Zombie Apocalypse: The Chad Halverson Series

by Bryan Cassiday

  “There’s top secret encrypted intel about the Orchid Organization on that laptop,” said Mellors.

  “The transhumanist group?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you before, they’re a harmless bunch of kooks.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. I’m convinced they were involved in the creation of the plague pathogen at Erasmus.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “The proof’s in the laptop that was stolen. It also contains an eyes-only encrypted document entitled ‘The Apocalypse Equation.’”

  “What’s that about?” said Paris negligently.

  “I haven’t been able to open it,” said Mellors in frustration. “I’m convinced it’s the key to Orchid’s involvement in the pandemic.”

  Paris shook his head. “You’ve got squat.”

  “If there’s nothing important on that laptop, why did somebody rip it off?”

  “If the laptop was so important, why did you leave it lying around in your office? Don’t you have tradecraft in the Agency for dealing with top secret intel? Shouldn’t you have locked the laptop up somewhere whenever you left your office?”

  “Of course, under normal circumstances. But we’re living in a high-security bunker.”

  “That’s no excuse. It was plain lousy tradecraft on your part to allow the laptop to be confiscated.”

  “So now it’s my fault the laptop was stolen,” said Mellors, his voice tight with indignation. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Why didn’t you keep Coogan’s laptop in a secure location?”

  “My office was locked at the time.”

  “We at the Bureau have stricter rules on tradecraft for securing top secret intel, it seems,” Paris said, his expression smug.

  Paris’s haughty attitude was ticking Mellors off. “You’re not my superior. I don’t have to take the third degree from you.”

  “Do you deny it was sloppy tradecraft on your part?”

  “How was I supposed to know this bunker is penetrated with moles with sticky fingers?” said Mellors, at the end of his rope. “Securing it is your business. You’re the one who’s falling down on the job.”

  “You as an intelligence officer ought to know that we can never let our guard down, whether we’re in a bunker or elsewhere.”

  “Then you admit we have a mole in the bunker?”

  Paris bolted to his feet and fell to pacing around his office, his face animated. “I’m not admitting anything. The fact of the matter is, you’ve given me nothing. You say somebody swiped Coogan’s laptop from you, but it’s not your laptop in the first place, so why are you calling it a theft? You’re the one who’s the thief. You stole it from Coogan.”

  “Coogan’s dead, for Christ’s sake. His property belongs to the Agency.” Mellors shook his head at Paris’s splitting of hairs. “You spent too many years in law school. You don’t even know the difference between right and wrong anymore.”

  Coming to a halt near his desk, Paris pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gotta give me more than you’ve given me so far for me to start an investigation.”

  “All right. What about Hilda Molson’s murder? Why did they murder her?”

  “Who’s talking about murder? That was a suicide.”

  “You and I both know that was no suicide. Left-handed people don’t shoot themselves with their right hands.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, the killer shot Molson to shut her up about Orchid and then filched Coogan’s laptop, again to protect Orchid.”

  Paris sat down in his chair and ran his hand through the hair on the back of his head, mulling over Mellors’s answer. “What’s Orchid got to hide?”

  “Intel that incriminates them.”

  Paris leaned forward and folded his hands on his desktop. “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

  “Tell me which members of Cole’s administration belong to Orchid. Then we can interrogate them.”

  “That’s a tall order. I already told you, only the president has access to that intel.”

  Mellors didn’t know if he could trust the president. For all Mellors knew, even Cole could belong to Orchid. It was no secret Cole was a Skull and Bones man. Why not an Orchid man, as well?

  “The president and you,” said Mellors. “That’s why I came to you. You’re the one that vetted these guys when they joined the administration. You know who belongs to Orchid.”

  Paris wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his suited arm. “You’re asking me to go over the president’s head on this.”

  “The less people who know about this, the better.”

  “I can’t reveal this info to you without obtaining the president’s permission.”

  “Protocol be damned!” burst Mellors. “We gotta get to the bottom of this.”

  Paris bridled at Mellor’s access, pulling back his folded hands from the desktop. “Intimidation tactics won’t get you anywhere with me.”

  Mellors shut his eyes and tried to calm down. He had no desire to antagonize Paris. Paris was Mellors’s last resort. Mellors didn’t know who else he could go to for help in exposing Orchid’s apocalypse equation. Other than Cole, Paris was the only one who knew which members of Cole’s administration belonged to Orchid.

  “I’m not trying to intimidate you,” said Mellors, settling down and opening his eyes. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.”

  “The bottom of what?”

  Mellors closed his eyes again and massaged them with his finger and thumb. Opening his eyes he crossed his arms. “This conspiracy.”

  “Another Grassy Knoll theory?” said Paris wearily.

  “This has nothing to do with JFK’s assassination. This is about the spread of the plague and how Orchid was involved in it.”

  “The problem is, you don’t have a shred of proof.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to get—if you’d help me.” Mellors gazed at Paris earnestly.

  Paris thought about it. “Even if I tell you the names of the members, how does that get you any closer to the meaning of the apocalypse equation?”

  Mellors slouched in his chair. “I’m not really sure.”

  “If you question them, they’re not gonna tell you the truth, if they have an ulterior motive.”

  “True. But at least I’ll know who to focus my investigation on.”

  “You need to open that apocalypse equation document, if that’s what reveals Orchid’s subterfuge. And how can you open it now without Coogan’s laptop?”

  Mellors’s eyes lit up for a moment. He knew he had a copy of the document on his own laptop. He caught himself before he was about to reveal that fact to Paris. Mellors decided there were some things better kept to himself. In the end, he could not trust anybody in Cole’s administration, which could be riddled with Orchid members, for all he knew. If he confided in the wrong person, he could very well wind up a “suicide” on a slab like Molson.

  If Mellors could convince himself to confide in the NSA director, Holmes with his background of eavesdropping and code breaking might be able to decrypt the apocalypse equation document. However, Mellors trusted Holmes even less than he trusted Paris. Of the ones Mellors had talked to (to wit, those who were still alive), he thought Paris was his best bet. But Paris had no chops in decryption. It wasn’t the FBI’s bailiwick. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though.

  “How are you at opening encrypted documents?” said Mellors.

  “What difference does it make? You said somebody boosted the laptop that contained the document.”

  Mellors bit his tongue. He had to watch what he said. At this point he didn’t want to let Paris know about the copy of the document stored on his personal laptop.

  “I’m just wondering if you could open the document if somehow I got it back,” said Mellors.

  “We might have decryption software. Of course, the go-to guy in decryption is Tony Holmes at the NSA. Those guys in the Puzzle Palace
can decrypt anything.”

  “Where do they keep their equipment nowadays?”

  “The whole second floor is theirs.” Paris paused, sizing up Mellors. “Don’t go getting any bright ideas. It’s off-limits to nonmembers.”

  “I wouldn’t even think about invading their turf,” lied Mellors. He was, in fact, thinking about doing just that.

  “All you need is the password to decrypt the document. Am I right?”

  Mellors nodded.

  “That’s the easiest and fastest way to open an encrypted document,” Paris went on. “Otherwise, you would have to decrypt the entire document, which could take ages, depending on its length.”

  “We get the password, we’re in.”

  “There’s only a finite number of possibilities for a password. It’s just a matter of how long it will take to decrypt it. It’s not if we can decrypt it but when.” Paris paused, thinking about it. “I’m not gonna kid you, though. It could take a long time. A very long time.”

  “I don’t believe we have a long time.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If there’s a conspiracy, I mean.”

  “A conspiracy to do what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re a big help.”

  “If only we had his laptop.”

  “Do you know the password to it?”

  “I can access Coogan’s laptop. I opened it before it was stolen.”

  “You’ve already got one foot in the door then.”

  “That’s not the problem.”

  “I still think you’re like a dog chasing its own tail by going after Orchid. You’re wasting your energy on nothing.”

  The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to open that apocalypse equation document, decided Mellors. He was certain it would tell him what Orchid was up to.

  CHAPTER 47

  Nevada

  Halverson wondered whom Guzman would take next to get “decontaminated.” Halverson didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  His companions were roaming around restlessly in the guest room, waiting apprehensively to see who would go next to meet Probst’s fate. All except Nordstrom, who didn’t seem concerned about being selected. Nordstrom sat at the table, fiddling with his camera. He believed nothing dire had befallen Probst. Nordstrom believed Hector had put Probst in a different room after decontaminating him, and the rest of them would be joining Probst shortly. Probst had the better deal, Nordstrom figured. After all, Probst was decontaminated, while the rest of them weren’t.

  Halverson didn’t see it that way. He knew Guzman was a ruthless drug dealer and figured the gangster could not care less what happened to any of them. However, Halverson was sure there was some method to Guzman’s actions. The question was, what was Guzman up to?

  Simone retreated back into herself, mentally kicking herself for being a coward for not helping her sister, and withdrew from the others to slouch in her corner.

  “I hate waiting,” said Swiggum, pacing around. “I feel like a caged rat in here.”

  Halverson debated whether he should tell the others Guzman’s true identity. The problem with doing so was that they would wonder how he knew who Guzman was, which might make them suspicious of Halverson. Halverson decided not to risk telling them about Guzman. What would it accomplish? In the long run, it would just increase their fears.

  “We need to find out what Hector’s up to,” said Halverson.

  “He’s decontaminating us,” said Nordstrom, not looking up from fiddling with his camera.

  “That’s not what I mean. Why does he have this humongous bunker in the middle of the desert?”

  “He must have been a Boy Scout. You know their motto: always be prepared.”

  Swiggum laughed.

  “Being locked up like this isn’t funny, if you ask me,” said Victoria.

  “Chill out,” said Nordstrom. “It’s not as bad as you think. After we’re decontaminated we’ll probably have the run of the joint.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Halverson shook his head. “It’s not gonna be like that. Hector’s using us for something.”

  “What makes you say that?” said Swiggum.

  “This whole complex is too well thought out. He knew A-bombs were gonna fall, and he knew it years in advance.”

  “You keep harping on that, but what’s it prove?”

  “That he was involved with the spreading of the plague.”

  Swiggum sniggered. “You’re making this up on the fly.”

  “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  “You journalists can really spin a tale.” Swiggum waved his hand dismissively.

  Halverson wheeled around with a start when he heard the door open.

  Two figures in hazmat uniforms entered, scoped out the room, and made a beeline for Simone. The duo was packing H&K MP7s, Halverson noted. The soldiers grabbed Simone by her arms and jerked her up off the floor. She tried to fight them off, but to no avail.

  She did manage to plant a backward kick with one of her stiletto heels on Wolfman’s shin as they hauled her to the door. He howled and changed his grip on her, holding her lower, pulling her in such a way that her heels dragged on the floor, preventing her from kicking.

  “Let me go!” she blurted, trying to break free from their grasps.

  They continued ushering her toward the door, as she continued to resist them.

  “We’re taking you to be decontaminated,” said Wolfman. “It’s for your own good.”

  “I don’t want to be decontaminated,” said Simone, dragging her feet across the floor, hobbling their progress.

  Halverson made a move to help her.

  Wolfman picked up on Halverson’s movement and whipped his MP7 toward him. One look at the MP7’s muzzle staring at him was all it took to stop Halverson dead in his tracks.

  “Wait your turn and we’ll be fine,” said Wolfman into his helmet’s mike.

  “She doesn’t want to go with you,” said Halverson.

  “It’s for her own good. The sooner we get all of you decontaminated, the better.”

  “Why are you taking us one at a time?”

  “The decontamination room is only big enough for one.” Wolfman added sarcastically, “What do you think?”

  Simone was fighting like a maenad. She all but managed to break free. “Let me go, damn it!”

  Wolfman tightened his grip on her arm. “Knock it off. It’s not gonna hurt. It’ll be over with in two shakes.”

  He and the other soldier hauled her to the door, where armed figures were waiting in the hallway.

  If it wasn’t for them, maybe Halverson would have tried to make a run for it. He figured he and Swiggum might be able to overpower only two opponents, but not the half dozen that were waiting beyond the doorway. Halverson didn’t even know if he could count on Swiggum to lend a hand if Halverson sought to take on the soldiers to free Simone.

  Attacking the soldiers on the spur of the moment wasn’t going to work, Halverson knew. He had to coordinate a plan with Swiggum and the others in advance for them to have any chance of success at winning a mano a mano against armed foes.

  “Good-bye, Simone. We hardly knew you,” said Swiggum, as the soldiers manhandling her closed the door behind them.

  He scratched his acne-scarred face reflectively.

  “You act like it’s a death sentence for her,” said Nordstrom, pooh-poohing Swiggum.

  “It probably is,” said Halverson, face set.

  “I’m with you, Jake,” said Victoria. “I wish we had gotten to know her better. She had issues over her sister, but once she gets over them she’ll be fine.”

  “She can’t get it into her head that she’s not to blame for her sister’s death,” said Nordstrom. “It’s just some hang-up she’s got and can’t shake.”

  “We can’t hold it against her that she’s a call girl.”

  “I’m sure n
ot holding it against her. We all gotta make a living somehow.”

  “You and her are cut from the same cloth, if you ask me,” said Swiggum. “She’s a hooker and you’re a pornographer. Not a whole lot of difference between youse.”

  “You’d be the last person I’d ask. Armed robbery isn’t exactly gonna get you sainthood.”

  Swiggum bridled. “Yeah? At least I didn’t make a living exploiting underage girls.”

  Hacked off, Nordstrom jumped out of his seat. “Who said anything about underage girls? The models I took photos of were all over eighteen and signed documents to prove it.”

  “Yeah? Right,” said Swiggum, nodding smugly. “We know how that goes.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” said Nordstrom, leveling a pernicious glare at Swiggum.

  “Stop busting each other’s chops,” said Halverson, disliking the tone the conversation was taking. “Getting into a brawl isn’t gonna help any of us.”

  “I don’t like being called a liar.”

  “How about being called a smut peddler?” said Swiggum.

  “Will you stop riding me? I ought to take a swing at your ugly face.”

  “What’s stopping you?” Swiggum snarled.

  “You have only one arm.”

  Swiggum snickered. “You feel sorry for me?”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of an amputee,” said Nordstrom, backing down.

  “I could whip a putz like you with no arms.”

  “You better shut up, or I’ll change my mind.”

  “Do it!”

  “We gotta figure out how to blow this joint,” butted in Halverson. “Just take it easy, both of you.”

  Nordstrom shrugged and, suppressing his anger, repaired to his seat at the table where he busied himself with tinkering with his camera, careful to avoid looking in Swiggum’s direction.

  Swiggum followed Nordstrom’s retreat with a look of disgust then turned to Halverson. “Getting out of this bunker is gonna be about as easy as busting out of the joint, I hate to tell you. This thing’s built out of reinforced concrete thick enough to withstand a direct strike by a nuke.”

  “We can’t give up,” said Halverson. “If we give up, we’re all of us dead.”