The Great Crime Spike: A Dystopian Thriller Novel (Liberty Down Book 1)

by Eric M Hill

  First, he had been classified by Congress as a national treasure. No nation would leave its national treasure vulnerable to theft or damage. As such, he was under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, except for when he was on the other side of the ten-foot wall that surrounded his thousand-acre estate. Getting on the property was easy enough for any of the intelligence agencies. But Dr. Anderson had proven that getting on his property was one thing; getting on without being publicly humiliated was quite another.

  One late, starless and moonless night, a team of intruders dressed head to toe in state-of-the-art stealth material breached Anderson’s property while he was out of state. The intruders moved silently across the enormous lawns using nothing but the cover of darkness to advance toward Anderson’s home and another building that was suspected to hold secrets worth the risk of such a daring endeavor.

  Then in what can only be described as a comedy, the approach of the intruders was on national television. The team leader received an urgent, encrypted message. “Abort! Abort! Abort! Mission compromised.”

  Powerful lights suddenly illuminated the grounds like a small sun, turning the darkness of night into the brightness of day. Eight highly trained black ops personnel scurried back toward the wall with all the grace of blind ballerinas. This was due in part to the army of virtual reporters who had popped out of nowhere and were tailing the intruders and shouting out a bunch of embarrassing questions.

  “Who are you?” “What agency do you work for?” “Are you CIA?” “Do you have a warrant?” “What were you looking for?” “Are you here to kidnap or kill Dr. Anderson?” “Did the president send you?” “How do you reconcile this behavior with the First Amendment?” And on and on and on it went until their two black SUVs were screeching away from Anderson’s property, trying desperately to get away from the drones that were enabling the virtual reporters to hover outside their vehicles’ windows as they sped away.

  This debacle had convinced the various intelligence agencies that it was best to not trespass on Anderson’s property. But they were hardwired to snoop. So from time to time, against their better judgment they conducted what they considered low-risk intelligence operations in respect to the scientist.

  The second reason for the small army of intelligence agents that surveilled Anderson was that on the flip side of the National Treasure coin was Threat. This man could singlehandedly destroy the nation if he decided to do so. Despite his godlike scientific acumen, the moment he became more of a threat than a treasure, a sniper’s bullet would explode that brilliant brain into a plume.

  Ashley was sitting with her legs crossed Indian style as she leaned forward into the scope, wondering why she was surveilling Anderson from nine hundred meters away and not up close and personal, like she had kept an eye on Dr. Engelberg. She shook the thought and focused on the approach of the man walking toward Anderson. As far as she was concerned, Anderson meeting with a DIGO agent was a threat to national security. But that wasn’t her call. It was the president’s—and he was watching, too.

  ***

  The president didn’t like what he saw. Time was running out, and the government’s own secret crime suppressant experiments were proving to be part whore, part nun. Promising everything, delivering nothing.

  The country didn’t need a bunch of brilliant scientists discovering a million ways to fail. It needed one super brilliant scientist to discover a way to succeed. That scientist was Anderson, and for some ungodly reason he was meeting with a DIGO agent. Why?

  Chapter 29

  Anderson watched the man’s approach with mixed emotions. He had absolutely no time or desire for this, and he suspected that after a few minutes, he’d have no patience for it, either. This was plastered on his face when the tall, clean-cut man stretched out his hand.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” said the DIGO agent.

  Anderson managed a smile that was half grimace. This meeting had lasted too long already. Nonetheless, he shook the agent’s hand. No need in being rude. “Alvarez, right?”

  “That’s right, sir. Mitch Alvarez.”

  Anderson motioned with his hand. “Have a seat.”

  The agent did.

  “Sir,” said Anderson contemplatively.

  “I apologize. Dr. Anderson,” the agent corrected himself.

  “Mr. Alvarez, I don’t mind you calling me sir. What I mind is a government agent calling me at all. As you might imagine, I’m very busy.” Dr. Anderson’s voice was without malice, but matter-of-fact and unapologetic.

  The DIGO agent’s appearance was youthful, and his face gave the impression of wholesomeness, as though his baseline behavior was honesty and integrity. His soft blue eyes broke away from the Boy Scout features of his face and grew intense. “You don’t like government agents.”

  “I despise them.”

  “Yet you work for the president.”

  Now it was Anderson’s turn to grow intense. “Who told you that I work for that low life—?” He took a breath and started over. “Who told you that I work for the president? Let’s be clear on one thing, Mr. Alvarez. I do not work for that man. I work for the American people. Anything I do for my country that benefits that man is purely coincidental—and regretful.”

  “Understood.” The agent paused. He had to tread carefully. “But you are working on something that may help him? Something significant. Something monumental.”

  Anderson studied the agent for several seconds before pulling out his phone. In half a minute, a long, black SUV pulled up. “Do you have any electronic or digital medical devices implanted?”

  “No.”

  “Hope not. Get in.”

  Once they both climbed into the back seat, Anderson pushed a button and a wall raised, separating them from the driver. “Are you here to play the slots or to inspect them?”

  The agent’s head turned sideways in inquiry.

  “Vegas,” said Anderson. “You sound like you’re fishing. Something significant? Something monumental? Do you really think I’d waste my time working on something not significant? Why are we meeting, Mr. Alvarez?”

  “Dr. Anderson, we can’t prove it, but we believe the federal government is trying to create a chemical to fight crime.”

  Anderson said nothing.

  “As you know, Dr. Anderson, our government will do anything it can get away with. They’ve proven this over and over.”

  “Well, that’s something we can agree upon.”

  “That’s why we’re wondering why one of President Cuning’s most passionate critics would suddenly and inexplicably become his ally?”

  “I am not his ally. I hate President Cuning and all he stands for, Mr. Alvarez. Everyone in the nation knows that—including the president. I’ve told him so to his face more than once.”

  “That’s why we’re wondering what he has on you.”

  “What he has on me? Mr. Alvarez, how long do you think we have as a nation?” No answer from the DIGO agent. Anderson saw a reluctant checkmate on his face. “Three months? Six months? A year? Two years if we’re lucky?”

  “Not long…if things continue as they are,” said the agent.

  “Then how can you ask me what he has on me? What that snake has on me is if violent crime doesn’t dramatically go down—and I mean in miraculous numbers—this nation will implode. It’s already happening in pockets. It’s only a matter of time before we hit a tipping point.”

  The agent’s voice was soft, like a feathered noose around Anderson’s neck. “That’s true, but that’s not the real reason you’re helping him, is it? There’s more. I saw the video of your daughter, sir.”

  This caught Anderson by surprise. The noose tightened and choked off his ability to keep his emotions in check. “He killed her.” A grief-filled pause. “My daughter just wanted to go shopping.” His voice was at a whisper. “And he raped and killed her.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Agent Alvarez. After a few moments, he said, “She didn’t dese
rve to die like that.”

  “I should’ve been there for her, Mr. Alvarez. I should’ve been there for my daughter.”

  “Sir, I won’t try to say I understand, because I don’t. I’ve never lost a loved one to death.” He recalled a painful memory that never quite behaved as a memory. “But I do know what it’s like to lose your soul. And that’s what’s at stake here, sir. Your soul.”

  Dr. Anderson appeared to have regained his composure. “You really believe that’s what’s at stake here? My soul? Mr. Alvarez, I apparently am this nation’s last hope. I didn’t ask for this.”

  “I know you didn’t, Dr. Anderson,” the agent nodded. “And I admit that if there is a possibility of some kind of crime fighting chemical being created, I can’t think of anyone other than you who could do such a thing.” The agent shook his head. “But at what cost?”

  “What’s the cost of not creating it?”

  “Dr. Anderson, there’s got to be another way other than where your drug will take us,” the agent pressed.

  “And just where is that, Mr. Alvarez?”

  “You know exactly where it will take us, Dr. Anderson. Listen to some of your own speeches. Suspension of civil liberties. Increased powers of the state. Arbitrary rule. Forced application of this dangerous drug.”

  “And you know it will be dangerous?”

  “I may not be a brilliant scientist, Dr. Anderson, but I’m not an idiot layman, either. Any drug created this quickly—even by you, sir—and administered without proper clinical trials, could do more harm than good.”

  Dr. Anderson’s eyes flashed anger. “And what a hell of a loss to the nation it would be if I created a drug that harmed criminals.”

  Agent Alvarez looked at this god of science as though he had just traced a bad smell to its source. “What about the rest of us? Do you really think you can save this nation by using an experimental drug on us? What do you and Cuning plan on doing? You’re going to ask for volunteers?”

  Dr. Anderson’s face was tight with anger and resolve.

  “I didn’t think so,” said Agent Alvarez. “How are you guys going to do it this time? Are you going to use the Tuskegee Experiment model? Stick it to a bunch of trusting poor and sick people? No, no, a man as brilliant as you and one as evil as Cuning don’t have that kind of patience. You’d want big results, fast.

  “Maybe it’s something ambitious like what the U.S. Navy did in 1950 with Operation Sea-Spray when they sprayed the bacteria serratia marcescens over San Francisco? That would give you quick results. Try it out on a small town first. If no one goes blind or grows a third leg during the reasonable observation period of say a week or two or a month—enough time to see if violent crime goes down—you try it on a large city. Am I close, Dr. Anderson?”

  “Have you completed your speech, Mr. Alvarez?”

  “Dr. Anderson,” he yelled, “it’s not a speech! I’m trying to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “I don’t need saving,” snapped Anderson. “What I need is to put an end to these murderers and rapists.”

  Agent Alvarez sat back and looked at the scientist with new insight. “That’s it.” He looked down. “Of course, it is. Of course, it is. It was right there.” He looked at Anderson. “This isn’t about saving the nation. It’s about revenge. Isn’t it?”

  Dr. Anderson looked intently at the government agent. “Hell yes, it’s about revenge. And if the nation can be saved, so much the better—but I doubt it.”

  “If you follow this path, Dr. Anderson—” Agent Alvarez didn’t know what he could say to get through to the scientist. “Revenge won’t fix the problem. It never does. You’ll only make it worse.”

  “This meeting is over, Mr. Alvarez. Do not call me again.”

  Agent Alvarez stared in disbelief at the legend without moving.

  Dr. Anderson pushed a button. The wall lowered. “Larry, please help this government agent out of the vehicle. Use the Taser if necessary.”

  The driver got out.

  “I’m going to stop you, Dr. Anderson.”

  “You can try, Mr. Alvarez.”

  Agent Alvarez’s door opened. He whipped out a gun and had it ready. “Don’t even think about it, Larry.”

  “And don’t you even think about it, Mr. Alvarez.”

  Agent Alvarez looked over his shoulder. Dr. Anderson’s hand rested in his lap. A gun was in it. The agent exhaled in frustration and got out of the vehicle. “Revenge is blinding you, Dr. Anderson. You can’t play God. You’re going to hurt more than you help if you go through with this plan. It’s going to backfire on you. You have to stop this madness.”

  “Don’t call me again, Mr. Alvarez.”

  Agent Alvarez watched the vehicle roll away. The smartest human to ever live and the richest man in the world was out for blood. How was he supposed to stop a man like this?

  Chapter 30

  The Department of Integrity and Government Oversight was not part of the executive branch, and therefore not directly or indirectly under the auspices of the president. Instead, it was an interesting and unprecedented hybrid department made possible in response to a pattern of egregious illegalities conducted by the executive branch.

  William Tunnelly had been elected the fiftieth president of the United States in 2036, and up to that time was the most lawless president ever. Fortunately for the country, however, he was not the brightest, and his corrupt administration crashed and burned, with both he and his vice-president being impeached and convicted.

  Tunnelly’s administration had so shocked and unnerved the Supreme Court that the Chief Justice secretly and cryptically assured the majority and minority leaders of the House of Representatives and the Senate that for the sake of the nation, the court would creatively interpret the Constitution if Congress would pass laws to prevent rogue presidents from acting like two-bit dictators. Congress eagerly and overwhelmingly passed the Integrity and Government Oversight (IGO) Act.

  Agent Alvarez had wide latitude under IGO to access federal government facilities and records, to attend meetings or to receive minutes of meetings stipulated under the Act, and to interview federal employees and contractors of federal agencies. He had no authority, however, to exercise such discretions on a state level.

  The caveat being that if there was a preponderance of evidence that there was collusion between a federal department and a state department to break a federal law, DIGO agents could exercise at the state level all authority granted under the IGO Act. That preponderance of evidence had to be examined by a federal judge, and a writ of authority granted by the same.

  Twenty years ago, Judge Harry Rhinard had gone out for a bagel and coffee. He never got to drink the coffee, but was allowed to finish his bagel—in the trunk of a car. Compliments of President Tunnelly’s henchmen.

  Ever since his rescue, he’d become an even greater irritant to overreaching presidents. And ever since the creation of DIGO, he’d become one of their greatest proponents and automatic yes’s for any request that may keep the government in check. But he usually required more than a hunch to justify a writ.

  “A miracle drug to stop violent crime and or to kill murderers and rapists, huh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And what part of this did you say was bad for the country?” asked the judge.

  Agent Alvarez squirmed and spoke into the phone. “The part, sir, about the president and Dr. Anderson circumventing the Federal Drug Administration. Particularly the part about human experimentation and approved clinical trials. And the part about administering the death penalty wholesale without due process of law.”

  “Oh yeah, that part.” Agent Alvarez was troubled by the judge’s silence. “You think there’s any chance this miracle drug will work?”

  “Err…we don’t know, Your Honor.”

  “Judge will do. We’re not in court.”

  “Yes, sir. I mean judge.”

  “That Anderson’s like something from a
different planet, isn’t he? The things that man can come up with. Good thing he’s on our side.”

  “We’d like to keep him on our side, Your—judge.”

  “Agent Alvarez, if there’s any chance Anderson can come up with something—drug or otherwise—that can make it relatively safe again for a family to go on a picnic or a woman to walk down the street, I hope he does it.”

  “Judge, with all due respect—”

  “Furthermore,” the judge continued, “about the only thing that can keep this country from making its final swirl around the crapper is a miracle. And the only miracle-worker I know of is Dr. Anderson. How about you, Agent Alvarez? You know of a Plan B miracle-worker?”

  Agent Alvarez was stunned. If a man like Judge Rhinard saw nothing wrong with the president and Anderson circumventing the law, how long would it be before the Constitution was scrapped and the nation was ruled by arbitrary decree? “Your Honor, every dictator in history has used expedience to become a law unto himself. We can’t let men like—”

  “Authorization granted and filed. Should be on your phone now.”

  “What? I thought…”

  “Thought what, Agent Alvarez? That I’d put my personal opinion above the Constitution? Believe me when I say this. There’s a lot of people out there—some in very high places—who are so afraid of what’s happening in our country that they’re ready to try something other than the Constitution.

  “And lest I give the appearance of being a much better man than I am, let me tell you that the only reason I signed off on your request is because I know what it’s like to be in the dark trunk of a car clutching a bagel and waiting for someone to open the trunk to blow my brains out.

  “So go, Agent Alvarez. Fight for the Constitution while there is still a Constitution to fight for. And pray to God Almighty that somewhere there’s a Plan B. Because there’s nothing else we can lawfully do to save ourselves from this scourge of predators.”

  ***