All of the hell he had been through, the preparations, the hunting, the violence, everything, would be at an end, and for the first time in six months, he might have a good night's sleep.
*
Amanda “Mandy” Rohaz started getting curious when Kevin went from infiltrating an Omega Biotech station, wearing one of their uniforms, to escorting several execs to their Humvees. No matter what math she put together, Mandy couldn't make it add up to anything good. There were no Mercenaries, but heavily armed security, and Kevin just walked in and was accepted, so that meant that they were all in a hurry; and the longer they drove, the more certain she was that they were in a hurry to get the hell out of town.
Mandy rode a motorcycle the entire way, trailing the motorcade with the lights out. Her helmet had a built-in directional microphone, so she was able to catch snippets of conversation in the various armored cars. Once again, she wasn't thrilled with what was coming up; the phrase “bio-agent” was the least favorite word in any mercenary's professional vocabulary. They were all mean and ugly, and the smallest slip equaled death ... or as the equation went in her classes, “bio-weapons equal fecal-storm.”
Dammit, can't he keep his head down for a day?
Mandy fought the urge to push the cycle faster. Kevin could only be in the van for one reason: to try and stop Omega. It wasn't hard to figure what a terraforming company could do with a weapon that could clean out San Francisco. But at least Kevin was on board.
He should be able to handle Omega security without a problem... Mandy slowed to a stop as they reached the outer limits of the city, pondering if she should speed up to aide Kevin, or if she would only get in the way of whatever plan he had developed.
Mandy stopped and chuckled. He killed half a dozen senators and their security without a problem. He needs my help like a hole in the head. Besides, this is Anderson, what's he going to do, sit by and do nothing as a corporation wipes out a few million people? Ha!
She turned the motorcycle around, and drove back the way she came, certain that San Francisco would be safe from whatever plan Omega had in mind.
After all, Kevin would stop them. Obviously.
*
As Kevin Anderson pondered Omega's plan, he watched the urban setting grow more and more desolate, turning into the wasteland that surrounded San Francisco, revealing the true nature of the city he left. Beneath the grime of scavengers and the gleam of gilded Corporates, there was the Wasteland: social, cultural, moral, ethical, and perfectly modern. You don’t get more modern than nuclear bombs, after all … and isn't everyone perfectly “free” to be whatever they want to be? Though if this is liberalism, give me an old-fashioned dictatorship any day.
All he had to do...was nothing. Make no waves, be a good little boy and play nicely with the pleasant men with the chest full of bio-weapons. Let San Francisco die. This back end of hell he had been sentenced to. He could finally be allowed to mourn Moira in peace, let his body slow down without needing to worry about whether or not he would be coshed over the head for looking at someone the wrong way—or at all.
They really are all savages. They have only one goal from day to day: survive, and to forget and ignore the world around them. Killing them would be merciful, wouldn’t it? Put them all out of their misery. Most of them aren’t even human and—
Kevin caught himself... Not because he was being heartless and cynical about mass murder, at least not at first. It was because he knew exactly where the rhetoric came from...The Children of Thanatos.
Kevin paused. Could he really sacrifice a few million people just because he wanted a get-out-of-jail-free card? He told Mandy he would take responsibility for his actions, and take the consequences. Here he was, running away from them. He was aiding and abetting mass murder.
And to think I believed the solution to my problem was in that bloody box!
Kevin glanced over at the cooler, and paused. The cooler had the usual biohazard signs on it, colored a bright orange. Even the illiterate could understand.
There was one problem: the lettering was Arabic, but the words were French.
With a feeling of dread, Kevin smiled at one of the other guards. “So, this mission must have been a rush job, eh? No security screening on any of us, the no-questions-asked policy.”
One of the guards shrugged. “Nah, the plans've been drawn up since January, but we lost a few guards since then. You know how it is. It's San Francisco. They were about to cancel the whole project, but thankfully, the French backing came through, and the bio-agent research was sped up, so we're only a few months off schedule.”
Kevin went cold inside. French backing fueled this project after a delay in January. But what were they going to use to clear out the city if not bioweapons? They could easily use nuclear bombs; after the exchange of the April Fool's War, who would notice?
The French had their hooks in Omega Corporation, and San Francisco should have been wiped out in January, possibly with nukes. Nukes that I had destroyed.
Kevin tried to wrap his mind around it. The Senators he’d killed had been paid to protect the French nuclear arsenal; for the profits involved, the protection money must have seemed like the cost of doing business. A bioweapon was their backup plan …
And here was Kevin, right in the middle, helping the murderous bastards who had slaughtered his team.
Instead of screaming, Kevin smiled at one of the other guards. “So, how long does this thing take? The virus, that is.”
He shrugged. “Three hours. After that, symptoms appear, and an hour later, dead. Easily contained, and the dead aren’t contagious. Hell, they didn’t even need to make a vaccine for it!”
Kevin nodded, eyes seeming to say he was impressed. “Perfect.”
Kevin made it to the chest first, so he was carrying the chest to the back of the plane with only one other guard. They passed the soundly snoring passengers. There were a good number of women and children, the families of the execs and lab techs who were on the plane. Two kids were horsing around in their seats; another four played with their toys, and each other. Five were dressed up in their finest, as though going to church, and quietly reading books. The other children, and many of the women, were calmly, quietly asleep. They almost all seemed quite angelic...
Kevin sighed to himself. Are you kidding me? These people didn’t move their families out months ago? Self-centered little bastards.
Kevin’s mind became a tennis tournament between two ethical choices. He could simply steal the bioweapon on the way out the door. Omega had the scientists and their research, and they could start the process all over again. Therefore, this plane can't reach the East coast...and if I stay on board, I condemn over ten million people to death. Hundreds of women and children would die... to save San frigging – cisco. .
Kevin and the other guard delivered the chest to two men in biohazard suits. The white coats stood before an airlock for—weapon delivery. Kevin glanced over his shoulder. There was no one behind him. It was an 807 commercial plane, meant for carrying over four hundred people...And half the passengers would be families of the execs aboard the plane...versus millions in San Francisco.
This was the principle of double effect again. Senator Zalak Patel, back in DC, had been murdered by his wife only after she had murdered his girlfriend. Kevin had not expected that, either. But death happened in war. It shouldn't have happened there, but it had. And, now, Kevin had the same problem. No matter what he did, innocents would die. There were women and children out in San Francisco as well as on this plane. Freaks and monsters populated almost half the city, but what about the other half? Chinatown took me in, and like it or not, I know every street corner...and how many streets in this town have children, or families, and who aren’t part of the Manson Family? Is there the possibility of redemption for San Francisco? Is there hope for it? A better question should be, is there any hope at all? Answer … yes, because I'm still alive.
Kevin sighed deeply. And I will make this
sacrifice …
The other guard patted him on the shoulder, and started walking past to take his post at the door. “Screw it.”
Kevin grabbed the guard around the throat and twisted sharply, snapping his neck. Before he fell, Kevin pulled out his tactical baton and opened it with a flick of the wrist. He spun and cracked the baton against the chests of both the biohazard suits, deliberately breaking their communications gear. A sweep dropped both scientists on their backs like flipped over turtles. He didn’t even blink when he hammered their environmental pacts, destroying their ability to recycle air in the suits. They tried taking off their helmets to breathe, so Kevin broke their hands. He let them suffocate while he moved towards the chest. A Corporation wouldn’t take any risks with their execs, so he bet that there wouldn’t be any risk of contamination.
He popped open the chest. All the phials were still intact.
Kevin took an extra glove and carefully lifted a phial from the chest, then wrapped the glove around it. He doubled checked that chest was locked, and the delivery system was empty. That done, he moved to the rear door of the plane. Everyone was on board, and no one else would be back there while the plane was in mid-takeoff. Five minutes later, the announcement came. The plane would take off in thirty seconds.
Kevin grimaced, and then tossed the phial at the farthest air vent. Once he heard the shattering of glass, he sprinted down the stairs as they folded into the plane, and then leapt off onto the tarmac. The plane took off, but it would never make it to the East Coast. In four hours, everyone on board would be dead.
Thankfully, the company cars were left behind, since they couldn’t be loaded onto the plane. And with the amount of money Omega would make from their plan, cars were disposable. As Kevin drove, his first stop could not be home. His work wouldn’t be done until he sent a message. This could never happen again, and he needed to stop it from happening again.
When Kevin arrived, Shen Lo had told him that all the real power in the city was in the offices of the Hacker’s Union.
He had the feeling the Hackers would not be amused with Omega’s plan.
Chapter 27: The Dirty Simple Truth
Kyle Elsen had gotten the security layout for the building where Dunn both lived and worked. It was a large building, with security guards on each floor. Those would be no problem; he was more concerned with maids, janitors and other minor employees. Their uniforms were so easy to steal. Tonight, it would be the uniform of a janitor. It was late, and the second shift would have ended about an hour before. He slipped through the back entry via his lock-picking skills. At that hour, there would be janitors all over the building. Getting to the floor where Walter Dunn lived would be no problem.
According to Mac's data, Dunn had been preparing for a trip. Where he was going, it didn't say, but Dunn wouldn't get that far.
Amateurs… Kyle snorted softly with contempt. He shifted his weight, assuming ‘lower-level employee’ posture number 3. He filled his eyes with anger, a clear desire to be somewhere else, anywhere else, anyone else – someone who did not have to clean up the crap left behind by Corporate dilberts... He filled his eyes with the apparent desire to be among them.
Finally he reached Dunn’s floor, after spending time on either level around him, establishing his presence, making certain he was seen. The witnesses would be questioned, and not one of them would remember Kyle as anything unusual. Indeed, if they were to even mention him, it would be just as another janitor.
A great deal of his work had been unnecessary. There was no video system on the floor and the halls were virtually empty. After taking one last look around, Kyle headed for Walter Dunn’s rooms. He stopped in front of the door, as any peon would for a Corporate of any level, and pressed the chime.
“Who the hell is there?” The voice on the other end was not the voice of a strong man. Kyle’s opinion of Dunn began to drop even further, comfortably shifting his own voice into the servile whine of the peon.
“Room service, sir. I was told to come clean your room.”
The gruff voice spoke again. “Very well. Come in.”
The door slid open, and Kyle walked inside, hearing it shut behind him.
Dunn was a short, bony waste of a man, his eyes pale green, the only redeeming characteristic about him. He tried to move with confidence, but failed. It was obvious that he was trying to force it; Dunn was a man begging for respect from a world that didn't even notice.
A computer sat next to the apartment’s phone system, with a voice-shifter attached to the receiver. Dunn disappeared from sight for a moment. Kyle walked through the door and inside the apartment, and waited. Dunn came back, and didn’t even look up as Kyle stood there. He continued to load his suitcase, a box of condoms following a pair of fur-covered handcuffs. Obviously, Dunn thought with his lower head rather than the one on his shoulders.
Dunn took a moment there, stopping to take out a cigar and light it. He took a drag on the cigar, and a moment later, released the smoke from his mouth, attempting to appear suave and sophisticated. “Go ahead and get started. I have someplace to be, and I can’t sit here and wait for you to finish.” He tried to make himself sound more masculine.
Kyle took his dart gun from its hidden holster, leaving the knife where it was. “So. Was she worth it?”
Dunn’s voice was hard, or at least tried to be. “Was who worth what? Get back to work!” He looked up and saw the gun pointed at his face.
*
Alcatraz Island had once been a tourist facility. Ten years ago, even before the Last Day, it had stopped accommodating tourists. It fell into disuse, but not disrepair. The walls were meant to hold prisoners until the day they died, and three generations could have served life by now.
It was still a well-fortified position. Located in San Francisco Bay, its concrete walls and iron bars had held up well through the war, and the deadly riptides that prevented prisoners from escaping had not been affected by the environmental changes of The Last Day. San Francisco’s positioning had been in part what had saved it from dying from nuclear fallout.
San Francisco had always been a place where the climate was radically different from the rest of the West coast. Surrounded on three sides by water, the annual temperature was between 56 and 65 degrees, prompting the writer Mark Twain allegedly to comment “The coldest winter I’d ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” That climate differential affected the wind currents around the city, making certain that any airborne material left by the nuclear fallout had been blown around the city, and not through it.
The only downside to the environment was the fog—during December to March, the days were perfectly clear, but the rest of the year a thick fogbank concealed the entire city from view. The effect of this fog on Alcatraz had added to its use as a base for the members of the Hacker's Union to live and work.
Though Shen Lo had told Kevin Anderson that the Hackers ran the city, and were based in Chinatown, it wasn't strictly true. The Chinatown location was merely their forward position. The Union had its main base on the island of Alcatraz, but the last thing any of the Hackers wanted was for the island to be a concentrated target of the Corporations or their security forces. Most of San Francisco only knew that people lived on Alcatraz Island, but not who lived on and, more importantly, below it. And, the Hackers' main post in Chinatown was as well defended as it could be (including the dragon statues that breathed fire): outsiders could be seen coming blocks away, there was a border patrol, and it now had a guardian angel named Anderson. Before he had arrived, Chinatown was one of the safest places in San Francisco. Now that he was there, it was the safest, period.
The workspace for most of the hackers, in some kind of cosmic joke, was located in and several floors below the prisoners’ areas. Offices were made out of old cells, while smaller cubicles took up the central walkway. The Hackers’ living spaces were in what had been the section originally meant for the families of prison guards.
Kaye Wellering, Pre
sident of the Hacker's Union, had the room meant for the warden.
Today, however, Kaye walked into a different office. Granted, this was more of a broom closet than an office. Certainly, hers was bigger. Then again, even an 8x6 foot cell was bigger, but this was her public office, to interact with outsiders. It was rarely used, but it gave the effect Kaye wanted—she didn’t want anyone to know she was the head of the Hacker’s Union—not unless she chose to tell them to.
Then again, most people didn’t even know that Alcatraz housed the Hacker’s Union.
The man sitting in the guest chair was on his feet within a moment. He smiled faintly and half-bowed. It wasn’t graceful, but he tried.
Kevin Anderson allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of the attractive woman before him. She was 5’ 2” tall, but more athletic than many of the people on the street, and she was just well proportioned enough to be worth looking at. She walked past him, barely acknowledging his welcome with a nod. He enjoyed the view as she walked, but made certain to maintain eye contact when she faced him. Her green eyes studied him briefly, but he would lay money that she took in about as much about him as he had of her.
Kaye was as observant as the man before her, and he had been trained to observe—hers was a gift. He wasn’t incredibly handsome, but she could tell he worked out—outside of the MegaCorps, there was no such thing as a fat survivor, but he had muscles. He also had a strong jaw that was marked with a long thin scar down his left side. His brown hair was a little shaggy, and all in all, he looked like hell, but then again, he didn’t look like he had slept, either. However, his dark hazel eyes scanned her and the room, missing nothing. At the moment, he wore a security uniform, but stripped of the usual patches and markings.
He was cute, but this was business. “How are you enjoying your stay in our fair city, Mr. Kevin Anderson?” she asked as she sat behind her desk, opening her computer. “Or should I call you Lt. Anderson, of the United States Special Forces?”
Codename: Winterborn (The Last Survivors Book 1) Page 30