Lethal Misconduct

by C. G. Cooper

  “Are you sure?” asked the president.

  “Yes, sir,” said Dr. Price.

  “You’re actually telling me that somehow, a rogue Army colonel has developed a biological weapon right under our noses?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Explain to me how it works, Doctor.”

  Price began. “In a nutshell, they’ve figured out how to reverse my cure and use it as sort of a cancer magnet, a magnifier. Instead of getting the cancer to assimilate with a human body, their serum actually triggers a chain reaction. Everyone has dormant pre-cancer cells living in them, and we don’t fully know why some people’s become activated and others’ don’t. Merrifield’s discovery triggers the cancer cells and accelerates their growth, exponentially. It’s like a series of explosions going off in your body. To make matters worse, they’d also figured out how to target based on race.”

  “How the hell do they do that?” asked Zimmer.

  “Merrifield’s specialty is DNA mapping. He figured out a way to hone in on a specific DNA marker. He’s started with race.”

  “So you’re saying that the drug may not affect me, but it could affect someone of Asian descent.”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Now, it might not be the broader Asian race, that could be all of us seeing as how we’re all related, but it would be a small subset that he’s somehow parceled out of the larger gene pool.”

  “I’ll take your word on that, but there still seems to be the issue that most biological weapons have: deployment. Is Cromwell planning on going around injecting people with this stuff?”

  Dr. Price’s face colored. “No, sir. I…it was actually part of my research that helped them. I initially made the vaccine to be taken orally like the Colombian tribe had done. Its potency was the same as if I’d given it to them intravenously.”

  Travis spoke up next. “That’s all good if you can make people drink it, but other than contaminating a city’s water supply, that type of deployment doesn’t seem like that big of a risk.”

  Price looked at Cal, who nodded for him to continue.

  “Actually, they could,” said Price, his face grave. “If I didn’t loath what he’s done, I’d call Merrifield an otherworldly genius. In the time he’s had to develop this solution, he’s not only figured out how to make it smart by targeting a person’s DNA, but he’s also figured out how to make it proliferate. He’s made it contagious.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the president.

  “I saw the evidence, and you know I’m not a science whiz,” said Cal. “This stuff is bad news. Dr. Price is right. If it weren’t so illegal and so deadly, it would be genius. But you haven’t even asked the most important question yet.”

  “And what’s that?” asked the president.

  “Ask us who they’re targeting.”

  The president’s eyes narrowed. “Who are they targeting?”

  “Arabs.”

  +++

  Col. Cromwell had a world map spread out on the corner table in his office. He’d been one of the few to foretell the rise of Islamic radicalism, easily predicting its spread through the Middle East and now seeping into poor third world countries. The atrocities of 9/11 gave it a face.

  He could remember getting the news about the World Trade attack during a fact-finding mission to Nigeria. He’d never felt so far away from his home, and yet, he wasn’t surprised.

  Other countries understood the threat. They’d battled it for centuries. The Israelis, the Brits, hell even the French. America was the new kid on the block, its citizens still naive to much of the horrors the rest of the world faced. In America, if you were hungry, you could go to the government for a hand out. In America, if someone threatened you, you assumed the police could handle it.

  Cromwell knew evil. He’d seen it all over the world. While he’d busied himself with battling unseen diseases, he always kept his eye on the horizon, waiting for the next terrorist strike. It was inevitable. The United States stepped on too many toes. Not that it shouldn’t, but the lapse of strength shown by the last president left a void that terrorists were only too happy to fill.

  Col. Cromwell believed in a strong America, one who could not only dole out humanitarian aid, as he had through the years, but could also crush those who sought to keep their fellow man under foot. The new breed of terrorists was the evil he secretly wished to destroy.

  When the idea had come to blend his new specialties with his ultimate desire, Cromwell jumped at the chance. Not only had Price’s discovery been miraculous, but through a bit of imagination, Cromwell was given the ability to fulfill his dream.

  Some men dreamt of wealth and power. Others spent their days whoring and polluting their bodies with foreign substances. Cromwell wished for revenge.

  He saw every action he’d taken in his pursuit as a necessary step in accomplishing his task. If the civilized world wanted to stamp out extremism, the way to do it wasn’t one by one. The best way, the way that would strike fear in the hearts of even the most radical extremists, was through something so invisible and so deadly that the most devout of followers would have no option other than to question their faith.

  Yes, their women and children would have to die, but that was the price Cromwell was willing to pay. Us or them. You could not negotiate with terrorists. You could only kill them.

  His hand swept across the coated map and he imagined the disappearance of every Arab in the Middle East, and then the world. While at first repulsed, countries would soon repopulate those areaa. Like the Earth healing from a deep scar, so would the civilized world. They would come to realize that evil breeds its own death.

  He was so close to holding all the power, to making his enemies kneel and ask for forgiveness just for a chance to live. Cromwell would not give it. There would be no remorse, just as there would be no quarter given to his enemy. This was a fight to the death, and Col. Gormon Cromwell meant to pave the way with the bodies of his foes.

  Chapter 28

  Washington, D.C.

  4:07pm, April 10th

  The alert went out quietly, the heads of Federal law enforcement agencies notified first. No names were given and the specific threat was never mentioned. That meant only one thing: the White House believed there was a very real chance of an insider attack, something catastrophic.

  Cal had tried to dissuade the president from pressing the panic button, but he’d been overruled. There were too many things that could go wrong. What if Cromwell’s weapon got out? What if they’d already shipped? What if, what if, what if…

  Cal didn’t like what ifs. He’d learned in the Marine Corps that you could ‘What If’ a plan to death, because everything changed when the battle was met. He had the ominous feeling that the same thing was about to happen. Cromwell was too smart. He’d probably put contingencies in place just in case he was discovered.

  A scheme of this magnitude went beyond simple monetary gain. Cromwell had something to prove and Cal would bet his life that the Army colonel would gladly go down swinging.

  They’d located Cromwell at his office and were waiting for confirmation from MSgt Trent, who was posing as an NIH investigator, that he was still there. If he was, the president had authorized a joint operation with the FBI to take Cromwell into custody. Four teams were waiting around the block for Trent’s signal, Cal among them.

  The call came a moment later over the radio.

  “He’s not here,” said Trent

  “Does anyone know where he went?” asked Cal.

  “His secretary said he’d be out for the day. Early dinner and then a meeting.”

  It would’ve been too easy. Cal hoped Cromwell hadn’t been tipped off. If he had, they’d just missed their chance.

  +++

  Malik Vespers drove with practiced precision, weaving in and out of Beltway traffic, slowing, then speeding. Never too fast, always in control. Cromwell sat in the passenger seat of their third vehicle, seething.

  He’d received t
he urgent call just as he was outlining the final phase to Vespers. It was Senator Thompson who’d alerted him of the danger.

  “You need to disappear for a while,” Thompson had said.

  “What happened?”

  “They’re passing word down from on high about a new threat. The way they’re talking, it has something to do with an insider. Are you sure no one’s been watching you?”

  “You can never be one hundred percent sure, but we’ve taken the appropriate precautions,” Cromwell answered, not convinced that he was in any real danger. He wasn’t a novice. “Why do you think this is linked to me?”

  “Let’s just say the words NIH and biological weapons were thrown around. I had to pull some teeth just to get that much.”

  That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “Okay. I’ll take off for a while. You know how to find me.”

  They’d left the office through the underground garage, in a vehicle normally used by interns. Small, nondescript, and thankfully with tinted windows, the GM knock-off made the perfect first getaway vehicle. If anyone was watching, they’d be looking for his personal car, or possibly the pickup truck Vespers drove.

  He thought as Vespers drove. There was only one person who’d have to the nerve to out him: Hunter Price. But how had Price gotten the word out? It didn’t matter. What mattered was protecting his project at all costs. Cromwell was more than willing to give his life as long as he could deploy his weapon first.

  If only Merrifield could speed up the process. Luckily no one knew about the facility or what was going on inside. He and Dr. Merrifield were the only ones who knew how to make sense of the data being mined by the teams at the Fredericksburg facility.

  Vespers was just getting off at the Seven Corners exit when Cromwell’s phone dinged. A text.

  Cromwell read the message and smiled. He’d just gotten his answer.

  +++

  “Pack everyone up. We need to get down to Fredericksburg as quick as we can,” said Cal over the operational radio.

  “We’ve got the pilots warming the birds up, Mr. Stokes,” said the FBI agent assigned to lead the Bureau’s contingent. The man had been told to give Cal and his men anything they needed.

  “Good.” Cal hoped Cromwell hadn’t gotten too far ahead of them. If they lost Merrifield, the president was going to lock down the whole east coast. He hoped for a little bit of luck.

  +++

  Dr. Merrifield hurried through his office, packing the few items he thought he’d need. Cromwell’s message had been clear: GET OUT NOW.

  Merrifield knew what that meant. Someone had found out about his research. Just like Cromwell, this project had become more than a job for the French-born scientist. Sometimes he lay awake at night dreaming of his drug’s spindly tendrils reaching out into the world, repaying the people who’d not only attacked his new home, but had also infiltrated his native country to an alarming degree.

  When he’d first started his work for Cromwell, Merrifield hadn’t completely understood. Now he did. It would take evil to defeat evil. Why wait until another attack hit the West? Cromwell’s ideals had latched on to Merrifield’s psyche. Hand in hand they would deliver the solution to the world.

  As luck would have it, the night before was when the answer had come. He’d rushed back to the lab to see if his dream-induced epiphany would work. It did, and in stunning fashion.

  He took one last look at his office and headed for the exit.

  Chapter 29

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  5:45pm, April 10th

  Once again, MSgt Trent volunteered to go in first. Armed with a personality that could talk its way past the sternest gatekeeper, plus a signed inspection affidavit from the NIH, the huge Marine chatted with the guards just inside the front door.

  “I’m sorry, sir, Dr. Merrifield just left.”

  “Did he say when he’d be back?” asked Trent.

  “He didn’t. I’d be happy to take your contact information, or you’re more than welcome to wait.”

  Neither of the pistol toting rent-a-cops seemed like they were lying. Trent shrugged. “Not a big deal. I was just in the neighborhood and my boss wanted me to check in on his work.”

  “Would you like me to get Dr. Merrifield’s assistant?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Would you mind giving me Dr. Merrifield’s cell phone number? The one they gave me says it’s no longer in service. I’ll give him a call and schedule something for tomorrow. My fault for not calling ahead.”

  One of the guards asked to see Trent’s identification again, which he provided. “Yes, sir. Let me write it down for you.”

  Trent headed back to the vehicle where Cal and Daniel were waiting. They’d already heard everything from the mic Trent was wearing concealed in his American flag tie.

  The first thing they did was relay Merrifield’s cell phone number to their FBI counterparts and to Neil, who was in a command vehicle a couple blocks away. Maybe they’d get lucky.

  +++

  Cromwell couldn’t believe how quickly things had gone from bad to worse. Not only had he gotten messages from multiple contacts within the FBI and Homeland Security, the guards at the Fredericksburg lab also reported the visit of a Mr. Charles Randall, an investigator from the NIH.

  Cromwell would’ve heard if his own hierarchy was sending someone to one of his facilities. No one ever went around him. This was another agency trying to get their hands on Merrifield and his research.

  Luckily he’d gotten confirmation from Merrifield that he was safely on his way to their rendezvous point, research in tow. It wouldn’t be long. With the completed formula in hand, nothing could stop them now. The cycle was almost complete.

  He ignored his cell phone. Another text from Sen. Thompson. Cromwell had a feeling that the wily senator was involved with the leak. Maybe he’d gotten cold feet. Maybe he thought it was time to have Cromwell removed. It didn’t matter. Within hours he would be gone, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

  +++

  Plum Tree Island National Wildlife Refuge

  Gillespie Dukes sat in the captain’s chair of his brand new seventy-six foot Viking Convertible saltwater fishing boat. Its robin’s egg blue hull bobbed gently in the surf just off the point of the national wildlife refuge. His son was down below prepping the small inflatable they’d use to pick up their customers from shore.

  Dukes waved to a freight liner cruising down the center of the Chesapeake Bay, heading out to sea.

  Since childhood, Gillespie Dukes had known almost nothing but the sea. Raised in nearby Yorktown, Virginia, he’d cruised the countless inlets and byways of Mobjack Bay, Pocomoke Sound and, of course, the mighty Potomac. First he’d gone along with his father, a crusty fisherman. He hadn’t known until he turned sixteen that his father did very little fishing.

  “How do you think I paid for that nice house we’ve got on the bay, son?” his father had asked.

  “Crabs?”

  His father had laughed. “Did I ever tell you the story of your great, great grandfather?”

  Gillespie had rolled his eyes. He’d heard the story a thousand times. According to his father, most of their ancestors were the noble pirates, or privateers, who’d worked the American coastline since before the United State’s revolution. First employed by the lords of Great Britain, and then by rich colonists and revolutionaries, the Dukes had supposedly been into all sorts of smuggling and thievery. But Gillespie had always thought his father was pulling his leg, trying to get him to believe a truth stretched to impress a son.

  “Sure, dad. You’ve told me a bunch of stories.”

  His father nodded, recognizing the look of bored disbelief in his son’s eyes. “So you don’t believe the stories?”

  Gillespie shook his head.

  “That’s your right. Tell you what. Come with me tonight and I’ll prove it to you.”

  Sixteen-year-old Gillespie had wanted to say no, to take off and meet up
with his buddies in a little cove they’d found and drink the beers his friend Billy had snatched from his grandfather’s fridge. But he knew his dad wasn’t going to let up. Truth be told, he was a little bit curious.

  Oh, how Gillespie’s eyes had gone wide that night. Not a mile from where he now sat in his own boat, his father’s old skiff met a boat full of Asians. Brought in by some container ship from China, the filthy stinking specimens were to be shuttled to their next destination. It was his father’s job to get them there.

  After the passengers were stowed and half the money paid, Gillespie sat on deck with his father’s shotgun, told to make sure none of their cargo escaped. He often wondered if he could have shot someone at such a young age. Now he wouldn’t think twice, but that had been his very first mission.

  There’d been countless others over the years. Sometimes slaves. Other times weapons, exotic animals or counterfeit cash. He never really cared what he was delivering, just that he was paid. Once his father retired, he changed the business plan and always insisted on the full fee upfront. He was good for it and anyone who hired him knew it.

  The job he was waiting to do now was his biggest payday in years, and might turn out to be his easiest. Three passengers and a leisurely trip out to sea. A piece of cake.

  Everyone always enjoyed a first class experience when they hired Gillespie Dukes. This time more than others, thanks to his shiny new boat, courtesy of the hefty sum from his latest customer.

  Chapter 30

  Washington, D.C.

  6:28pm, April 10th

  Senator Mac Thompson paced back and forth across the Oriental rug. If he did much more of it he was sure to wear a path right down the middle.

  His plans of getting away unscathed seemed fleeting. Not only was Cromwell not answering his calls and texts, he couldn’t get anything from his contacts. The information chain had effectively been cut off. It was like flying in the dark, something the seasoned senator hated doing.