Holmes was a former CIA official who now worked with the Defense Threat Reduction Agency. There was many a rumor around the Pentagon and the White House that the DTRA worked for him. His position was important enough to warrant a private jet on standby at whatever given city he happened to be in, with stretch limousines at his beck and call. He was also said to be a member of a shady, and as yet unproven, association of wealthy industrialists, royal family members, bankers, mining magnates, oil tycoons, politicians, and former high-ranking military officers known only as “the Chamber,” who had as their goal world domination.
“Gentlemen,” the President said to everyone who had gathered in the Oval Office for this extraordinary meeting, “Mr. Holmes has been on the ground in every area where the outbreaks have begun. I think it only fitting we hear his assessment of the situation.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Holmes stood in front of a very selective group. The Joint Chiefs were all present, as were the directors of the CIA, NSA, and CDC. The Secretaries of Defense, State, Homeland, and Justice were also present. He wasn’t nervous at all. He had worked with and addressed all of these men at one time or another. This was, however, the first time he had addressed all at the same time.
“The situation on the ground in Idaho is bordering on the untenable. As every minute passes, more people, including National Guard and all response units, are succumbing to the disease.”
Holmes paused as he judged the reactions of everyone present.
“I don’t know what—if any—communications have been established,” he continued. “I was informed on my flight out that all phone lines seem to be down. Is that correct?”
“Ah, sir,” White House Chief of Staff Dan Lonnegan handed a sheaf of papers to Holmes. “The latest report is on top.”
“Thank you.” Holmes scanned the information as quickly as he could. The only thing that piqued his interest was that the National Guard had organized satellite communications.
“And have we heard anything from the Guard?” Holmes looked directly at Dan Lonnegan when he asked, but it was the Secretary of State that replied.
“We’ve had sporadic communication from various cities in Idaho that seem to be suffering the most at the moment: Nampa, Pocatello, Idaho Falls, Twin Falls, Lewiston, and few others. They’ve put themselves into a position of containment, but forces are spread thin. We have backup from the police and the sheriff’s office of course, but it’s still a lot of ground to cover. What’s disturbing is that about an hour or so ago, we lost all contact with the Guard units around the Boise/Meridian area.”
The Oval Office fell silent before the President took up the slack.
“Gentlemen, the Governor asked for reinforcements, and I’m going to order remaining National Guard units from neighboring states into Idaho without delay. I’m also going to order the evacuation of public figures from Idaho to Fort Lewis, Washington. Any objections to my plan?”
The President eyed everyone in the room. He wasn’t expecting anyone to object … he was the President, after all.
“Not a good idea, Mr. President. Not good at all.”
All eyes turned to Mr. Holmes. While some didn’t like the Commander-in-Chief’s plan, they weren’t going to say anything, but they all knew that if anyone there had the balls to disagree with the President, it would be Mr. Holmes. The Directors of CIA and NSA remembered his handle from the mid-seventies as the magician for his ability to make people disappear.
“And what is it you don’t like about it, Richard?” the President asked.
“This disease that materialized over two years ago in Idaho, across the state. Then the following year, the same symptoms were reported around the whole country, and …”
The President held out a hand, stopping Holmes.
“Are you saying this is the same disease?”
“Yes, Mr. President, it has mutated and is worse—much, much worse.”
As the President looked down, shaking his head in confusion, Holmes shot a glance from the corner of his eye at the Director of the CDC, who responded with the slightest of head movements. The two conspirators didn’t think they’d been seen, but the Director of the CIA didn’t miss much, including their exchange.
# # #
In the front seat, Elliot and Mulhaven noticed a dozen or so people moving around the street as they approached the Goodwins’ surplus store. They moved freely and unencumbered, easing their concern. They weren’t covered in green foam, which helped too.
“Hey, look. There are some people up ahead!” Cindy pointed when she saw them for the first time.
“Damn,” Mulhaven said. “These three are heading toward the direction of the medical center. Pull over next to them, Elliot.”
Elliot stopped right next to them on the opposite side of the street, and Mulhaven called out from the passenger seat. It wasn’t a good idea to step out of the safety of the SUV no matter how normal these people looked.
“You three hold it right there!” Mulhaven yelled. “You can’t go that way. The National Guard has the inner city locked down tight.”
“The National Guard just came through the college and told us we had to evacuate the city because of a dangerous chemical spill, so we’re heading home,” a skinny girl in her late teens or early twenties said.
Mulhaven turned and looked at Elliot. They didn’t have to say a word.
What’s this nonsense about a chemical spill?
“Well, you can’t go that way. You have to take a detour. Stay at least four blocks away from the medical center, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“I mean OKAY?” The skinny girl jumped back with surprise. Mulhaven only raised his voice when necessary, and this was. “Don’t stop for anything either. There’s a chance of a power failure, and you want make it before dark.”
“And,” the back seat window came down, “stay clear of anyone—man, woman or child—that has a green, foam-like stuff over them. Stay very clear, you got it? They’re infected, and it’s contagious!” The window rolled up. Cindy didn’t wait for any questions.
The surplus store was up ahead. Elliot could see it, and while Mulhaven gave final instructions to the skinny girl, Elliot observed the silhouette of a thin-framed individual at the front of the store.
“What’s up?” Mulhaven asked when he noted Elliot’s attention was fixed up ahead.
“That’s our store up there.” Elliot pointed. “There’s someone standing at the front door.”
“Do you know him?”
“Can’t tell from here.”
“Doesn’t look ill. Someone else looking for supplies?”
“Let’s find out.” Elliot got the SUV moving again
# # #
“Isn’t that all the more reason to bring in extra troops and cordon off the area? Isn’t it … can’t we prevent it from spreading?” The President looked for support around the room, but he could tell no one was going to stand behind him by their reluctance to meet his eyes. “We have to do something to stop this disease, or we could be facing an epidemic, couldn’t we?”
The touch of desperation in the President’s voice didn’t go unnoticed.
This time, the Director of CDC and the man from DTRA made no attempt to conceal their concerns when they looked at each other.
“Is there something you two know? If there is, gentlemen, I suggest you share it with the room.”
“Sir,” Holmes began, “the disease, as you call it, is spreading, has spread, and I believe will continue to spread. We are actually facing a pandemic, not an epidemic.”
This news caused a stir among everyone present. The President stood in the center of the Oval Office, momentarily shocked by the news.
“How can this be? Major disease outbreaks give us some forewarning and time to prepare. This has come upon us straight out of the blue … without warning. We …we …” the President stumbled, searching for the right things to say. “Damn it. Why wasn’t I kept informed?”
“Sir, maybe if Director Flint from the CDC explained the medical side of it, you’d understand the position we’re in better.”
Director Brian Flint from the Center for Disease Control stood, cleared his throat a few times, and then began. The President took a seat behind the Resolute desk and listened, awestruck by the enormousness of the catastrophe unfolding in his country. Not only was the sheer size of the outbreak impossible to envision, but the feeling of utter helplessness had the President at a loss for words. When Flint mentioned in a matter-of-fact way that the rest of the country could expect to find itself facing the same circumstances within a minimum of six months, fear gripped everyone in the room.
The President thought for a moment, and it didn’t take long for it to come to him. For things to get this bad without any counter-measures put in place when it first struck and above all to allow the damned growth hormone onto the market at all meant there were powerful people behind this whole affair. The President eyed each of the individuals in the room. He’d never trusted the Directors of the CIA or the NSA, but he’d never believe they would willingly put the steps into place that would lead to Armageddon. He had to admit he didn’t know that much about Flint, the CDC director. He could see there was a connection between Flint and Holmes, and his opinion of Holmes was that he was so low he could walk under a snake without having to bend.
“Mr. President,” Holmes immediately spoke up once Flint finished. “We have between six and twelve months at the very least to get ready for this inevitable cataclysm. The quicker we get—”
“GET READY FOR WHAT?” the President cut him off.
“As unpleasant as it is, we must prepare to evacuate the healthy and those of a higher community status that can help rebuild once it passes.”
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?”
The President could see Holmes wasn’t by the cold, blank stare he received.
# # #
“Turn around real slow and keep those hands where I can see ‘em!” the owner of the gun store said. The Tall Man had backed his way in, taking care not to make any sudden movements.
“Take it easy, sir. I’m only after some ammo. I hope can you help me out. I can pay,” the Tall Man said.
When he turned, he saw a middle-aged man with white, curly hair on the sides of his head, and bald on top. He was no more than five and a half feet tall. He didn’t notice much else; the side-by-side barrels of the twelve-gauge shotgun demanded all of his attention.
“You been out there?” He motioned toward the door with the shotgun.
“Yes, yes I have,” the Tall Man answered straightaway before adding, “Sir, can I put my arms down? I mean no harm to you, I swear.”
The Tall Man saw the shotgun wielder’s brow furrow. He was obviously contemplating the request.
“All right, but I’m gonna keep my eye on you from back here.” The owner moved back behind the counter. “Any sudden moves and you’re history, pardner!”
After he got himself seated on his comfortable old stool, he told his uninvited guest how it was to be. “Supposin’ you tell me what the hell is going on out there, and I’ll consider selling you some ammo. Deal?”
“I’ll tell you what I can.” The Tall Man feared nothing from telling the store owner what he knew. “I believe that something horrific has taken place here in Twin Falls, something that was conceived by powers far greater than the government of this country, but I can’t tell you who because I don’t know. Many people across this city and probably across the country are falling ill to an insidious affliction that causes them to behave like extras from The Walking Dead, and I’m not pulling your leg. I had to shoot one in the head to stop her from attacking me.”
“Her? You tellin’ me you shot a woman?”
“If you had seen what I saw, then you’d know it wasn’t a woman.”
The Tall Man expanded on his confrontation with Mrs. Dennard.
“Is this what all them si’reens I’m hearin’ is about?” The store owner dropped the barrel of the shotgun to the floor for the first time since he’d let the stranger inside the store. “And what about the phones? Is there something wrong with them too? I hear it ringin’, but ain’t nobody answers.”
“I don’t know about the phones, sir, but the sirens are police, sheriff, and emergency vehicles swarming around the city. Martial law has been declared across this city, if not the whole state, and even if these sick people don’t get you, then sooner or later, we’re going to have armed looters on the streets looking to grab whatever they can, and that’s one crossfire I don’t intend to get caught in.”
On the outside, the Tall Man still represented a calm, collected individual, but inside, he couldn’t shake the notion that the Hidden One knew something about this or even had a hand in it.
“Hey, open up in there! We know you’re in there, old man, so open up!”
“Yeah, old man, we can chain your screen to the back of our pickup and just rip it open!”
“Just like a can of sardines!”
A chorus of beer-fueled laughter rose. The looters had arrived.
The store owner jumped to his feet and raised the double-barreled shotgun. He pointed it at the Tall Man’s head.
“These friends o’ yours, huh? Tryin’ to get me off my guard?”
“Wait, these are not friends of mine, that I promise you.” The Tall Man was always convincing, more so when he had a loaded shotgun pointed at him. “But if we don’t work together on this, we’re going have a mob of them in here, okay?”
The sound of chains being attached to the security grill could be heard—it was only a matter of time now.
The owner nodded to the Tall Man. Hell, he was the devil he knew at this point.
The Tall Man looked up to the rack behind the counter and saw a Remington 1100 twelve-gauge tactical shotgun.
“Grab that.” He pointed to the semi-auto shotgun. “Load it up, and don’t let anyone come through the front door. Is the back door locked?”
“Yes, it …”
“Now you stay here and do as I say, okay?”
The Tall Man then looked through the boxes of ammunition on the shelf behind the counter. As soon as he found the .357 Magnum ammo, he laid two boxes on top of the glass counter.
“Now don’t panic,” he said to the store owner when he pulled his Desert Eagle out.
He ejected the clip and started refilling the magazine from the box of shells. “I don’t suppose you have any spare magazines for this, do you?”
“Not for anythin’ like that, mister, no sir’ee.”
“Last chance, old man. Open up, or we going to do it for ya!” came the war cry from outside the front door.
“Keep your head down.” The Tall Man winked to the store owner, picked up the clip, inserted it back into his pistol, and headed out back.
The Tall Man encountered two of the looters who had enough brains to think of a back entrance.
“Hey, I’m out’a here. I don’t want no trouble, none at all!” As the Tall Man pleaded his innocence, his index finger eased onto the trigger of the Desert Eagle hidden behind his back. “Whatever your gripe is with that old buzzard, I don’t want to know about it, y’hear?” The Tall Man was doing a good job with his country bumpkin routine. He hoped the two youngsters were intoxicated enough that they couldn’t tell a hundred dollar suit from a thousand dollar suit.
“Well, you ain’t got anythin’ we want, so why don’t you jus’ piss off?” slurred one.
The Tall Man said nothing, raised a hand, and moved to one side of the driveway behind the strip of stores. The two looters laughed, ignored him as he passed, and staggered their way to the back door of the gun store. They didn’t notice the precise movement of the Tall Man as he stepped beyond them. With a well-trained eye, he saw the two looters, barely out of their teens, were armed. One had a large hunting knife while the other carried a chopped-down baseball bat. They had no intentions of talking to the gun store owner
; the Tall Man could see that. Remorse was not something a man in his profession felt. The looters never saw him turn or the Desert Eagle in his raised hand, and only one of them heard the first shot. It didn’t help him at all. He had no time to react to the roar of the .357 Magnum as it split the air of the deserted commercial district. He caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye as his accomplice’s head exploded into a cloud of red before he too met the same fate.
The Tall Man darted from his position to grab some cover offered by a large dumpster. Even if the streets were full of traffic, the sound of a .357 Magnum would draw attention.
The Tall Man heard a shuffled running coming his way. The rest of the looters coming to check on what had happened.
“Jesus Christ, they’re dead!” one of the group of four yelled when the bodies of their comrades were discovered. “That old bastard in there shot ‘em!”
Three shots rang out in succession, and three bodies fell to the ground.
“Wrong, asshole!” The Tall Man sprang to his feet.
The looter in a red varsity jacket with white sleeves stared in open-mouthed shock.
“What’s the matter, tough guy? You look like you saw a ghost.” The Tall Man took several short steps toward the panic-stricken kid. “Such a waste. Such a fucking waste. You get a few beers in you, and you think you can take down a gun store just because the streets are deserted?”
“Please, mister, please, we just wanted to … to …”
“To fuckin’ rob me is what!” The store owner came rushing out the back door, Remington 1100 held at hip level.
“Oh no, please, sir. I didn’t …”
“What are you going to tell me? You didn’t mean no harm or some shit?” The owner was well and truly riled.
The Tall Man looked on. He didn’t blame the owner for feeling like this. Shit, if it hadn’t been for him, the owner might be as dead as the scum in this service driveway. The Tall Man did, however, want to make sure he wasn’t in the shotgun’s field of fire.
“And I suppose that’s a pen sticking out of yer pants there. You just wanted my autograph, right?”
The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink Page 8