Looking around, she found the light switch.
I don’t know what’s going on, but this damn sure ain’t legit.
She switched on the lights and turned to confront the two men.
* * * *
Zed silently led the way through the research department’s lobby into the back area, using a small LED flashlight to guide them so they didn’t have to turn on lights. They quickly located the department’s storeroom and once in there the hunt began. Both men pulled down their surgical masks so they could more easily whisper back and forth.
After twenty minutes of searching, they’d finally located the culture medium they needed on the shelves and took two of the three boxes, opening the third box and removing half the contents.
From his messenger bag, Zed produced two empty backpacks. They sliced the boxes open and started carefully transferring the contents into the backpacks. Five minutes later, they were done.
Uncle sliced the packing tape on the bottom of the two empty boxes and collapsed them flat, folding them so they’d fit inside Zed’s messenger bag. They would dispose of them elsewhere.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Zed turned and offered up a fist to Uncle, who bumped with him before turning.
That’s when their plan unraveled as the lights snapped on and a woman doctor stood there, blocking their exit.
“What’s going on? Who are you, and what are you doing in here?”
Chapter Five
Reverend Hannibal Silo, founder and leader of the Church of the Rising Sunset, was celebrating Thanksgiving Thursday at his church’s Vermont stronghold.
And not just because he wanted to personally mingle with the residents there, either.
Against Jerald’s most strenuous recommendations, Silo had left him behind in St. Louis, at the stronghold there, which had become their new church headquarters. Silo had a suspicion his right-hand man was meddling behind the scenes, filtering the information Silo received.
Silo also suspected Jerald might be monitoring his calls. Maybe even had video and audio surveillance in his office and quarters.
Wouldn’t put it past the guy. It was, after all, what he’d do if he could get away with it.
Lord knows he’d tried, but the equipment he’d secretly had installed in Jerald’s office had stopped working less than a week after he’d had it put in.
Silo hadn’t tried again, and Jerald never mentioned it, so Silo wrote it off as not worth the effort.
So Silo wanted to be here, in Vermont, where he could get out and around without Jerald literally looking over his shoulder.
Where he had a couple of burner phones stashed in his private quarters. Burner phones he’d purchased and left there, phones which Jerald knew nothing about.
Silo had a couple of contacts he wanted to touch base with, people whose existence he’d purposefully never revealed to Jerald. That morning immediately after his arrival, Silo had gone downstairs to the compound’s outside commons area and used one of his burner phones to arrange a meeting with one of those contacts.
One he rarely used, but to whom he’d paid hefty “consultant fees” for their services rendered, when needed.
Now, he needed those services once more. He wanted the research lab at the Atlanta CDC taken down.
Permanently.
The government could not be allowed to get their hands on a Kite vaccine before his own scientists. Making it look like some sort of religious insurgent attack would help turn people toward his faith—and his church—as well as muddy the public relations waters so Silo could put his lab ahead of the bell curve in terms of coming up with a vaccine first.
He was rapidly losing every single damn advantage he had if he wanted any chance of ever being elected President.
The damn President herself had even gone off the reservation, now firmly under the control and protection of General Joseph Arliss, who’d managed to outmaneuver all their plans thus far.
After lunch, Silo took one of the church’s cars and left the compound without checking in with security. This compound wasn’t locked down—yet.
Whether or not Jerald would know about his movements remained to be seen. He didn’t care after the fact. Not like Jerald would be able to discover who he’d talked to.
The small town near the compound had a couple of restaurants. Silo had arranged to meet the man at one of them. Silo wore a hat and coat that masked his appearance somewhat and helped keep him from drawing undue attention to himself.
When the man slid into the other side of the booth right on time, he smiled at Silo.
“Imagine meeting you here,” his contact said.
Silo leaned in. “Cut the crap,” he whispered. “I have a big job for you.”
“I figured it had to be. Arliss pretty much put your face on a dartboard all over DC. What the hell you been doing to piss him off?”
The man sitting across from Silo, Darwin Goldfinch, was a high-ranking CIA official in charge of field operations all over the world and a master in dirty tricks himself. With no dirt on the man, Silo’s only hold over him was giving him hefty payments in cash when Silo needed his assistance.
“That’s backward,” Silo said. “It’s what he’s been doing to piss me off.”
The man’s smile faded. “I’m not hooked into his food chain. Unfortunately, I can’t get hooked in, either. He’s locked stuff down so tight there’s not a hope of sliding past him. It’d literally be suicide. I know of at least four people who’ve simply ‘disappeared’ in the last few weeks after crossing him, people I know were in some way beholden to you, and there’s not a damn thing being said or done about it. He’s untouchable.”
“I don’t need into his food chain. I need a trustworthy team beyond the reach of his influence. The best money can buy.”
“Guns?”
“And then some.”
Goldfinch leaned back and rubbed at his chin. “How many we talking? And I need an idea of what the objective is before I can hire it out.”
“Atlanta. The CDC research lab there.”
Goldfinch frowned and leaned in again after scanning the room. His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “To do what, exactly? That’s where they’re running the primary Kite virus research out of. There’s a damn SOTIF team protecting that place. Reliable rumors have it as more than one SOTIF team.”
Silo inwardly swore. “Which ones?”
“How do I know which ones? Does it really matter? They’re fucking SOTIF. I can tell you right now I’m not likely to find anyone who will willingly go up against that shit. Not anyone who speaks good enough English to know who they’re going up against, at least, who will be worth a shit. Most of my reliable overseas contacts are either dead or missing.”
Reining in his anger, Silo clenched his fists in his lap under the table. “You have to be able to find someone. Price is no object. Literally.”
“Last time I had to hire you someone, it was a million. Something this size, you’re looking at five million, at least. If not way more. You get the kind of help you pay for.”
“You can have ten if it gets me what I want. More, if need be.”
The man studied Silo for a moment. “What, exactly, is it that you want to accomplish with this?”
“I want the team to walk into Atlanta, find the scientists and samples, acquire both, and safely transport them all to the lab at my St. Louis compound. And I want them to continue guarding them—extra pay, of course—there in the St. Louis lab, in secret, until the scientists have a Kite vaccine ready to go.”
Silo leaned back, smiling. “Of course, they will be guaranteed first crack at a vaccine, free, as a bonus for their services. And any family they might have.”
Silo could tell from the look on the man’s face that he was still trying to process what Silo had just proposed.
“You’re fucking insane,” Goldfinch whispered. “Absolutely, certifiably, bugnuts crazy. Why? Why do you want to do that and set back the research process?”
“You don’t really believe that…do you?”
Silo sensed the slightest bit of doubt in the man’s voice and expression and pressed the advantage. “You’ve been part of the government machine for over thirty years now. You know how dirty tricks work from the inside out. What, you think our government isn’t above allowing an apocalypse to do its dirty work for them? China was our closest economic competitor and it’s practically dark there now, according to my sources. India and Pakistan are already written off, as are other countries in the Indo-China region. With the right operatives, US military interests will be able to take over the world’s weapons stockpiles and basically control everything. Name the last military coup that worked out well for the average citizen.”
Goldfinch settled back again and studied Silo for a long, quiet moment. “Is that why Arliss has such a hard-on for you? You’re trying to ‘protect the flock’ from his secular flavor of evil?” He used air quotes around the phrase.
Silo shrugged. “I know my wife had help leaving. She disappears, and then Arliss appears on TV with the President, basically telling people to stop contributing to my church when he knows we have a lab trying to work on a vaccine, too? You said it yourself—he’s got a hard-on for me. Why? You don’t find that extremely suspicious? All I’m guilty of is trying to find a vaccine to keep people from dying.”
Goldfinch’s gaze narrowed. “Bullshit. I personally know some of what you’re guilty of. I’m sure there’s a hell of a lot more I don’t know about.”
Silo let out a melodramatic sigh. “The dead can’t tithe, Goldfinch. This time, yes, the greater good happens to perfectly align with my own desires. I won’t complain about or apologize for that.” Silo knew if he finessed this the right way, he had a chance.
A slight chance, but he’d take it.
Because it was likely his last good chance.
The waitress came and took their drink and meal orders. Since they were open on the holiday, their menu was limited to turkey or roast beef with the holiday trimmings. Silo hadn’t eaten much at lunch, wanting to make it look, as per Jerald’s recommendations, that he wasn’t in good health.
So now, of course, he was fucking starving.
When the waitress left, Silo leaned in again, having been watching the wheels turning behind the other man’s eyes. “You know I’m right about this,” Silo said, wanting to securely set the hook in this fish. “How many dirty tricks have you personally been responsible for over the years, again?”
He met Silo’s gaze. “Ten million dollars, huh?”
Yes! Silo slowly nodded. “Absolutely.”
Goldfinch leaned forward once more. “What’s your angle? Honestly?”
“My angle is that I had a huge world-wide flock. A cushy existence? Yeah. So sue me. Arliss is likely trying for some sort of silent military coup under the guise of FEMA executive orders from the President due to the emergency. I need to be able to have a church left to help counteract his plans. And, quite honestly, about all I have left are the US, Canada, some of Western Europe, and Australia. The rest of the world is gone. Along with close to fifty percent of our annual income. We get over seventy-five percent of our donations from the lower ninety-five percent of the world’s population in terms of income. The poor. The wretched. The ones Arliss will likely see exterminated first. Where does that leave my church’s finances? In the shitter.”
Goldfinch arched an eyebrow at him. “So not completely altruistic reasons.”
“Mostly, and between you and me I won’t deny my other motives. I don’t want the world to die. For crying out loud, I live here, too. Frankly, I enjoy the level of comfort I’ve been living and would like to see that continue. But I also don’t want the world to devolve into some militaristic society where God has no place, either. I won’t apologize for the fact that my desires and what’s best for the world as a whole are in perfect alignment.”
After a long moment, the guy slowly nodded. “Can’t say I’m singing your spiritual song, but I have to admit, that makes sense. It would certainly explain a lot of things I’ve been seeing. Been wondering what was going on, but keep in mind I absolutely cannot raise any red flags by drawing attention to myself.” He met Silo’s gaze. “I won’t promise you anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Silo smiled. “That’s all I can ask, son.”
* * * *
After their meal, Silo returned to the compound and sequestered himself in his quarters. He’d never admit it to anyone else, but without Mary’s silent presence, he felt…well, a little lonely.
He resisted the urge to look up the girl he’d selected to be his bride at that compound. He already knew she and her mother and younger sister were in residence, the mother now employed in the dining room, making more money than she did before.
No good would come of going down that path at this time. It would simply raise a lot of red flags and bring more unwanted attention upon him.
As he stood at the windows in his private residence and stared down at the courtyard area below, he thought about ignoring his ringing cell phone—Jerald, again—but decided to answer it.
“Yes?”
Jerald sounded a little wary. “Is everything going all right, sir?”
Silo didn’t even know why they were still going through the pleasantries. He knew he was locked in a silent war with Jerald. He suspected the man had murdered Dr. Isley, the psychiatrist who’d kept Mary heavily medicated for decades, and a man who knew the truth about what had been going on at the LA Preachsearch Project clinic because Isley had helped set it up.
Silo had no proof of Jerald murdering Isley, especially since it’d been ruled a suicide by the police, but Silo wouldn’t doubt his intuition in this instance.
“Everything’s fine. Why?”
“You didn’t answer the phone when I called earlier.”
“I didn’t want to. What do you need?”
That seemed to put Jerald off his game. The man hesitated. “How does everything appear there, sir?”
“It would seem to be fine. The manager has been very nice and hasn’t reported any issues. Have you re-established contact with California yet?”
“No. My sources tell me it might be a while.”
Dammit. That was something else he’d meant to ask Goldfinch about at their meeting, if the man could look into that situation and see if Jerald was being completely honest with him.
He suspected Jerald wasn’t.
* * * *
“Make sure to keep me posted,” Silo said.
“Of course.” Jerald knew he absolutely had to keep any knowledge about what really happened in California—and at the Houston lab—secret from Hannibal. Jerald couldn’t be entirely sure Hannibal wasn’t in contact with someone Jerald didn’t know about.
With Silo alone outside the St. Louis stronghold, Jerald couldn’t keep close tabs on him. Jerald never had surveillance installed at the other strongholds, mostly because he hadn’t had time, and had never anticipated events spiraling out of control like they currently were.
Never anticipated Hannibal going completely batcrap crazy.
What he didn’t like was how the man sounded—happy. Hannibal had not sounded or acted happy since Mary had escaped.
The only thing Jerald could think of that might make Hannibal happy wa
s the man setting another secret plan in motion.
Actually, the only thing, other than finding Mary Silo and bringing her in, but Silo would have alerted Jerald about that so he could update the media and law enforcement.
And start arranging her funeral.
“Are you still planning on returning on Monday?” Jerald asked him.
“Yes, after the morning sermon. Are the crews ready to film it?”
“They will be, sir.” Jerald also hated like hell that the man would be out of direct contact for that many days.
Note to self, get surveillance installed at the other compounds.
Well, except California.
“Good. Keep me posted of any changes.”
Then, Silo hung up.
Jerald stared at his phone. “Asshole,” he muttered.
He knew he needed to put his own operatives into place to try to locate Mary Silo, outside of Hannibal finding out.
Then he could kill Hannibal, bring Mary in, and take her out.
Or find a damned doctor who could drug her out of her mind for real and use her as a puppet controller until the heat died down about Hannibal kicking the bucket.
Leaning back in his chair, Jerald pondered his options. He’d spent too much time trying to protect and insulate himself, setting things up so that he had a safety net and fake IDs ready so he could disappear any time he chose.
Except Mary Silo disappeared out of the blue.
Except Barstow.
Those were things he’d not prepared for, things he never could have foreseen. No idiot, Jerald knew if he left at this time and Hannibal was still alive, Hannibal would bury him and point every finger and then some right at him. Once again playing the victim and martyr and wronged party.
It was kind of his schtick, an act Jerald had helped him perfect.
Dammit.
Now, he was stuck. Unless Kite came calling, which would make anything Hannibal tried to pin on him the least of the police’s worries and allow him a way to escape unnoticed.
Monkey See, Monkey Do [Drunk Monkeys 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 4