While the President and his Chief of Staff discussed the plight of the country, a body that bore the description of the missing CIA director was pulled out of the upper Potomac River.
The long hand of the Chamber had reached out.
# # #
Darkness eventually claimed victory over daylight in Twin Falls, enveloping the town like a giant monk’s robe. The five inhabitants of Goodwin’s Army/Navy Surplus bunkered down for their last night in the city. It was after 9 p.m. when they heard the first vehicle drive down the street.
“Turn the lights out,” Mulhaven whispered.
Everyone in the store fell silent as the car passed by.
“Judging by the sound, it’s not the National Guard,” Elliot said.
“Sounded worse than my old car,” Cindy said.
“Looters,” the Tall Man added.
An hour or so later, a National Guard Hummer did come patrolling along the street.
“Shouldn’t we let them know we’re here? I mean, it is the National Guard, right?”
“We don’t know that, Cindy. Things have become desperate. They could just as well be well-armed looters.”
“I have to agree with the sarge,” the Tall Man said. “There’s no telling how they would react.”
Not long after the Hummer passed, a moaning cry went up. Almost like a wolf in its sound, it nevertheless contained an edge of fear.
Neither Elliot, Cindy, Mulhaven, the Tall Man, nor Allan had slept for a few days. A half-hour nap here and there maybe, but that was less than substantial, and this night was proving to be worse than the previous night.
“We need to get some sleep—all of us!” Mulhaven waited until there were no sounds emanating from the street before speaking up. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning, and we need everyone’s full attention.”
“What do you suggest, Riley?” Cindy was the only one comfortable in calling the former Twin Falls police sergeant “Riley.”
“Two stay on guard. The rest sleep. I want to leave by eight, so we’ll get two shifts in.”
“Good plan. Elliot and I will take first watch.” The Tall Man took control—this was his field after all.
Mulhaven didn’t complain. He needed the rest, and Mr. Black looked more than capable.
“Okay then. Any problems with looters …”
“Don’t worry. I’ll call you straight away.”
# # #
“Sir.” Tom Transky entered the Oval Office. It was well beyond midnight on the East Coast. No one in the White House was getting any sleep, however. “Mr. Holmes is here to see you, sir.”
A tired President nodded to his Chief of Staff.
“Mr. President, thank you for seeing me at such a …”
“Cut the bullshit, Holmes, and get to the point!”
“Yes, Mr. President, as you wish.”
Holmes detailed his record of service with the CIA, NSA, Department of Defense, and a whole slew of other agencies the public didn’t even know about—even the President.
“Yes, yes, Holmes, I know of your record, but surely you came here for reasons other than to gloat.”
“Sir, read this report. It’s the fine details, but I can summarize for you.”
The President gave Holmes permission to do so, and he outlined his planned exodus of elite.
“Mr. President, as you know, we have many underground bunkers and command centers. Most of these are built to withstand a nuclear holocaust and I’m sure could withstand this diabolical food poisoning. There is an abundant amount of resources in these underground facilities, Mr. President. Your safety and the safety of your cabinet, scientists, key military leaders, and whomever you choose would be guaranteed. The only alternative, Mr. President, is to allow yourself and a good number of others to perish needlessly.”
“When should this withdrawal take place, Holmes? Should we leave now and let the people fend for themselves like wharf rats fighting over scraps?”
The President was more than just incensed by the situation; he was downright pissed that much of the information had been deliberately kept from him. He suspected Flint from CDC was involved in this treachery. He would’ve had the means at his disposal to create such a hideous disorder, but he had little doubts that Holmes was also involved.
“Mr. President, I realize we are in a harsh situation here, but …”
“Harsh situation? Harsh situation?” The President lost his cool. How could this man stand there and lie, all the while knowing of the possible death toll? How? He wanted to arrest him and have the truth extracted any way possible, but had been persuaded against this by CIA Director Coltrain, who’d suggested putting him under intense surveillance. Finding his contacts and the real people behind this barbaric act might prove to be the only hope they had to prevent the illness from spreading across the country.
“I’m sorry if I seem coldly detached from the circumstances, Mr. President, but the survival of your administration and the top people in the country is top priority, and …”
“And what, Holmes? Don’t hold anything back from me, or you’ll regret it!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. President. I was just thinking of the best way to put it.”
“How about coming straight out with it? I know straight answers are not your style, but why not try it?”
If looks could kill… Holmes thought. Not that it concerned Holmes anymore. This would be the last President of the United States and that wouldn’t be for much longer either.
He went on and presented his case to the President, informing him that if work began right away, they could prepare enough sanctuaries above and below ground for ten million Americans. The President sat back in his plush leather chair. He stared wide-eyed at Holmes. A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his bowels move. He was having a meeting with Death incarnate.
# # #
After leaving Canada with false declarations, the Baer International 757 made its way without incident to Tokyo, where it refueled and was back in the air in under two hours. There were no indications of anything untoward waiting for them on the ground as they approached Thailand. Once on the tarmac at Chiang Mai Airport, however, it was a different story.
“What’s going on, Langlie, you made sure the right people got rewarded, didn’t you?” Baer asked when the jet was asked to taxi away from the terminus and for all passengers to remain onboard.
“Yes, of course, sir, but it appears there may have been a change in attitudes or perhaps our flight documents have been scrutinized more thoroughly.”
“Go talk to the captain and find out what he knows.”
Baer poured himself a Scotch and soda, a large one, while his righthand man went forward seeking answers. He took a sip of his expensive Scotch then gazed out the window. It was a quality drop for sure, but nowhere near the same price or brand that Etheridge of the Chamber preferred. He wasn’t in that league. He’d had his chance all right, was even being feted, but now that chance, like his empire, had crumpled.
“Mr. Baer, sir!” Langlie called out. “Our pilot has been in communication with the tower and was told the plane’s cargo is going to be searched. By some VIP here.”
“What?” Baer turned, sharply spilling some of his drink over himself. “What on earth for? Who is this fuck?”
Langlie told his boss the commander’s name, butchering the pronunciation in the process. He was the military commander at Chiang Mai and obviously very low on the food chain.
“We need to contact this prick and make him an offer. He’s holding out for more, that’s all. You’ll see.”
Langlie stormed back to the cockpit to contact the commander. After twenty minutes or more of working his way through intermediaries, Langlie was successful and the commander agreed to meet with Mr. Baer.
Too soon, Langlie concluded. He agreed too soon! Langlie hurried back to inform his master.
“Sir, the commander is coming to see you; he agreed almost instant
ly. I don’t think this will be difficult at all. He’s greedy. He wants a quick score.”
“I concur with you, Langlie. Fill a travel bag with half a million U.S.; that should satisfy the beggar!”
“Sir, I would think half of that would suffice, not that it really matters. It’ll all be worthless soon, I suspect.”
Baer agreed with Langlie, but suggested filling another two bags with fifty thousand each in case the prick wanted to haggle.
Ten minutes later the commander swaggered onto the luxuriously fitted jet and took a seat opposite Baer, Langlie by his side. The commander’s aide, who remained standing to one side and behind him, spoke first.
“The general would like to make one thing clear …”
Baer held a hand up, palm out, silencing the aide. “I will make one thing even clearer,” he said as he motioned for Langlie to bring the bag containing the money to the table.
Langlie unzipped the bag as he laid it in front of the general and grinned when he saw the greedy bastard’s eyes grow wide as dinner plates. Langlie was proud of himself; he could always pick ‘em. The general stood, nodded at Baer, then Langlie, before turning to speak to his aide, who then repeated it in his best attempt at English.
“My father, err, sorry … I mean, the general, would like to say that your plane will be fuelled and cleared for take-off within forty minutes. He would also like to say thank you for understanding of the new customs fees here at Chiang Mai.” The aide then moved aside for his father to pass and fell in behind him.
“Well, thank you for coming … yes, it was a pleasure, hope to see you again, bye,” Langlie mocked as soon as the commander and his aide were off the plane.
“He got what he wanted and we got what we wanted. All we’ve lost is a bit of time, but we can make that up.” Baer said.
An hour later the Baer International private jet was back in the air and on course for Mumbai, India. Baer finally felt he could relax; four Scotch and sodas had added to that feeling. He prepared one more Scotch and soda before trying for a bit of sleep. He should have no trouble in that regard. The lights had been dimmed in the aft section of the plane. Baer had moved there for the plush lounge style seating where he could stretch out and nap. As his head started to bobble and his eyelids close, he was vaguely aware of Langlie’s approach.
“Sir, wake up, sir … Mr. Baer!” Langlie shook his employer by the shoulders.
“Wha, what is it? Langlie … what the fuck?”
“Sir, two fighters from India have pulled alongside.”
“What’s wrong with that, Langlie?” Baer recognized the tension in his voice. “They’re probably here to give us an escort.”
“No, sir!” Langlie reached over and lifted the blind next to Baer, who shielded his eyes from the unaccustomed light. “They’ve ordered us to turn away and not to approach Indian air space or they’ll be forced to shoot.”
“What that’s bullshit? We’re expected and …”
“Sir, we don’t have time for this. They just gave us this warning. We are less than five miles from their air space. Even if we turn now we will still cross into their space.”
“Get the phone. I’ll call …”
“Sir, there is no fuckin’ time!” Langlie stumbled as the plane banked hard. The safety of the plane and its passengers was the captain’s responsibility and the decision to try to turn before they crossed into Indian air space had been taken.
“What’s going on, why is the plane turning? Langlie, did you tell the captain to turn the plane? Did you? I’ll fire you if you did, you glorified thug!”
“No, I didn’t, you stupid bastard, but if he hadn’t then I would have. He’s trying to keep us alive, you cocksucker!”
No one had spoken to Phillip Baer in this manner since he was a teenager.
“It’s unlikely that he will, but I want to tell you one thing before we all die.”
The loud roar of supersonic jet engines interrupted the conversation as one of the Indian Sukhoi Su-30MKIs flew directly overhead. The sound of the jet struck a chord of fear in the man who wanted to control the world by controlling what the world ate.
“What? What do you have to say, you sleazy prick?”
The plane shuddered right on cue as the fireworks began inside the cabin and the pilot struggled with the big jet. He had to walk a fine line between turning it hard enough to avoid the Indian air space and avoiding a stall or a dive.
“You think all the success you had with the potato hormone was all your own doing, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something. It wasn’t!” Langlie braced himself against a chair. They had less than a mile before the plane crossed into Indian territory. “You had a lot of people behind the scenes plotting the company’s meteoric rise and making sure there were no obstructions along the way.”
“What? Like who?”
Three-quarters of a mile.
“You think Dennard was your man? Did you think he was no longer with the agency? Think again. Baer Industries never had the wherewithal to develop the kind of hormone Dennard claimed, but the agency did.”
“Lies, you bastard, lies!” Baer had to scream to be heard above the noise of the screaming engines.
Half a mile.
“And when people started becoming sick he said it was ‘growing pains’ and immediately came up with a solution. Didn’t you wonder how he was able to produce such a formula so quickly … as if it was expected, perhaps planned for?”
Baer sat there, stunned. He had nothing to say.
A quarter of a mile.
“And then everything cleared up for a few months, didn’t it? But then a few days ago it all came back with a thud, a giant thud. Your product that would allow you to control the market and then the world was killing people, and in a matter of minutes they were rising before everyone’s shocked eyes …”
The two Su-30s were heard flying away as the Baer jet entered Indian air space.
“I know, I know all about it. Another drug was planted inside the hormone. It was done on purpose, Phillip, on purpose!” Langlie launched himself at Baer at the same time that four R-27T1 missiles were launched from the Indian Su-30s.
“I’ll kill you like I did Dennard, you bastard!” Langlie growled as the plane began to vibrate more.
“You killed Dennard?” Baer, now angered, fought with a renewed vigor against his younger and more experienced opponent. “Fuck you, fuck …”
The first of the heat-seeking missiles exploded underneath the right engine, destroying the wing. The plane went into a spin before the next three missiles exploded, breaking the Baer jet in two. Fuel burst into a massive fireball and the debris began to fall.
Among the debris was concentrated growth hormone. That which hadn’t been destroyed by fire would be carried by the Indian Ocean’s winds.
It could end up anywhere.
# # #
Fifteen minutes after the Baer jet plunged into the depths of the Indian Ocean, a phone rang in the Capitol Suite of the Four Seasons Hotel, Washington, D.C.
“Etheridge,” the sole occupant of the king-sized bed said into the secure cell phone.
“It has been done,” an Indian-accented voice on the other end said.
Etheridge ended the conversation and lay back down for some sleep. A smile crept upon the corners of his mouth; he would sleep comfortably now.
###
The Tall Man and Elliot took up positions near the windows that afforded them the best view of the street. Behind them on the counter sat a Rayovac camping lantern turned down low. Dark towels and blankets had been hung from the ceiling, covering the windows. No light escaped the store.
“Hope they can get some sleep,” Elliot said.
“Well, even resting up will help. We’ve all been through a lot.”
“Yeah, we have … except for Allan; he’s missed all the fun so far.”
The Tall Man grinned at Elliot, though he was sure his younger companion couldn’t see him. He was just a kid who s
hould be out doing what kids his age do: digging some good music, taking Cindy out for a bite to eat, and going for a walk after taking in a show. Now, he was growing up too damn fast. He had to deal with death, killing, trying to survive a society collapse, and horrifying, sub-human creatures to boot. That he was still able to hold it together was a testament to his maturity.
The Tall Man could see in the dim glow only one side of Elliot’s face, but he could tell his eyes were closed. He didn’t bother waking him. The young man needed sleep after what he’d been through. The Tall Man had once spent three days on guard duty back in the old days in the Middle East; he’d worked a private contract with one country’s intelligence service then sold that intel to a rival country. Then, to clear his conscience, he provided the target of the espionage all of the details gratis.
Visions of a time when he was in Beirut entered his mind. He could see the sun setting just beyond the hills …
Moments later, the Tall Man joined Elliot in catching a few Zs.
Elliot was in a deep sleep and dreaming vividly. He was at home, the home he shared with his mom and dad. His real home. He was asking his father, “Where’s Mom? Where is she, Dad?” and all his father could do was stand there and say, “I’m sorry, Elliot. I’m sorry.” Then he heard a car pull into the driveway: a big, long, black car. A tall man dressed all in black got out of the driver’s side and opened a rear door. “Look, Dad, it’s Mom. She’s come home again!” Elliot said in the dream and raced to the front door, but it wouldn’t open. “Dad, help me open the door. It’s stuck!” he called out, but his dad just said, “I’m sorry, Elliot. I’m really sorry.”
Elliot paid him no mind and pulled the curtains back. He watched his mom move from the big black car and start walking up the driveway toward the house. Elliot observed a marked difference in his mother. She moved slowly, ever so slowly, and her skin was pale and dry. He could see particles of skin flaking off like dandruff. He watched, stunned, as his mother stopped when she got to the front steps, the tall man that had driven the car now standing a few feet behind. Strange that he has no face, Elliot thought. The man took one look at the rose bushes then heaved a stream of green gunk that immediately started foaming upon hitting the ground.
The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink Page 13