Resistant

by Michael Palmer

  They were halfway across the room when they heard a radio transmission echoing from the passageway to their right—the central passageway through the castle.

  Burke.

  “I just left Jessup. He called me down because he just discovered he has them on camera,” he was saying. “Two of them, using what looks like C-4 to take the guardhouse door off. Can’t make them out in the dark. Looks like professional work. Probably FBI. Any word from Drake or Collins? If the intruders who did the guardhouse are FBI, they’re both dead.”

  Vaill did not react.

  “He’s right over there, in the passageway,” Lou whispered urgently. He gave a hard tug on Vaill’s sleeve, asking him to pull back and find a hiding place for an ambush. As if under a spell, Vaill remained rooted where he stood, out in the open. He was squinting. Tears of pain had formed at the corners of his eyes.

  This was no false alarm.

  “Tim, take cover,” Lou said more urgently now.

  The agent stood rigidly upright, his pistol dangling at his side. His eyes were nearly closed.

  “… The situation certainly looks dangerous,” Burke went on, his voice getting louder as he approached. “I think we should keep Miller and Kazimi in the lab. I’m going there to check on them now. I’ll bring them to your study to meet the new arrival once I clean up this mess.”

  Burke, radio to his ear, strode into the Great Room and immediately spotted first Vaill, then Lou, both out in the open. Vaill was a step in front, partially blocking Lou’s line of sight. Burke wasted no time reaching for his weapon. Vaill, holding his at his side, was clearly too distracted by the pain in his head to move.

  Lou leveled his Glock, but with Vaill out in front, could not get off a clean shot.

  “That’s Burke!” he shouted. “Dammit, Tim, shoot!”

  The delay was an eternity. Not even bothering to seek cover, Burke calmly raised his gun and fired, hitting Vaill squarely in the chest once, then again. It was as if he assumed Vaill was wearing Kevlar, and was purposely firing to stun, not to kill. The impact knocked Vaill off of his feet and onto his butt. Lou dove to his right, ducking behind an oversized armchair, wondering how much protection the cushions might afford. Twenty feet toward the massive windows, Burke stood erect, scanning the scene in front of him. It was then Lou realized the man was smiling.

  Lou poked up from behind the chair just long enough to fire off several shots, all misses.

  The bright flashes made his eyes tear; the acrid stench of gunpowder assaulted his nostrils; and the shots were temporarily deafening. He was a neophyte in a gun battle with a highly trained killer. Not good. Keeping his head down, he shot almost blindly toward where he thought the man was standing. He hit a window, shattering one of the panes, and at least forcing Burke to take some cover beside a leather sofa.

  To Lou’s left, he saw that Vaill had clumsily retrieved his gun and stumbled to his feet. The vagueness in his eyes persisted. Lou could see the holes where at least two bullets had torn through his shirt and slammed into his bulletproof vest.

  Thank God for Kevlar, Lou was thinking. But he knew it was just a matter of time—and not much time at that. In his condition, Vaill was even more of a mismatch for Burke than he was.

  “Tim, get down!” he cried.

  He fired another burst, this time, it seemed, with more patience and control. In fact, his third shot struck Burke somewhere in the upper leg. The killer swore and immediately fired back an angry volley, striking the sturdy easy chair inches from Lou’s ear. The way Burke lurched backward but did not fall, Lou felt certain that the wound was muscle or merely flesh, not bone.

  Ignoring his leg, which was already bleeding through his khakis, Burke inserted a new ammo clip, hobbled to his right, and stopped in front of the massive windows, not fifteen feet from Vaill, who was still raising his weapon. Burke, his expression nearly serene, leveled his gun at the man he had not long ago failed to kill.

  Lou, twenty-five feet away, and almost directly behind Vaill, watched the terrible scene unfold as if it were in slow motion.

  “Maria,” he heard Vaill whisper, once and then again. “Maria.”

  Lou stood and quickly moved to his left to open up a line of fire. He was Vaill’s backup. They were partners now. He trained his Glock in Burke’s direction and fired.

  The click from his empty chamber was as loud as any gunshot.

  An instant later, the Great Room erupted. More noise, more flashes, and more stench of gunpowder. One of the bullets from Burke’s gun struck Vaill in the neck. Another slammed into his shoulder, where the Kevlar offered no protection. A geyser of blood erupted from the neck wound spraying in all directions, bathing his face and clothes, and turning the floor at his feet crimson.

  Lou stood helplessly as Vaill dropped his gun and stumbled back a step. But somehow, he refused to go down.

  “Maria,” he said, louder than before. “I … love … you.”

  Then, to Lou’s astonishment, the wounded agent, more dead than alive, charged forward, blood spraying from the grotesque holes in his neck and shoulder. The killer fired once more from no more than ten feet. Then again. The first shot shattered Vaill’s forearm. The second went through his mouth and out his cheek. Legs still pumping furiously, Vaill cleared the last five feet.

  Burke was wide-eyed, raising his gun for a center forehead killshot, when the bloody apparition lowered his shoulder and hit him with intense force. In that same motion, Vaill locked his arms around Burke’s midsection, and drove him backward like a linebacker tackling in the open field.

  The two enemies, one essentially dead, one about to be, slammed against one of the massive windows, and then continued through it into the ebony night.

  Amid the sound of glass raining down onto the stone floor, Lou swore he heard Vaill cry out his wife’s name one final time.

  CHAPTER 53

  It is folly to consider that spending on bloated, parasitic entitlement programs occurs within a vacuum, for each expenditure will put a drain on other worthy causes, such as our defense force, which our Constitution obligates us to maintain.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, A Secret Worth Keeping, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS; 1937, P. 18

  A strong wind blew through the shattered glass, scattering loose papers from an end table into the air, and briefly turning the elegant Great Room into a snow globe. Lou rushed to the gaping window. His powerful flashlight beam could not penetrate the lingering mist, and probably would never have reached the base of the cliff even if it had. He listened for confirmation of what he knew was true, but heard only wind and waves. Dazed, he surveyed the gruesome trail of blood—all that remained here of Tim Vaill. Given the man’s neurologic damage, it was doubtful he would have ever been able to function as an agent again. And given the depth of his anguish and hatred, he had accomplished what he had come to do.

  You got what you came for, my friend, Lou thought, gazing out into the night. Now you can rest.

  He heard the hum of Humphrey’s motorized wheelchair approaching from behind, and turned to see the two scientists.

  “Agent Vaill?” Kazimi asked.

  “Gone. He died for us and took Burke with him.”

  “May Allah speed him to join his beloved wife in Heaven.”

  “I promise to finish my work for him,” Humphrey added.

  “This isn’t finished,” Lou said. “Let’s go over the guards again.”

  Kazimi repeated what he knew. Burke … Drake … Collins … Bacon … an old butler named Harris … Again, Lou added the man Ron.

  “Then there’s the scientist who discovered the Janus strain,” Kazimi said. “I don’t know his name, and we haven’t met him yet, so I cannot tell you how much of a threat he is.”

  “How disabled is this Bacon? I saw him through his study window, and it looked like he could still put up a fight.”

  “Especially if he has a gun,” Humphrey said.

  Was that all? Lou guessed there could not be many more left, or t
he cameras overseeing the horrible gunfight would have brought them in by now.

  “There is someone else,” Humphrey said. “I saw him in a room filled with monitors.”

  “That’s probably the one I heard on the guard’s radio—the one named Ron.”

  “Big man,” Humphrey said. “Broad shoulders. Bald with thick eyebrows and a goatee.”

  “Where did you see him? Where’s that room with the screens?”

  “I think it’s at the other end of that passageway. Near the main castle.”

  “I know that door,” Kazimi said. “I’ve never seen it open and I assumed it was just for storage.”

  “That’s got to be Ron.”

  Lou understood this was a significant crossroads. He had to decide whether to go deeper into the castle and neutralize all threats, or try to escape and get help. Vaill had been wrong about there being a second mole in the agency, but chances were he was right about the control Bacon’s money had over the people in Mount William—especially the police. The choice seemed clear.

  “What are we going to do?” Kazimi asked.

  “We’re going down that corridor,” Lou said. “If the door is open, whoever is in there, I’ll take them out.”

  “That may not be the best plan,” Humphrey said. “If there is guard, he will be armed and better trained than you. He also would be ready.”

  Lou thought about the number of shots he took at Burke before he ran out of ammunition, and the number he missed.

  “You have a better idea?” Lou asked.

  “In fact,” Humphrey said with a spark in his eyes, “I do.”

  * * *

  KAZIMI HURRIED back into the lab, and emerged with the needed things. When he caught up with Lou and Humphrey, they were already moving slowly down the stone corridor. Lou had put a new ammo clip inside the Glock.

  After handing over the supplies, Kazimi returned to the lab to gather up Humphrey’s notes. Lou had given him orders to escape from Red Cliff through the guardhouse tunnel in the event anything happened to him. If for any reason Lou failed to take down Bacon, someone had to get the Janus research to the authorities.

  Humphrey seemed more concerned with getting his research completed, and he urged Kazimi to stay and work with him and the other scientist.

  They entered the passageway and paused for Lou to don a pair of rubber gloves and to review their plan. He had misgivings, but the thought of once again testing his mettle as a gunfighter held no appeal, either.

  Not surprisingly, the door to the security room was closed.

  Humphrey maneuvered his wheelchair to face it, while Lou, pistol in his waistband, pressed his back against the wall to Humphrey’s right. In one hand, he held Vaill’s listening device. In the other, he gingerly cradled a beaker half full of the concentrated sulfuric acid that Kazimi had retrieved from the lab.

  The headphones fit snuggly. He put the microphone up to the wall and listened.

  “Bacon, it’s Jessup here,” Lou heard a man say. “Burke is dead. One of the intruders I reported about carried him through one of the big windows in the Great Room. They’re both gone. I’m back in my office now. No sign of the other guy or the two scientists. They were all there a few minutes ago, but now they’ve all vanished. Remember, the cameras have blind spots, and there are only a few of them down at that end.… So, what do you want me to do?… Yes, boss, I’ll stay right here and keep my eye on the screens. But if you want me to go after them, just say the word. Yes, sir. Yes. I understand. Protect the scientists at all costs—especially the one in the wheelchair.”

  Lou put the listening device away and tightened his hold on the beaker.

  He was surprised at how calm he was feeling compared to his state of utter panic staring down through the trapdoor opening in the stone house. He sensed it was from having watched Vaill give up his life the way he had. Witnessing that kind of selflessness had its effects.

  A single deep breath, and he nodded to Humphrey that it was time.

  Humphrey took the extender arm from its hook on his wheelchair and used the custom-made contraption to knock on the door.

  Even without the listening device, Lou could hear scuffing from within. He imagined the goateed security man peering through the peephole. It was a good idea not to go for a gunfight, but now Jessup had to open the door wide enough for Lou to make his move. That would depend on Humphrey. The door opened a sliver, then a bit more.

  “I need to talk with you,” Humphrey said, his enunciation even weaker than usual—on purpose, Lou was certain.

  “What did you say? What in the hell do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you now!”

  “Fucking gnome,” the man muttered.

  The door opened enough to emit the barrel of a pistol. Then it opened some more. Finally, it opened enough.

  “What are you doing here, creep?” the man snapped. “Get back to work. You’re supposed to be in—”

  Lou pushed away from the wall, whirled behind Humphrey, and threw the beaker of sulfuric acid, aiming at what he imagined would be Jessup’s face. It was a perfect strike. The glass smashed against the bridge of the security guard’s nose, shattering on impact, and sending him stumbling back into the room.

  Immediately, there were piteous screams and the sizzle of frying skin. Jessup dropped his gun and pawed at his eyes. The air instantly turned sickly with the odor of singed hair and searing flesh. A noxious billow of greenish-yellow smoke began to fill the room.

  The shrieking continued.

  This was nothing Lou had wanted to do—nothing he enjoyed doing. But Red Cliff and the people within it were extremists who espoused a philosophy of pain for those less fortunate than themselves. And Cap was in serious trouble because of them.

  In his years in the ER, Lou had only taken care of one acid-to-the-face injury. It was a woman who had taken out a restraining order on an abusive boyfriend. If he worked in medicine for a thousand years, Lou would never forget the sight of her face. He knew this man’s eyes were burnt beyond use, and it was doubtful anyone would ever take him out of prison to give him a face transplant. But injured as he was, he would survive because his burns, though terrible, were not mortal.

  Chilled by the sounds and sickened at the smell, Lou took out his Glock and aimed the weapon at Jessup’s forehead. The situation was approaching unbearable. He stared down at the scorched and charred remains of what was once a human face. His gun hand began to waver as his thoughts swirled with images of all that had happened since his run in the Chattahoochee forest with Cap.

  “Maybe in jail you’ll find new meaning to your life,” he said, holstering his weapon.

  Backing from the room, he closed the door, sealing Jessup inside. Even with the heavy portal shut and a foot of stone wall between them, Lou could still hear the man’s agonized moans.

  “Where to now?” Humphrey asked.

  “Now you go back to the lab and help Kazimi gather up all the notes and data he’ll need to make a working antibiotic treatment.”

  “What are you going to do?” Humphrey asked.

  “I’m going to find Doug Bacon and put an end to One Hundred Neighbors once and for all.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Keeping busy and working hard is the best cure for lost faith in our society.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, SERMON AT HIGHBRIDGE BAPTIST CHURCH, NEWTOWN, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 21, 1933

  With the map of Red Cliff in one hand and his Glock in the other, Lou made his way along the windowless stone passageways illuminated by gas lanterns. The smell of Jessup’s burning flesh lingered in his nose and throat.

  He passed by a series of staircases, some straight and others spiraling, but knew not to take them. His course—his true north—was to follow a snaking trail of hallways to Bacon’s study. After a minute, he saw light up ahead and soon emerged through a stone antechamber into a large, greenhouse-like space—a covered courtyard with a glass ceiling. In the center of the space was a rectangular swimmi
ng pool surrounded by magnificent fountains and a rich variety of plants. Bacon’s version of a program of entitlement.

  Battered and exhausted, Lou circled the pool and headed deeper into Red Cliff, leaving behind the only way out he knew. It was getting close to the time he had instructed Kazimi to bolt, and try to make it to the town of Mount William—maybe five or six miles. Humphrey had argued for the microbiologist to stay, but the debate had never been resolved. Hopefully, Kazimi would do what was right. But exactly what, Lou asked himself, was that?

  The corridor narrowed. Lou felt certain he had arrived at the south end of the castle and the door to Bacon’s study. Unlike his attack on Jessup’s surveillance office, this time he had no specific plan except to barge in, gun ready. If Bacon was still on his videoconference, so much the better. The attendees could watch the beginning of the end of their movement. The apprehension that had dominated much of his odyssey since landing with Vaill was gone.

  He was ready.

  Again, Lou checked his watch. Twelve minutes gone. If things were happening the way he wanted them to, Kazimi was through the tunnel and outside the stone guardhouse, headed for town with Lou’s cell phone and the number of the FBI in his pocket. There was no cell phone signal in Red Cliff. Perhaps closer to Mount William.

  Wondering what he would do if the door was locked, Lou eased down on the latch. There was a soft click as the door’s mechanism engaged. Adrenaline pumping, gun in hand, he opened the door slowly and stepped inside a large, oval room. Huge windows framed by burgundy velvet curtains lined the walls. Beyond them, Lou saw the moat and the stretch of lawn where Vaill had gunned down Drake. On the wall was the mammoth monitor Lou had seen through the windows. None of the men and women on the screens seemed to be looking in his direction.

  Directly in front of him, facing away, was a massive, high-backed oxblood leather desk chair on rollers. All he could see of Doug Bacon were his spit-polished black boots and his arms. His left hand, poking out from the armrest, cradled a tumbler of whiskey.