by Michael Bray
Martin shuffled, his Adam’s apple again dancing to its own beat.
"Are you alright?" Draven asked.
"Yes, sorry, I was just caught by surprise."
"Let me guess, you have no idea where he is?" Draven said.
"Actually, I know exactly where he is. Or at least, where he was."
"Go on," the President said.
"He's in England."
“You’re sure?” Draven asked.
“I’m as sure as I can be. There is no reason for him not to be there.”
The President turned to his chief of staff. "Bill, see if you can get the British Prime Minister on the phone. We need to get a trace on this man and find out where he is."
"Mr. President," Martin cut in, "I’m not sure I made myself clear. I know where he is, as in, a specific location."
"Where is he, Martin?" The President asked.
"Belmarsh Prison, sir."
"You experimented on a prisoner?" Draven said, unable to hide his revulsion.
"Not exactly," Martin said, almost fumbling his words. "He was a civilian, a volunteer. He said he needed the money. We offered to compensate him if he took part. The prison came later, after."
"You’re not making any sense,” Draven said. “What happened? What did he do to end up in prison?"
"Nothing happened," Martin said with a shrug as he loosened his tie. "He didn’t do anything wrong to anyone. For some reason, he just wasn’t compatible with the programme.”
“Was he given the virus? Did he accept it?”
Martin nodded. “Oh, the bonding went as well as could be expected. It’s a very adaptive creation. It was just him. He didn’t show the results we were looking for. His body had a natural resistance to the early design.”
“A resistance?” Draven said, glancing at the President.
“To the early version of the virus. The later versions of it were more potent and would likely have had the desired effect.”
“So why the change?”
“Doctor Genaro was under pressure to get results. He didn’t want to wait, couldn’t wait and was getting frustrated with Subject A’s inability to bond with the virus.”
Draven exchanged glances with the President. “So you’re saying he was immune to the virus?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I was really just an assistant. We noted a small increase in IQ, but nothing as potent as we were looking for. That’s about all I can remember.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to anyone?” Bill said.
“It’s not like that, I thought you already knew, I mean, why wouldn’t you? It was all in Genaro’s research. It was nothing to do with me. I was off the project fairly quickly.”
“Calm down, Martin. It’s fine,” the President said. “Nobody is accusing you of anything.”
“Wait, this doesn’t make sense,” Draven said. “How did this Subject One guy find himself in an English prison if he was civilian? Something had to have happened.”
Martin cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “That’s why Dr. Genaro and I had our disagreement that led to me moving on. Instead of releasing him from the programme, Genaro wanted to ensure he couldn’t tell anyone about the project. He was paranoid and afraid that someone would try to take his research. He didn’t want to take that risk, so he gave the order to have him taken and secured.”
“You kidnapped him?” Draven said, unable to believe what he was hearing.
“I don’t like that word, but, essentially, yes, that’s what happened.”
“And the British helped?” the President asked, as shocked as Draven.
“They didn’t know anything about it. President Fitzgerald made arrangements for them to house what they believed to be a dangerous political prisoner. He was to be kept completely isolated from the rest of the population, no questions asked. A favour to their coalition partners.”
“You son of a bitch,” Draven said, understanding now why Martin had been so twitchy.
“Look, it wasn’t my doing, okay? I fought it every step of the way. The guy was harmless, all he was doing was trying to save some cash to buy a new bike. He wasn’t a threat to security or anything else. I even tried to talk to the President, but Genaro beat me to it and told him that Subject One was a potential national security risk and needed to be contained until the research on Joshua was complete. What could I do? I was just a research assistant. I was powerless.”
“What did they do to him?” Draven asked.
Martin shrugged. “I guess they had him locked away and forgot about him. Genaro made no effort to free him and the British were doing their neighbours a favour by keeping him there anonymously. It seems to me he must have been lost in the system. In the end, that’s why I quit. I couldn’t work in those conditions. I can only imagine how bitter he must be by now. All those years on his own.”
"Great, so you're saying our only hope of trying to fix this lies in the hands of a man who has a hell of a grudge against the US government for screwing him over?" Draven grunted.
"This wasn’t my fault, sir," Martin said, addressing the President rather than Draven. "I was just part of the team, I did as I was told. As I said, I quit rather than have anything more to do with it. Genaro was obsessed with his work, no matter the cost. There was nothing I could do."
"Mr. President," Draven said, interrupting Martin’s pleading. "We need to get that man here. No matter what it takes. He's vital to my ability to try and fix this problem. This could be our shot. This guy could help us to formulate some kind of cure if we can get him here."
"We could talk to the British, see if they would extradite him."
"Mr. President, we don’t have time for that. Besides, they have enough problems of their own with this worldwide crisis we're facing. Even getting a hold of someone over there would be near on impossible, not to mention the paperwork we would need to do to make it happen." Bill said.
"It's hit the UK too?" Draven said, feeling a twinge of fear in his gut.
"I’m afraid so," the President said. "Intel is scarce right now since we lost the satellites, but it seems reports of Apex infection are cropping up the world over."
"I didn’t realise it was so widespread."
"Make no mistake Mr. Draven. This is a global crisis." Bill said.
"I'll speak to the British Prime Minister," the President said. "We can’t afford to wait for paperwork to send this prisoner to us, so I’ll be suggesting an unofficial extraction."
"You intend to break him out of an English prison?" Draven said.
"No. We don’t have the men available to do it, and even if we could, I wouldn’t risk aggravating one of our strongest allies. It will have to be on the Prime Ministers say so, using a team he selects for the job."
"SAS?" Bill asked.
"Probably. I'll ask for the same team who apprehended Joshua in the Boston tunnels. They would be the best option under the circumstances."
"Mr President, it's vitally important we get him out and to us alive. He can’t be harmed." Draven said.
"I'll ensure that is made clear, Mr. Draven. Now if you would all excuse me, I need to speak privately to the Prime Minister in order to arrange this."
Bill led Martin and Draven towards the office door.
"Mr. Draven," the President said, causing all three to turn back towards him. "In the interest of clarity, I should advise you that I can’t give you much more time on this. If the extraction fails, if anything happens to compromise this operation, I'll have no alternative but to put a secondary plan into action which doesn’t involve you fixing this."
"What does that mean sir?" Draven said, feeling his stomach tighten.
"That means rather than trying to fix this problem, steps will have to be taken to eliminate it. Obviously, I don’t want to do that, as it will mean a significant loss of civilian life. This is the last chance I can give you. You need to deliver me something tangible. Our international neighbours are already suggesting nuclear le
vel attacks. I’m sure you are aware of the long-term damage that could cause. I need to give them something concrete to stop them from going ahead."
"I understand sir," Draven said, feeling just a little more pressure. “I’m doing what I can.”
“I appreciate that, but you also have to consider the bigger picture. The world is in disarray. People are frightened. Society as we know it is breaking down. It will only take one incident to trigger World War Three, and I don’t want it to happen on my watch.”
“All I can tell you, sir, is that I’ll do anything I can to fix this. No matter what it takes.”
Carter nodded. "That’s all I ask, Mr. Draven. I just wanted to ensure you were aware of the situation. Let’s just hope the British Prime Minister is willing and able to help us."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHURCH OF HOLY RIGHTEOUSNESS
DALLAS, TEXAS
Earl had come to the realisation that he didn’t believe in his brother enough to stay with him and follow his new vision for the church. For years, he had watched the world change into a violent, cruel place that had even made him question his faith and wonder what kind of a god would allow such violence and cruelty to be so widespread. He was also tired. Age was starting to take over, and the simple life he craved was becoming more and more distant thanks to his brother’s ever ambitious plans to expand the church into a business juggernaut. Even though the world was such an uncertain place, he was prepared to take his chances rather than stay and watch his brother start some kind of terrorist worshiping cult.
There were few in the house he could trust. The staff was loyal to Miles, so he knew he would have to be discreet when he left. Only Michael knew of his intentions. He was his only friend, the only one he trusted, and although he was saddened by Earl’s decision, he at least understood.
Earl finished packing, last placing his bible on top of his clothes then closing the old leather case. As a metaphor for the gulf that had grown between him and his brother, it was a good one. His brother had homes in Miami, London, Spain and France, a fleet of luxury vehicles and businesses funded by the church. Earl owned only the items in his case. The rich lifestyle had never appealed to him. Their father had instilled a simple existence into them as children, taught them humility, something which his brother had forgotten.
There was a knock at his door, and Earl smiled. He had arranged for Michael to come for him once Miles had started his daily sermon. It was the best chance for him to leave unobserved. Earl zipped up the case then crossed the room and opened the door, his smile fading.
Miles stood on the other side, face a careful mix of disappointment and understanding.
“You’re supposed to be delivering your sermon,” Earl said.
Miles looked past him to the case on the bed. “I didn’t want to believe until I saw with my own eyes.”
Earl sighed, knowing there was no way to deny his intentions. “How did you find out?”
“May I come in?” Miles asked.
Earl stepped aside and allowed his brother into the room. Miles entered, and Earl closed the door.
“You haven’t changed this room in thirty years.”
“It serves my needs. I don’t need no expensive luxuries like you do.”
Miles walked to the bed and ran his manicured nails across the case. “This used to belong to father.”
“It did.”
“I didn’t realise we still had this.”
“It’s a good suitcase. Just because it ain’t one of those fancy brand names you like, don’t mean it’s not good.”
“I’m disappointed, Earl. I thought we had discussed this.”
“I was hopin’ to go without a fuss. I ain’t stopping you doin’ what you wanna do. It’s just not for me.”
“But he said to them, ‘Do not delay me, since the Lord has prospered my way. Send me away that I may go to my master.’”
“Genesis twenty-four fifty-six. I know that one.” Earl said. “Who told you I was leavin’?”
Miles walked to the window and looked out over the lush green landscape. “Michael came to me this morning. He was worried for you. He told me your intention.”
Earl nodded. He shouldn’t be surprised. Sooner or later, everyone fell under his brother’s spell. “Don’t make this difficult for me, Miles. I just wanna go out on my own. Find my own way. This isn’t me anymore.”
“This is our calling, Earl. This is why we are on this earth, waiting for this moment. Why would you abandon me in this time of need?”
“Don’t give me that. I told you before, you can drop the act around me.”
“This is no act. The world is in chaos. I need you, we need you.”
“We?”
“The church. God. Our lord.”
“That’s bull and you know it. This is why I wanted out of here without you knowin’. I knew you’d come in here with your bible quotes and your poison talk. I’ve had enough of it Miles. I don’t want this.”
“’This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you-”
“Do what I command you,” Earl cut in, finishing the quote. “John fifteen-twelve. I know that one too. You ain’t my god, and you don’t command me. These people in the church might have bought what you’re selling, Miles. But I don’t. You might think you know best, but with what’s going on out there in the streets, you’re on safer here than anywhere else.”
“You sound like a man who has lost his faith.”
“And you sound like one who has lost his grip on reality.”
Miles shook his head. “Father would be sorry to hear those words come out of your mouth, Earl. To know you had lost your faith would sadden him.”
“Me? No, I think you’re the one he would be ashamed of. Look at what you’ve become. You’ve become a business, the face of a corporate machine. This isn’t a church built on faith, but on the dollar.”
“You take that back,” Miles said.
“Truth hurts, don’t it? You’ve become the thing you preach about, Miles. You’ve become greed, and lust, and selfishness. I don’t want any part of that. I’m glad our daddy ain’t here to see what you’ve become. Now I’m goin’ and I ain’t coming back. You can say whatever you like, but it won’t change a damn thing.”
Earl reached out for his case, but Miles got there first, grasping the handle.
“What are you doing, Miles?”
“I prayed for you, Earl. Prayed harder than ever before. I asked for you to be shown the light, to be guided the right way. I hoped he would answer, but with the coming apocalypse, the lord was too busy to listen to prayers for those who have lost their faith.”
“Let go of my case, I’m leaving.”
“I can’t let that happen. I love you, dear brother, more than you realise. But I can’t let you just walk out of here. It would be a show of weakness. And weakness is something I can’t afford.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“’Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.’”
“Enough with the quotes. Just let me go.”
“No.” miles said, grabbing his brother’s frail wrist with his free hand. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
The two brothers locked eyes and Earl realised that not only was his brother delusional, he was dangerous.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thamesmead
Greenwich, East London
United Kingdom
Since its opening in the spring of 1991, Belmarsh Prison has become home to some of the most dangerous and violent criminals ever convicted within the United Kingdom. With a capacity of almost a thousand, the prison is sprawled across a series of interconnecting cross-shaped wings comprising a mixture of multi and single occupancy cells.
Following the threat of nuclear attack similar to those which had devastated Tokyo, Paris an
d Berlin, a nationwide state of emergency had been called through the entire United Kingdom. Homes and jobs had been abandoned as people fled with their families to places they hoped would be safe. Airports were jammed with citizens hoping to flee the country, only to be told all flights had been grounded until further notice. Those who had decided to stay had discovered that in a matter of hours, currency had lost all sense of value, with food and water becoming the latest must-have commodity. Sporadic riots fuelled by anger and fear sparked at random, further stretching what remained of police forces which were operating on the limit of their skills. Even here, more than five thousand miles away from the perceived epicentre of the disaster, Joshua’s men had infiltrated, infecting and murdering in the hundreds of thousands. Like pouring paraffin onto a bonfire, fear and desperation exploded as the death toll rose and the public saw just how powerless the authorities were to combat such a deadly and unique threat. The Royal Air Force had never been so active, with patrols of fighter jets streaking across the skies and reporting back to the Prime Minister, who was in a secure underground bunker just outside of the city limits along with his cabinet and members of the royal family who were present when the attacks began. Two such jets streaked over Greenwich, the high-powered shriek as they thundered on their way rolling down the deserted streets, which were slick with a fine drizzle which had been falling all night, producing an eerie mist which clung to the ground.
Parker noticed neither jet nor rain as he crouched in the dirt, staring at the prison through night vision goggles, casting the imposing building into shades of green.
"Anything?" Trig said, shuffling in a half crouch beside Stanhope.
"No movement. Looks like a fuckin' ghost town." Parker grunted, adjusting the focus controls of the goggles.
"It is. Only people stupid enough to be out on the streets are daft cunts like us, mate."
"Its bollocks," Stanhope chimed in. "The world is goin' tits up and we're breaking into a fuckin' prison. We must be off our trolleys."