Webster City

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Helen Watkins drove the Cadillac out of the underground carpark with Prentice and Davidson on the back seat. Davidson looked out across Pasteur Plaza. The sun's rays had slipped through gaps between buildings and were creeping across its paved surface; the sky had a nuclear glow.

  Two Palace Guards, rifles shouldered, stood in front of the main gate of the Palace looking frozen and bored, bored and frozen. Watkins stopped the Cadillac about 20 yards from the gate and looked over her shoulder at the two men on the back seat. "I want to go with you."

  Prentice smiled painfully. "You can't, I'm afraid. They aren't expecting you and won't let you in. Stay here and stay well." He looked at Davidson. "Ready?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. And remember that, whatever happens, the Chancellor must die."

  "Understood."

  Prentice climbed out of the vehicle on the side opposite the guards with surprising agility and strolled around to join Davidson. They approached the guards together.

  Prentice showed his ID to a pink-cheeked guard. "Colonel Prentice, head of the ISB. This is my aide, Major Davidson. The Chancellor is expecting us."

  The guard said: "I've been informed, sir. Please, go through."

  Prentice and Davidson strode under the huge portico into the massive entrance hall where several bored-looking Palace Guards, toting automatic weapons, stood beside two metal detection machines. Prentice approached the enormous Sergeant in charge and held up his ID pass. "Colonel Prentice from the ISB. This is Major Davidson, my aide. We have an urgent appointment to see the Chancellor."

  The Sergeant saluted. "I'm aware of that, sir. But you will have to check in your pistols and go through a metal detector."

  "Of course."

  Prentice winced slightly as he took off the pistol belt strapped around his overcoat and gave it to the closest guard, but only Davidson seemed to notice his pain. Davidson unholstered his pistol and handed it to another guard.

  A third guard patted them both down but, fortunately, didn't ask Prentice to open his overcoat and see the bloody mess inside.

  The Sergeant said: "Now, please go through the metal detector."

  Davidson strolled through the machine without causing a disturbance. However, Prentice set off the alarm. He smiled casually and tapped the Medal of Valor on his chest. "I think this set it off."

  The Sergeant closely inspected the medal and looked impressed. "I think you're right. Thank you, sir. Corporal Nesbitt will escort you up to the Chancellor's office."

  Davidson planned to relieve their escort of his pistol and use it to break into the Chancellor's office. So he was glad the Sergeant, with his massive build, chose not to escort them. However, Corporal Nesbitt had a deep chest and powerful biceps, and would be no push-over. As he stepped forward, Davidson greedily eyed the Smith & Wesson .357 flapping on his hip.

  The Corporal had close-cropped ginger hair and a snub nose on a pleasant face. "Sirs, please follow me."

  He briskly led them along the same route they took two days ago when they went to see the Chancellor. However, this time, the halls and corridors were cold and ghostly quiet. Their footfalls rang out like gunshots.

  Davidson kept a close eye on Prentice who was straining to keep up. Indeed, a couple of times, blood dripped from the bottom of his overcoat onto the floor, and once dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Fortunately, he quickly noticed the drool and wiped it away with his sleeve.

  To distract the Corporal, Davidson chatted with him about how long he'd been in the Palace Guard and whether he enjoyed night duty. The corporal was a genial guy who said he had only been a guard for a few years and enjoyed the stillness and quiet in the middle of the night.

  They passed through three huge marble halls and entered the long corridor that ran through the administration wing. At the far end, the Corporal ushered them into the elevator which would take them up two floors to the circular rococo hall outside the Chancellor's office.

  Davidson had planned to seize the Corporal's weapon in this elevator. However, he had forgotten it was so small that he wouldn't have much room to punch or kick. So, when he entered, he stood at the back to ensure the Corporal stood in front of him. As the elevator door closed, he stepped forward and put his left arm around the Corporal's neck to apply a choke hold. He grabbed the Corporal's pistol with his right hand.

  The corporal was even stronger than Davidson expected. He grunted, arched his back and grabbed his pistol before Davidson could remove it.

  While Prentice kept his finger on the "close door" button, the Corporal desperately gasped for air, squealed loudly and collapsed to the floor. That was a mistake, because Davidson landed on top of him and slammed the last air out of his lungs. The Corporal lost his grip on his pistol. Davidson pulled it out and used it to club the Corporal three times on the back of his head. The Corporal went limp.

  Breathing hard and shaking, Davidson leaned close to the Corporal to see if he was dead. No, breathing softly. He looked up at Prentice, standing next to the control panel, finger still on the "close door" button, blood dribbling again from the corner of his mouth. "Jesus, he was strong."

  "I was worried you might need help. Well done."

  "Which floor are we on?"

  "The Chancellor's floor."

  "Good. You OK?"

  A bloody grin. "Peak condition."

  "You've got blood coming from your mouth."

  The Colonel wiped it away with the back of his sleeve and frowned. "Don't worry, I'm not dead yet. Let's get this done. You ready?"

  "Wait a moment."

  Davidson checked the pistol to make sure it was fully loaded and in good working order - it was - and fished a spare clip out of a pouch on the Corporal's belt. He took several deep breaths and looked at Prentice. "Alright, open it."

  The last time Davidson stepped into the circular rococo hall outside the Chancellor's office, two Palace Guards stood in front of the office holding automatic rifles. He expected a similar arrangement. So, as soon as the elevator door opened, he ran straight across the chess-board marble floor, past original ancient Greek statues, pistol barking.

  The two guards standing outside the red-leather door barely had time to look startled before they fell under a hail of bullets. Davidson hurdled over them, burst through the unlocked door and found the Chancellor, wearing his traditional cassock, sitting behind his desk. Mellon in a blue jacket and gray slacks stood next to him. Both looked up, shocked.

  Davidson aimed his pistol at them. "Don't move an inch - not an inch."

  The Chancellor's face vibrated with fear and anger. "W-what the hell are you doing here? You're Major Davidson, right? I gave you a medal. Why are you pointing that pistol at me? I am the Chancellor. Don't you understand that?"

  Davidson strode towards them. "Shut up. Both of you get in front of the desk now. I won't ask again - I'll just start shooting."

  They nervously shuffled around in front of the desk. Davidson stepped forward and frisked them with one hand. No obvious weapons.

  The Chancellor trembled. "What do you want?"

  Colonel Prentice marched through the door, holding an automatic rifle he had souvenired outside, wearing a lopsided grin. Blood was still flowing from the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps I should explain."

  The Chancellor's head snapped around and he looked even more confused. "Bob. What is happening? Why are you pointing that rifle?"

  Prentice looked at Davidson. "You'd better lock the door."

  Davidson strode over to the door and slid home a heavy bolt.

  Prentice slumped into an antique chair, still aiming his rifle at the Chancellor and Mellon. He coughed a few times and coated his chin with blood. "I've got some bad news for you: in about ten minutes, 7,000 Freedom Alliance troops are going to launch a major attack on this City. I spoke to Commander Solon last night. He expects to have your head on a pike by noon."

  The Chancellor went white. "Commander Solon - you talked to Commander Solo
n?"

  "Yes."

  "You're kidding right?"

  "No, deadly serious."

  The Chancellor jumped about and looked frantic. "I've got to warn our troops about the attack."

  Prentice smiled and waved his rifle. "You're not warning anyone."

  Fear had enthroned itself on the Chancellor's face. "You'll stop me?"

  "Of course."

  "You mean, you're a traitor?"

  An airy wave. "Use any word you like. You must be destroyed."

  The Chancellor gobbled a few words. "You're married to my sister."

  A laugh forced up more blood. "You can have her back if you want."

  "Why? Why have you betrayed me?"

  "You're a monster who has enslaved this City."

  "That's not true. God sent me to protect this City and mankind."

  "Oh, spare me your mumbo jumbo. If God chose you as Chancellor, which I seriously doubt, he made a hell of a big mistake. You're just a cheap thug looking after yourself. I also know that Alexander Webster was a mass-murderer and you want to follow in his footsteps."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You plan to release Agent Pandora after Immunization Week, to kill all the Outlaws."

  "Who told you that?"

  "You don't need to know. That's your plan, isn't it?"

  "Why do you care?"

  "Because we are going to stop you. Give me the key."

  "What key?"

  "The key to the safe in which you keep the dossier that identifies the location of Agent Pandora."

  A stunned look. "There is no dossier."

  Prentice sighed. "Bullshit. You have three seconds to give me the key. Otherwise, I take it off your corpse. One … two …"

  Fear writhed across the Chancellor's face. "I don't have a key."

  "Then say your prayers."

  The Chancellor looked straight into the muzzle of the automatic rifle and realized Prentice was serious. "Alright, alright. I'll give it to you. But there's nothing in the safe - no dossier."

  "Throw the key to Major Davidson, carefully."

  The Chancellor slowly reached into a pocket, took out a golden key and threw it to Davidson, who caught it with his left hand.

  Davidson said: "Where's the safe?"

  The Chancellor pointed to a spot on the bookshelves. "Behind those books."

  Davidson strode to the spot, tore away several leather-bound tomes and found a small silver safe. He unlocked the door and found the safe was empty - empty.

  He looked at Prentice. "He's right - it's empty."

  Prentice looked back at the Chancellor. "Where's the dossier?"

  A smug expression. "I moved it."

  "Where?"

  "To a safer place."

  "Where?"

  "I won't say."

  "Alright, last chance: where are the three canisters of Agent Pandora? Tell me or die."

  The Chancellor straightened up and laughed. "Don't be stupid. You kill me and the Agent Pandora will be released straight away - straight away, understand? Those are my orders. The Outlaws must be culled to preserve Webster City as an ark for humanity. So you can't shoot me. Now, let me warn our troops about the attack."

  Despite the Chancellor's threat, Davidson knew they had to kill him. If they let him live, he would definitely release the Agent Pandora; if they killed him now, there was a chance he was bluffing and the super-virus wouldn't be released. Humanity deserved that chance.

  Davidson looked at Prentice. "He's got to die."

  "I know."

  The Chancellor gave Prentice a frightened look. "You can't shoot me - you can't. Don't, don't! I can offer you another 100 years of life - a hundred years!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  The Chancellor's eyes and hands danced around. "I can give you a drug that will stop you aging. Before the Great Plague, medical science made huge advances developing longevity drugs. One initiative was Project Marigold at the Mayo Clinic. Seventy years ago, biologists from Webster U recovered a lot of data from the clinic. But nobody could make sense of it until Professor Pettigrew looked at it, 30 years ago. He created an anti-aging drug that extends life by at least 100 years. Look at me! I'm supposed to be 72. And look at Edward! He's supposed to be 90."

  Prentice grinned. "Actually, I know all of that."

  "How?"

  "I'm your intelligence chief, remember. But Pettigrew's missing. Where is he?"

  The Chancellor cackled. "Six months ago, we took him to a safe place to maintain our, umm, exclusive access to the drug. Help me and I'll take you to him; in fact, I've got some pills I can give you now. Let me live and you'll get another 100 years of life, I promise."

  Normally, Davidson would have been stunned and intrigued by the Chancellor's revelations. However, this was no normal time. They had to kill the Chancellor and then meet their own deaths. Soon Davidson would have no life to extend.

  The red-leather door rattled and someone outside yelled: "Chancellor, open the door - open the door." Someone fired shots at the door lock.

  "I'm not interested."

  The Chancellor sobbed. "Why not?"

  A hacking laugh. "I'm shot to bits. My time's up and so is yours'." Prentice looked at Davidson. "It was a pleasure knowing you, Major."

  "And you, sir."

  Prentice rose, coughing blood. He tottered towards the Chancellor and fired half-a-dozen bullets that made the Chancellor jump and twitch, before falling over, a corpse while still on his feet.

  The door burst open and two Palace Guards wielding automatic rifles rushed into the room. Davidson shot the first in the chest and put him down. The second fired a burst that hit Prentice in the side and knocked him over, obviously dead. Davidson shot that guard in the neck and head, making him flop down.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a bookshelf swing open and Mellon duck behind it. Jesus, a false door. He spun around and fired three shots that plowed into the now closed door. Hell.

  He desperately scrambled around looking for the mechanism Mellon used to open the false door and couldn't find it. He had no more time. Mellon must be heading for wherever the Agent Pandora was hidden, intending to release it. Davidson had to escape the Palace and somehow work out where Mellon was going.

  He heard a ripple of thunder in the distance, as if a storm had broken out. Then he realized the Freedom Alliance had started its artillery barrage a few minutes early. The City and Palace would soon descend into chaos. Hopefully, that distraction and his ISB uniform would get him out of the Palace.

  Before leaving, he glanced at Colonel Prentice on the floor, still clutching the automatic rifle. The bullets that pummeled his body had added another coat of blood. His mouth gaped open, as if about to scream. Davidson wanted to mourn, but had no time.