wanted to clear it with you first. That’s a densely populated area, and we have a lot of associates nearby. If we get into a shooting battle, there will be some collateral damage.”

  “Do your best to be careful, but take him out,” Daan said.

  “You don’t want us to capture him?”

  Saladin laughed.

  “No, I want you to kill him, but don’t mangle his face. We can use the pictures for propaganda.”

  “Yes sir,” Gunter said. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

  “Do you believe this?” Saladin asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Ivan would love to stick it to us like that. He’s got a history of being right under his enemy’s noses.”

  “Maybe,” Saladin said. “You want to go over there?”

  “Nope,” Daan said, picking out a dessert. “There’s no benefit in that, and he might have the whole damn block rigged to blow.”

  “Good point,” Saladin said. “Too bad he’s not on our side.”

  “We tried that, early on,” Daan said. “When we were trying to set up new smuggling routes between Eastern Europe and Russia.”

  “He wouldn’t play ball?”

  “He’s a libertarian,” Daan said. “It’s like a religion to him. Any state who tries to exercise even reasonable control over the population is his enemy. I knew it wouldn’t work, but some of my associates had to see that for themselves.”

  “Strange for a Russian,” Saladin said.

  Daan laughed. “He’s not Russian. He’s an American. He grew up in Southern California.”

  “No, really?” Saladin asked.

  “Really. He’s wanted here, of course.”

  “He’s wanted everywhere, as far as I can tell,” Saladin said. “I know the feeling.”

  Daan snickered. “Yeah, this is true. I can’t go to New York state anymore, as you know.”

  “That will change when we’ve consolidated control.”

  “Hopefully,” Daan said. “There won’t be any public announcement of that, of course. Even though we’re going to increase government control over the individual, we need to make the people think they’re
still free.”

  “That’s not going to work,” Saladin said. “You’ll have to make examples of people. You’ll need concentration camps.”

  “I know that,” Daan said. “We’ve already been working out plans.”

  “How many people are you expecting to put into these camps?”

  “Rough estimate?” Daan asked. “About twenty-five million people.”

  “That’s a lot of people. How long will they be in these camps?”

  Daan gave him a deadpan look.

  Saladin chuckled. “Maybe I’m underestimating you. Yes, you’ll have to kill at least that many. Probably more. There are a lot of people in this country who won’t go quietly into a more structured society.”

  ***

  Gunter was nervous, sitting in the back of a UN van, first in a caravan of twenty vehicles. He was wearing full riot gear, and it made him sweat.

  “One block away, sir,” the driver said in a French accent. “Where do you want me to park?”

  “Right in the middle of the street,” Gunter said. “Set up a perimeter. I want the whole block closed.”

  “Well, at least it’s not a busy time,” the driver said. He looked at the man in the passenger seat. “Send the message.”

  The man nodded as the van slowed.

  “Get ready,” Gunter said to the five men sitting with him in full riot gear. They checked their weapons as the van stopped.

  “There you go, sir,” the driver said. Gunter nodded, and opened the door, stepping outside. He looked east on Merchant Street, his heart going into his throat for a moment as he saw the Transamerica building right across the intersection.

  “Dammit,” Gunter said.

  “What’s wrong, chief?” asked the second man out the door, a large blonde with a Finnish accent.

  “Oh, nothing, Aku,” Gunter said. “Just that we’re right next to the most famous building on the whole damn peninsula, that’s all. If Ivan wants to make a big show, this is the best place to do it.”

  “What about the Golden Gate Bridge?” Aku asked.