by Eric M Hill
It was like hearing a bunch of otherwise intelligent people gasp each time someone told them garbage trucks stank or that the sun was bright. How could such a blind nation ever navigate itself out of the mess it was in?
Anderson didn’t know. But he did know one thing. Kellerman had left out of his testimony the part that he and Cuning were two people who shared the same murderous heart. Kellerman was more than a reluctant observer of his daughter’s death!
“Nancy, I’m not sticking around this place once he finishes,” he said to the FBI director.
Director Fulcrum pulled out her phone. “Okay. We’ll get you to the rest of your team.” She let out a deep breath. “And we’ll wait this thing out. Maybe that snake’s head is finally chopped off.”
“Yeah, maybe. But he’s no ordinary snake,” said Anderson.
Director Kellerman ended in a few minutes. FBI Director Fulcrum and two special agents flanked Dr. Anderson as he made his way to Kellerman.
“I didn’t think we were going to make it,” Kellerman said to Anderson. “It’s a miracle that we made it alive. I thought for sure there’d be a sniper waiting for us when they made us walk here.” He nodded in triumph. “But we made it. And I did it. The president’s going down.”
Anderson looked at him with an expression that was nowhere near the strategic smile he was trying to feign. He held out his hand. Kellerman looked at Anderson’s inexplicable face and slowly raised his hand as though trying to figure the man out before fully extending his hand.
Anderson snatched the man’s hand and squeezed tightly, looking at him with fiery eyes. “You’re right, Kellerman. There was a sniper waiting on us. Two to be exact.” Kellerman pulled his hand, but Anderson tightened. Anderson stepped closer into Kellerman. “That’s the way you people operate, isn’t it?”
“What’s going on, Anderson?” said Kellerman, glancing at the FBI director and the special agents when Anderson didn’t immediately answer.
“This is what’s going on.” Anderson spoke so only Kellerman could hear him. “You did do it. You and Cuning killed my daughter.”
Kellerman’s jubilance slunk to the floor. His mind started twirling. Now Cuning and Anderson were out to get him. It was no use trying to lie his way out of this. “Look, Anderson, you can’t say no to the president,” he whispered. “I had no choice.”
Anderson’s eyes had calmed with thoughtful resolve. “Neither do I. I’m giving fate three days to deal with you. If you’re alive one moment after that, I’m coming after you.”
“Anderson? After today? Cuning is who you want, not me.”
“Three days.”
“Anderson, let’s get out of here and join the others before the Senate votes,” said Director Fulcrum. “There’s a lot of armed and volatile people out there. We don’t want to be here if things go south.”
“Anderson,” Kellerman yelled, as he watched them walk away.
Chapter 75
“Daddy, when’s Mommy coming?” asked Tracy.
“She’ll be here, baby. She had to make sure Dr. Anderson was safe from the bad guys,” Chief King whispered into her ear.
“I don’t want them to catch her.”
King hugged his daughter and motioned for Lauren and Autumn to join them where he and Tracy sat on a sofa away from Anderson and Director Fulcrum. “Girls, I know you’re all worried about your mother.”
“She’s been gone a long time,” said Lauren.
“I know,” said King. “But I want to remind all of you of one thing. Okay?”
They looked at him, waiting.
“Who is Mommy?”
“The ghost,” said Tracy.
“Lauren? Autumn?”
“The ghost” they said.
“Right. And why did the United States Marine Corp Scout and Sniper School nickname Mommy the ghost?”
“Because no one can see her if she doesn’t want to be seen,” said Autumn.
“So we don’t have to worry about the bad guys finding Mommy. Right?”
“Right,” said the girls.
“Good. Why don’t we go over some survival skills while we wait on Mommy.”
Director Fulcrum thought of the irony of their situation as they all watched the large screen. “Ordinarily I feel very safe here. I mean it is FBI headquarters, and we are surrounded by thousands of soldiers.”
“Thousands of Cuning’s soldiers,” said Anderson.
“Yeah, that would explain my nausea,” said Fulcrum. “The Attorney General’s practically in hiding—from the president. The White House chief of staff calls me and is assassinated an hour later. A reporter does her job and asks the president questions he doesn’t like and she’s coincidentally killed days later. And here we sit in FBI headquarters surrounded by thousands of soldiers who we are told are here to protect us. But if Cuning doesn’t get his vote…”
“If he doesn’t get his vote—”
“Look!” King interrupted Anderson. “It’s President Cuning.”
They watched the president’s press conference in stunned silence.
***
“Well, there’s our answer,” said Anderson. “He’s just told his followers in his characteristic double-speak to burn the nation down if Congress doesn’t give it to him.”
Now Chief King was concerned. The nation’s capitol could become a war zone any moment. Stray bullets wouldn’t care how much training his wife had. They just wanted a place to rest. God, please watch over her, he prayed silently. He tried to hide his fear from his little girls.
Lauren looked at him. “I’m praying for her, too, Daddy. God’s got her six.”
He smiled. “That’ right. God’s got Mommy’s six.”
Director Fulcrum slowly shook her head. “I do not believe this, Kyle. There’s no way out. This conniving, manipulative,” she looked at the children, “monster wins either way. Give him what he wants or it’s civil war.”
Anderson stared at the screen, but he heard nothing the reporters were saying. “And I helped put him there. He could not have done this without STOP. And I gave it to him.”
Fulcrum saw the dejection in her friend. “Kyle, like it or not—and I never thought I’d say something like this—but Constitutional or not, we need STOP. It’s the only thing that can put an end to this predator plague. We would’ve needed STOP no matter who was President. Cuning’s just a Napoleon wannabe who happened to be at the right place at the right time.”
Plague.
There was that word again. Anderson thought on it and considered STOP. His discovery of and manipulation of the M-cells were designed with STOP in mind. But the mysterious morality cells had found a way to “jump” hosts without an artificial delivery system. It was behaving as a bona fide plague. It had outgrown STOP.
That development, though pregnant with the unknown, had been the thing that had given Anderson hope that if he succeeded at exposing the president and derailing the legislation, the nation could get rid of STOP, get rid of Cuning, and still get rid of the predators. The nation would then have a real shot at recovering.
“It’s not over yet, Nancy,” said Anderson. “Pride goes before destruction.”
“And a haughty spirit before a fall,” said Tracy.
Anderson looked at the child and smiled with a growing hope that democracy would win.
“So now what?” asked Chief King.
Anderson turned back to the large screen. “We trust in democracy and hope it stops this man in his tracks.”
***
One hour later. Good news. Ana was in an elevator being escorted to join her family.
Less than two hours later, bad news.
Stunned wasn’t a strong enough word. The four words hit them with the power of a bomb. The Senate passes STOP.
“Can you believe that?” said the director.
Chief King looked incredulously at his wife, then Anderson. “What does it take? This is absolutely insane. The man is exposed as a thug and a murderer on national
television, and not only do they not discuss impeachment, they past his legislation. And with votes to spare.”
“What does that mean for us?” said Ana. “You think he’s going to come after us?” She looked at her girls, then moved in close to her husband. “Barry, I think I’ve moved us up a couple of spots on his to do list. We’ve got to go off grid. And fast.”
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said the chief.
Director Fulcrum shook her head. “I agree. Kyle, that goes for you, too. Nothing can stop him now. We’ve got to get you out of here.” She wondered what in the world she was going to do about herself. Would he come after her? If he’d put a hit out on the Attorney General, he sure wouldn’t hesitate to assassinate her.
Anderson walked to the coffee machine. He looked at the flavors. “You don’t have hazelnut.” He put one of the containers in the slot and closed the top over it. He turned and leaned against the counter as his coffee brewed, looking at them. “I agree. We need to get all of you to safety. I’ve got someplace in mind. You’ll be safe. The girls will love it.”
“And you?” said the chief.
“I’ll be alright.”
“Where’d the sudden calmness come from, Kyle. You know something we don’t know?” asked the FBI director.
Dr. Anderson pondered. “I think so.”
Everyone waited for more.
“I hope so.”
Chapter 76
The thoughts shocked him, not only for their substance, but for their persistence. Morning, noon, and night—a totally sleepless night filled with shocking mental images. He couldn’t shake the bloody, perverse thoughts. He didn’t even watch horror movies, and here he was obsessing with brutal scenes worthy of the worst slasher films. What was wrong with him?
It was as though something had suddenly possessed him. Something evil. Something hungry for blood. Female blood. Whatever was inside of him began to plan to satisfy this hunger.
The man’s eyes widened to their maximum point, like a sleeping driver startled by the sound of an approaching car’s horn. He fought for control, but felt himself swerving into a spin toward a cliff. Once over the edge, there would be no recovery or turning back. He knew this deep in his soul. His fingers dug frantically into the sides of the cushioned chair in his darkened living room as gravity sucked him down a pit of depravity.
“No!” he yelled.
***
What am I doing? he thought in a panic. There was no way he was going through with this—he couldn’t! He raised and lowered his hand, feeling the knife’s weight in his hand. He gripped it, with his pinky finger pressed against the edge of the grip.
The store clerk was standing directly in front of him. So he didn’t simulate a downward stabbing motion, although he wanted to. “I like it,” his voice said, in defiance of his silent commands and screams. “I’ll take it.”
The man took his weapon and reluctantly walked toward one of the store’s exits. Yet, the reluctance wasn’t obvious in the slight smile on his face, or in the happiness of his strides, or in the way his arms swung cheerfully at his sides. The reluctance was all internal. Helplessly in the trunk of his mind, like a gagged and tied-up hitchhiker who was now at the mercy of a kidnapper and his dreaded final destination in the woods.
He wondered as he arrived at the Queen’s shopping district. No way’s this thing is going to try that here, thought the man. He drove into the parking lot and parked. His eyes followed the movement of his head.
The thing was looking for women. It looked at several thoughtfully, then opened the car’s door. The man exited and went into a high-dollar store named Diavanni’s. He purchased several items and went back to his vehicle and waited.
Finally, it spotted the one it wanted. She had parked exactly where it needed her to park.
No! the man protested from the trunk. I won’t do it.
It watched the woman exit her car and go into the mall. It was nearly three hours before it saw the woman leaving the mall and returning to her car. It squeezed the knife’s handle. “This must be done,” it said.
Please don’t do this! screamed the man.
It hopped out of the front seat, closed the door, and opened the back door. It gathered the several bags in both arms and walked toward the woman’s car. He’d get there a couple of minutes before she’d arrive.
The woman unconsciously glanced at the north police tower as her twenty-five hundred dollar Manolo Blahnik pumps carried her closer to her car. It was nice to know police were watching the parking lot. She turned a corner and looked up and froze in speechless fear.
It was there, knife in hand.
Chapter 77
Anderson heard the distinct ring. This time there was no accompanying revulsion. He answered. “Mr. President.”
Cuning smiled on the other end as he squeezed himself. “Always the respectful guy you are. Kyle—may I call you Kyle? You can call me by my first name if you’d like. Oh, I’m sorry. My manners. You weren’t busy, were you?”
The president’s call had interrupted Anderson as he was pondering a fascinating possibility about strengthening T-cells. “If you must call me at all, I prefer Dr. Anderson. We’ve never been friends, and I’m sure we never will be friends. As far as calling you by your first name, I have other names I prefer to call you. But then I’d no longer be the respectful guy you say I am. And, yes, Mr. President, I was busy pondering new ways to get rid of cancer. So I guess your call keeps me on track.”
President Cuning smiled, loving the banter. “Cancer can be a tricky little booger. Just when you think you’ve got it, it comes right back at you. Sometimes even stronger than before.”
“Yes, but I’m pondering something new. Something that could destroy it at the root.”
“Without killing the body?”
“Hopefully.”
“Hopefully,” said Cuning. “Well, all of life’s a gamble. You risk nothing, you gain nothing.”
Silence.
“Look, Kyle, the reason I’m calling is because they told me you’d accepted the invitation to the big shindig celebrating my victory and the passage of STOP. I must admit, I’m shocked. I had to hear it straight from you. I thought for sure I was going to have to sit through an evening of people heaping praise on me when if it weren’t for you, there’d be no termination of predators. There’d be no STOP.” The president grinned. “You know me, I’m a humble man—not one to take glory that isn’t rightfully mine.”
“Mr. President, I’m going to ask you to do something that may be beyond the ability even of a man as powerful as yourself.”
“Oh, what might that be?”
“Cut the crap. You and I both know you want me to attend your sickening, self-serving party so you can gloat. Your version of the triumphant return of a Roman general parading his vanquished enemies to the adoring crowds.”
“Now that really hurts. Just because I’m president of the United States and I have Congress clipping my toe nails and the Supreme Court hiding in holes like gophers in long black robes doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart of flesh. We really don’t have to be enemies any longer.”
“But that’s just part of the reason,” said Anderson. “It’s not just about your ego. You don’t just want me there; you need me there.”
“Do go on.”
“You have STOP, but STOP is just a law. I have the science. Barring this gift of mine, I see no way humanity will ever unlock the secrets of this science. So despite your growing power and dictatorial ambitions, you go down the toilet the moment predators stop dying. And you have no guarantee they’ll continue to die at the rapid rate they’re dying, or whether the deaths will slow to an unacceptable trickle.” Anderson paused. “Or whether you’re basing everything on the crap shoot that this thing won’t suddenly die out like a bad, but seasonal flu. I’m your insurance policy.”
“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” The playfulness was gone from Cuning’s voice.
“You
wanted to kill me before you got STOP because you thought I could prevent its passage. I thought I could prevent its passage.”
“But even the great Dr. Anderson couldn’t stop the will of the people. Democracy trumps all—even you.”
Anderson thought dejectedly about the passage of STOP and the unpredictability and mysteries of this new predator killing science. “I had hoped that democracy would have destroyed you by now.”
“Well, it hasn’t. Now, what about it, Kyle? Are you really coming tonight? Of course, no firearms will be allowed on the premises, except for Secret Service and law enforcement.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No, just the opposite. I trust that you believe what Kellerman said about me, and that given the opportunity, president or not, you’d kill me just as soon as you’d step on a cockroach. Am I right?”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Anderson had been to the Washington Convention Center many times, often as a host, often as an honoree, but never with the anticipation he had tonight. It could all still turn out to be like the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. An ugly disappointment behind the door of a beautiful promise. Wouldn’t it be just like that demon to be the outlier one-percenter?
As he sat with a few of his people at his table, along with DIGO Agent Alvarez, he contemplated for the thousandth time the action he’d have to take for the nation if time proved this grim possibility true. He wondered whether history would see him as a hero or as a traitor, or whether killing the president would save the nation or usher it more quickly to its demise.
In his own mind, there was enough hatred in his heart for the man that no matter what history said about him, he knew he was no hero. God, if there’s any other way… he prayed. I do not want to kill an American president—even if it’s Cuning.