Black Harvest (The PROJECT)

by Lukeman, Alex

  "Very good. Now back away and lie down with the others."

  "You can't kill us all."

  He laughed. "I can certainly kill your friend here. You too. Back away and lie down."

  Selena crawled backwards and lay down on the floor.

  "Stand up," he said to Stephanie. "Be careful. The needle could slip."

  He moved behind her as she stood, keeping his pistol trained on the others. They watched from the floor. His left arm pressed against her, keeping her tight against him. Through his pants she felt his erection against her naked buttocks.

  His breath was hot in her ear. "We're going to back out the door and lock your friends inside. Be careful. We'll continue our session somewhere else. It's gotten crowded in here, don't you think?"

  In the hall, Lucas waited. One chance.

  As they backed into the hall Lucas pulled the hand with the needle away from Stephanie's neck and twisted the gun away. Stephanie broke free. Lucas kept his grip on the man's hand and drove the needle down, deep into the side of her captor's leg. He felt the needle strike bone. He pushed the plunger in all the way.

  The man screamed and fell to the floor. The others came out of the cell. Selena went to Stephanie. Nick handed Selena his jacket. She draped it around Stephanie's body and put her arms around her.

  "It's okay, Steph. You're all right now. You're safe."

  Steph began sobbing on Selena's shoulder.

  On the floor, the little man writhed and shrieked. Froth and spittle foamed from his mouth. His eyes were wide, terrified. His body went into terrible spasms on the floor. He became rigid, then arched backward in an impossible curve. Nick heard bones snapping. He gave a final scream of unbearable agony and died.

  Lucas looked down at the body.

  "Asshole," he said.

  Then he went to Stephanie and held her close.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Lucas and Stephanie lay on her bed, face to face in each other's arms. He felt her warm breath on his shoulder, the pulse of her life beating against him. Lucas stroked her hair. It was damp from the long shower she'd taken when they'd gotten to her apartment. She hadn't talked since they'd left the safe house. It was beginning to worry him. He held her and tried to surround her with calm, with safety.

  Lucas knew what it was like to be tortured. He still bore the scars. The anticipation was almost as bad as the actual act. Knowing you were helpless. Knowing you were at the mercy of a psychopath.

  Lucas was no choir boy. He'd grown up in the ghetto. He'd been an agent for a long time. He'd done and seen his share of things no one should have to endure in the name of duty or expediency or survival. But he had never resorted to inflicting excruciating pain to gain intelligence. Torture disgusted him. He thought of Wendell Lodge and what had happened to Stephanie and for the first time felt the kind of hatred that would inflict pain for its own sake. He imagined Lodge helpless before him. Maybe strapped naked on a hard chair, in a cold room where knives gleamed under harsh light.

  Steph stirred.

  "I didn't tell him. But I would have. Whatever he wanted."

  "Sshh. I know. You did good. It's all right now."

  "His eyes. He had awful eyes. He liked what he was doing."

  "They always do. But he won't hurt you or anyone else again."

  "How did you find me?"

  "Nick called me. They found your purse in the garage, they knew you'd been taken. It had to be Lodge, they said. That house was the best bet."

  "What if you'd been wrong?"

  "I wasn't, that's what matters."

  "The drug he gave me. It was awful. He told me it would wear off and I should think about it. He told me he was coming back."

  "Yeah, they like to do that, people like him."

  "He was getting ready to start again when the shooting began upstairs. That's when he put that poison in the syringe. He told me what it would do. In detail." She shuddered. "Then he just waited for you to find us."

  Lucas stoked her hair.

  "I love you."

  "I love you, too, Steph."

  "What are you going to do about Lodge?"

  "I don't know."

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  James Rice thought there were times when being President was the worst job anyone could imagine. Like now. He sat alone in the Oval Office, at the power center of the world. Outside the White House the city got ready for another evening. The folder on his desk contained the reports on Nebraska. The analysis was grim. The damage was spreading at an alarming pace, a vast, diseased sore oozing in the heart of America.

  Two hours earlier he'd had a meeting with the experts and the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of Agriculture. The Pentagon thought it could be a terrorist attack. The Generals were arguing about what to do, how to respond. The stress level within the administration and the Pentagon was rising. Rice had boosted the alert status to DEFCON3. He hadn't revealed Lodge's involvement. It was a hell of a mess.

  Harker had briefed him about Texas. She would take care of Dansinger. Rice had to take care of the country. The experts agreed that only one solution was available.

  Fire.

  The crop virus was airborne and as yet, unstoppable. He had to do something and he had to do it soon. Rice let out a long breath. His actions were going to cost him the election. But this went beyond politics. It was why Truman had that famous sign on his desk about where the buck stopped. Decisive action was needed now.

  He'd thought about calling in the Speaker and the Majority Leader and decided against it. They'd balk. If Congress got involved, if he allowed politics to dictate action, the delay would doom America's crops. It could not be allowed to happen. It was his job to make sure it didn't happen, whatever the personal cost.

  Rice picked up his phone.

  "Get me the Governor of Nebraska."

  "Yes, Mr. President."

  While he waited, Rice thought about his days in Vietnam. They were bad memories. He was about to bring back a terrible echo of that horrific war. At least this time around it was to assure life, not destruction. Governor Rowena Wheeling came on the line.

  "Mr. President."

  "Governor, thank you for taking my call. I'm calling about the crop blight."

  Rice knew what he was going to do and he knew Governor Wheeling was not going to like it. The fact that she belonged to the opposition party didn't make things any easier. Rice was about to assert the enormous power of the government in dramatic and public fashion. There were going to be problems on every level.

  "Mr. President." Her voice was neutral. "I'm told by my advisors this thing cannot be stopped. I hope you are calling to tell me something different."

  "Actually, Governor, there is a way. But it will create severe disruption in your state. I am going to need your cooperation. I hope you will be willing to give it."

  "Sir, I will of course do anything I can." Her voice was wary. What was up?

  "There's no way to sugar coat this, Rowena." Rice hoped the use of her name would add a personal touch. It was his style. "I'm declaring an emergency in Nebraska. I want you to initiate mandatory evacuation procedures of the entire affected area and a radius of twenty miles around it. Beginning immediately. Use the National Guard to enforce it. I'm sending in additional military units to assist."

  Stunned silence.

  "Sir, you're talking about thousands of people."

  "I know that, Governor. If people don't have somewhere to go the FEMA emergency shelters can handle them. Rail and truck transport will be provided. I'm hoping it won't be necessary, but I will declare martial law if needed. This has to be done now."

  "What are you planning, sir? There will be problems."

  Rice paused. He knew Wheeling was a rarity in the Governors' mansions, a centrist. Opposition party, yes. But a woman who sometimes backed his agenda, and as a result was often under siege from her own party. When she fought, she was fair. He decided to tell her more.

  "Rowena, I'm going to tell you
something. It's important you share this with no one. It's a question of national security." The magic words. "Can I trust you?"

  "National security? Of course, sir."

  "This must be kept quiet. We have uncovered a domestic plot to sabotage the crops."

  He heard her gasp.

  "This thing is man made? A terror plot?"

  "Yes." Rice didn't think she needed to know that it had originally been aimed at Russia.

  "We are working to discover a counter agent but it is uncertain it can be developed in time to prevent very large areas of contamination. In the event it cannot be obtained, I'm going to burn the entire area."

  "Mr. President? Are you saying you want to burn up my state?"

  "Just the infected areas. Fire is all we've got at this point to stop it. The weather is calm for the next two days. High winds are forecast after that. If this thing gets past your borders, we will lose tens of millions of acres of farmland and crops. I cannot allow that. I will ensure government assistance for the displaced."

  "Like Katrina?" She was angry. "We all know how well that worked out."

  "We've learned a lot since then." Rice allowed a hard edge to appear in his voice. "Governor, this is not an option. Your cooperation will be appreciated."

  "Sir, two days isn't enough time."

  "It has to be, Governor."

  "Mr. President. You give me no choice. I will do as you say. But if you burn, I believe you will seal your defeat in the upcoming election."

  "That is a risk I must take."

  "Very well, sir. May God help you."

  "May God help all of us, Governor."

  She hung up.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Harker's office felt oppressive. No one smiled. Stephanie was at home. The others were there, along with Lucas.

  "Things are getting out of hand," Elizabeth said. "Rice has declared an emergency and is evacuating thousands of people in Nebraska. He's had to institute martial law. There's looting in the evacuated areas. The FEMA centers are getting crowded."

  "What's he going to do?" Nick tugged on his ear.

  "He intends to burn everything that's been affected."

  "Burn it? The farms, everything?"

  "Everything. It will cost him the election."

  "How's he going to do it?" Lamont asked.

  "Napalm."

  "I thought all of it had been destroyed."

  "Not quite. It seems we kept some back, just in case."

  "Jesus. They never learn." Nick shook his head.

  "It's called Operation Cleaner. The Air Force begins bombing tomorrow. They're coordinating with the various fire departments. Rice intends to go beyond the affected area in an effort to keep it from spreading any further. The media and the opposition are having a field day."

  "What if it doesn't work?"

  "Then the country is in big trouble. But there may be a way out. Dansinger must have figured out how to stop it once he got what he wanted. I've talked with Rice. Special Forces units should be hitting Dansinger's Utah research facility right about now. If there's an antidote it's probably there."

  "So there might be time to stop this without burning everything up."

  "If it exists and if it's there. If it's up and running before the bombers lift off."

  "Where's Dansinger now?"

  "Here in Washington to present his case for genetically engineered crops at a USDA conference. He just came back from Utah. Rice is giving us a free hand with him." She paused, thinking. "Lucas, is there anything Langley knows that would help?"

  "I'm not sure what I can say. No offense, Korov. I appreciate what you did at the house."

  "None is taken."

  Harker picked up her pen. "Major Korov has a personal investment in our success for the sake of his nation. That's why he's here. No one's asking you to reveal classified information. If you know something, now's the time."

  Nick watched Lucas struggle with something. "I can say this much. Hood is worried. Something a lot bigger than Lodge or Dansinger is going on. We're not sure what it is. We think Demeter may be part of it. Hood suspects a conspiracy that goes beyond our borders."

  "An international conspiracy? To what end?"

  "We don't know. Money, power, dominance, any or all of those things. That would fit with a desire to attack Russia. Any organization that would unleash something like Demeter has got to be uncovered and stopped. We have no real leads."

  "I have an idea," Nick said. "Why don't we ask Dansinger about it?"

  "Grab him?" Selena said.

  "Turn about is fair play."

  Korov was puzzled. "An idiom? Turn about?"

  "They grabbed Steph. We return the favor."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Harold Dansinger looked at the papers displayed in the hotel lobby and smiled. Every paper carried a variation of the same story.

  Nebraska In Flames

  Thousands Evacuated

  Air force bombers today began carpeting the farmlands of Nebraska with napalm in an effort to halt the spread of a destructive virus threatening America's crops. At an extraordinary press conference this morning, Press Secretary Ryan Atkinson announced that President Rice had ordered the destruction by fire of the infected areas.

  "I just can't believe it," said Mary-Anne Carson, whose family has been farming for four generations in America's heartland. "They're going to burn everything. Our home, the barns, the crops, everything. Why is the President doing this to us? There must be a better way."

  Critics called Rice's decision a blatant misuse of Presidential power without political or historical precedent...

  One popular daily featured full color aerial shots of homes and cropland in flames. There were pictures of confused and angry people herded together at the FEMA shelters. Armed soldiers kept a watchful eye on the crowds. Martial law was in effect for the entire state.

  Rice is finished, Dansinger thought.

  He stepped from the entrance to his hotel and adjusted his famous Stetson. It was early evening in Washington, still light. He was mildly annoyed. His car wasn't here yet and for some reason he hadn't been able to reach Utah.

  While he waited he thought about Nebraska. He planned to let the virus spread for a few more days. Then he would announce the discovery of an airborne antidote. He still didn't know how the virus had gotten loose, but it didn't matter. He'd be seen as a savior by the American people.

  By then at least a million acres or more of prime American farmland would be a blackened waste. Studying the spread of the virus on a larger scale would allow him to refine the attack on Russia. That was a bonus. Also there would be profit opportunities for his genetic crops right here at home. So, perhaps it wasn't all bad.

  The front of the hotel was graced by a high, sweeping portico. His car would be here at any moment. The afternoon was pleasant. Dansinger stepped toward the curb, looking for his driver. He saw two men coming toward him. Both had a military look. They were about the same size. One was blond, the other dark haired. Both wore suits. Both were armed, he could see the bulges under their jackets. The blond man seemed vaguely foreign.

  "Harold Dansinger. Stop where you are." One of the men held up a credential holder with a picture and a gold badge.

  Where was his car? He turned to look for it. There was a distant sound like a dull pop and that was when the bullet took him. The white Stetson turned red. His skull exploded like a melon. He slammed backward onto the pavement. People began screaming.

  "Sniper," Nick yelled to Korov. They ducked behind a fat, round pillar holding up the portico. Chaos erupted in front of the hotel

  They both had their guns out. Korov risked a glance. No one shot at him. They waited. There were no more shots.

  Nick holstered his pistol. "He's gone. He wasn't after us."

  Dansinger lay on his back in a spreading pool of blood. His head was oddly flat against the pavement.

  Nick looked at the blood stained white Stetson. "Wrong color.
It should have been black."

  "What?"

  "Never mind. Guess someone didn't want him answering any questions."

  "This is something I would expect in Chechnya. I thought Washington was different."

  "I guess not."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Dansinger's murder didn't make it past the second page. The front page was devoted to the disaster in Nebraska. 200,000 acres of prime farmland and hundreds of buildings had gone up in flames before the antidote had been found and applied. It looked like the virus had been stopped.

  Rice was attacked from all sides. Congress was united in expressing righteous indignation that Rice had not consulted them before acting. There were threats of impeachment. The left screamed about napalm. The right wailed about the expense to taxpayers. Op Ed pundits posed pseudo-profound questions about morality, ethics and the Constitution, while the environmentalists made grave predictions of damage from the spraying. Lawsuits against the government appeared like mushrooms after rain.

  The media found it convenient for the moment to ignore the truth, that the blight had been stopped in its tracks before it could spread any further. Reason might eventually prevail, but Nick wasn't holding his breath. Rice was in for a rough ride.

  Steph was back. She was quiet. No one was surprised.

  Harker tapped her pen. "Rice is giving public strokes to Governor Wheeling and releasing federal funds to help the farmers that were hit. Congress doesn't dare block it. It would cost them their seats if they did. But he's in a fight for his life as far as the election goes."

  "Politics stinks." Nick scratched his ear. "Now Dansinger's gone, that leaves Lodge."

  Korov thought, Now we will get to it.

  "It so happens that the President agrees with you."

  "Who killed Dansinger?"

  "That's the question, isn't it? Rice wants us to confront Lodge in person. He specifically wants you and I to do it. Perhaps Lodge knows who shot our friend of the farmers. I thought we'd bring Major Korov along in the spirit of international cooperation. So he can report to his boss."