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

by Eric M Hill

  He saw the president moving toward his own table. It was in the middle of the first long row of tables closest to the stage. It was obvious that the immediate tables to the right, left, and behind his table were filled with security people.

  Anderson’s own table was directly adjacent on the left side of Cuning’s security people. That was fine with him. Attending the same ball with the president was bad enough, even in a mammoth room such as this one. But sitting at the same table with the man who had ordered his daughter’s death was not going to happen.

  Anderson’s phone buzzed as he watched the president. He answered and listened—in shock. His eyes watered. “Yes, I’m okay. Thank you for letting me know.” He stared at his table and pinched the water from his eyes.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Alvarez.

  Anderson rubbed his forehead. He thought of getting alone, maybe hiding in a bathroom stall and thinking about what he’d just been told. No, I can’t leave this room. I have to be here if it happens to him. I have to see it.

  “Dr. Anderson, are you okay?” Alvarez asked again. “Let me pour you some water.”

  “It was about my daughter.” His throat was suddenly dirt dry. “Yes, thank you.” He drank some water and looked at President Cuning.

  He was on the phone. He had a troubled look. He slowly put his phone into his pocket and looked darkly at Anderson. Their eyes locked. Anderson called the president’s number. He watched him reach into his inside pocket.

  “Yeah,” answered Cuning.

  “I never told you why I agreed to come.”

  Cuning answered with a silent, narrowed glare.

  “Your interview with your buddy Buckingham yesterday, I watched it. I noticed something. I hoped I noticed something.”

  Cuning said nothing.

  “You started out fine. He threw you slow pitches right across the plate and, well, you know you, Mr. President, you knocked them right out of the park. Then something odd happened. He mentioned my daughter…the irony of you and I, sworn enemies working together. He said it was too bad that STOP wasn’t around soon enough to save Emerald.”

  Cuning’s silent glare continued.

  “You magnanimously offered that I was busy with other things and therefore couldn’t give the attention to my daughter that may have saved her life. You also didn’t fail to mention how my two marriages crashed and burned on account of my work.”

  “Anderson, you’ve got something to say to me, spit it out.”

  “It was right after Buckingham commented about Emerald. The moment you spoke her name, the interview went downhill. You appeared distressed…a bit, what’s the word? Not there. He tried to help you, but you never really recovered. What was that?”

  “Haven’t you heard, Anderson?” Cuning’s tone was foreboding. “It was compassion. The president of the United States was so deeply moved by the death of his enemy’s daughter that it affected his interview.”

  Anderson looked at the master manipulator for a few seconds before speaking. “No, that wasn’t it. You want me to tell you what I think it was? What I’m praying to God it was? I think you began to lose control because something inside of you tried to take over.”

  “This conversation is over,” said Cuning.

  “What do you think about Kellerman? That is what that phone call was about, wasn’t it? It seems that our resources travel at about the same speed.”

  Cuning was silenced by the abrupt shift.

  “Still there, Mr. President? I can understand your silence and your bewilderment. Why would your former Director of Violent Crime Eradication and the man you conspired with to murder my daughter kill himself in the exact place my daughter was murdered?”

  Cuning remained silent.

  “That’s interesting, isn’t it? Intriguing, even. A cold-blooded killer like Kellerman testifies against you and two days later he goes shopping at Queen’s—the same district my daughter shopped at before you killed her. He goes shopping at Diavonni’s—the same store my daughter shopped at before you killed her. He carries a bunch of Diavonni bags to the exact place where you killed my daughter, takes off his pants, takes a knife to his genitals, then screams out, “You’ve been found guilty of the rape and death of Emerald Anderson,” before plunging a knife into his heart.”

  Cuning still didn’t answer.

  “You no longer find this conversation amusing, do you?”

  “What did you do to him?” demanded Cuning. “You put him on that machine.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’ve found there are other ways to deliver this brand of justice.” Anderson saw the darkness leave Cuning’s face. “That calculating mind of yours is retracing your steps. Every single one of them. You’re wondering if I infected you. How I could have done so…seeing we have such limited time together.”

  There was no undercurrent cat and mouse game tone to Cuning’s words, only death. “Anderson, you toy with me like STOP never happened. The people have chosen me above your hapless and spineless Congress. They’ve chosen me above your beloved and irrelevant Constitution. They’ve chosen me above that archaic and anachronistic Supreme Court. I’m not only the most powerful president in American history. I’m the first dictator in American history.” Cuning threw him a cutting smile. “Yeah, I said it. Does that surprise you?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Many dictators suffer from hubris. You haven’t been one long enough to understand your limitations.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Anderson. I understand a lot more than you give me credit for. You’re the so-called smartest man in the world—the Constitution’s the greatest governance document in the world, and I’ve outmaneuvered both of you. You and your stupid patriotism and love of country.

  “Running around the country railing on me and telling anyone who would listen that I’m bad for the country. That I’m a murderer. That I’ll do anything for power. And here I am. And there you are. You’ve got your money and patents and Nobel prizes, but I have the country.”

  Cuning let out a short breath of contempt. “Smartest man in the world. Two failed marriages and a daughter whose birthday you can’t remember. Too busy trying to save the world to remember your own daughter’s birthday. Did you know she was trying to adopt a child? Probably not.

  “A little girl with a screwed up head—mental problems. Now, why in hell would anyone want to do something like that? All I can come up with is it must’ve been excruciating being your child. You drove the poor girl crazy. And so far as hubris is concerned, I’ll tell you this, Anderson. And it’s a good thing you’re already sitting. Yeah, I had your lonely loser of a daughter killed. No, I stand corrected: murdered.”

  He spoke his next sentence slowly for effect. “I had your lonely loser of a daughter…murdered. I ordered her death because I knew it would get you on board with the program. It worked. So you tell me who’s really the smartest man in the world? The man with the freaky brain, or the man who controls the man with the freaky brain?”

  Anderson’s rage was powerless against the excavation of his emotional innards by Cuning’s words. Just like that, with only a few words, he had pick-axed and scraped away the lining of his soul, leaving the nerves of his heart open for the rest of Cuning’s attack.

  “How does it feel knowing that my daughter adores me and your daughter died hating your guts?” Cuning highlighted his dark smile with a single raised eyebrow. “Anderson, you’re not saying anything. You still there? Oh, yes, there you are. You went hollow for a moment. I thought I was looking at one of those holograms you like to play with so often. Well, Anderson, it’s been nice chatting with you, but it looks like the adoring masses want to hear from their benevolent ruler.”

  “I am,” said Anderson.

  “Excuse me?” Cuning said, raising the phone back to his ear. “You had something else to say?”

  Anderson’s throat felt constricted and rebellious. He pushed his words out. “I made a mistake. Revenge. I let it blind me. You asked me who was sm
arter. I am.”

  Cuning chuckled. “Okay, Anderson. If you say so. I hope you enjoy my speech.”

  “I shook your hand.”

  Cuning froze.

  “In the Oval Office. Remember? You were playing with yourself. I reached out my hand to shake yours. You looked at me with surprise. Then you shook my hand. Hubris. Emperor, I don’t patent all of my discoveries. One of them is a liquid glove that dries on your hands and later dissolves. And that large machine isn’t so large any longer. Actually, it’s the size of a single contact lens. In fact, I was wearing a pair when you looked into my eyes with that condescending smile of yours. I didn’t blink; neither did you. You probably thought it was some macho thing.”

  Cuning’s eyes stretched. He remembered. They had shaken hands. They had stared into one another’s eyes.

  Both men had ashen, shaken, painful expressions.

  “It’s not that difficult to beat your White House security scanners. So, yeah, Mr. President, I’m hoping that I can enjoy your speech on behalf of my daughter, the young university students you had murdered, the White House reporter you had murdered, and everyone else you’ve murdered.”

  “Anderson, I’m going to give my speech. I’m going to enjoy a few drinks. I’m going to meet and greet. Then I’m going to leave this party and get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow I’m going to have one of my employees in Congress introduce a bill that authorizes the government to freeze the assets of those indicted for spying for a foreign government. That bill will also authorize us to seize all assets of those convicted of spying for a foreign government. You’ll be indicted and found guilty of spying.

  “Then we’ll see if you still think you’re smarter than me. And once I have stripped you of every dollar and every patent, I will have you murdered and your body dumped on the steps of the Capitol you’re so infatuated with. Now, I have a speech to give about democracy and love of country.”

  “Cuning.”

  “What?” he yelled, stilling those who heard him.

  “This disease or whatever it is, it’s…”

  “It’s what?” Cuning yelled.

  “It’s intelligent.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s coming for you.”

  Chapter 78

  Cuning smiled with mock humility at those seated at his table. Time to feed the monkeys, he thought. He cocked his head and flashed the insides of his palms and stood. He looked around the room, waving, before heading toward the steps of the stage as the audience clapped.

  He grinned as he hopped forward onto the steps, skipping one. People liked that—energy. His second foot caught the stair and he fell forward onto his hands. The audience hushed. Cuning cursed under his breath and forced a look of comedic nonchalance as he stood. He lifted an arm and finger and pretended to lead an orchestra as he strode confidently toward the podium.

  Anderson’s eyes were fixated on Cuning. Was that the M-cells? Or was he merely wishing it was? What were the odds of these mysterious cells waiting until this moment to attack? Sure, they were intelligent, but strategic, too?

  His thoughts took a sharp turn. This thing was already acting like a mysterious plague. It was inexplicably jumping hosts. What would happen if it now began to actually strategize the timing of its cellular attack on its host to coincide with an external event, such as this ball? That seemed farfetched even to him. But wasn’t that exactly what had occurred with Director Kellerman? The cells had used his memory to elaborately reenact justice. He watched Cuning without blinking.

  “All part of the act folks to defang my critics,” said Cuning. “Who’d expect the bumbling politician of secretly being the James Bond villain? Well, did it work?”

  The audience clapped.

  “I hope so. I could’ve broken a nail.”

  Laughter rolled over the audience.

  Anderson couldn’t help but be impressed with the man’s mastery of an audience. That was part of what made him so dangerous.

  “Well, where do I begin? There’s so much to say. So much to celebrate.” His handsome smile slowly disappeared. “Celebrations are indeed in order. For reasons I’ll address this evening. But it would be insensitive to not preface our celebration with mentioning the blood that was shed two days ago—prior to the passage of STOP.”

  The audience began clapping.

  Cuning punctuated in the air as he spoke. “The Scientific Termination of Predators.” He waited for the applause to die down. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Two days ago riots broke out all over our great but embattled nation. Government buildings were burned down. Thousands of people were shot, and just as many killed. It was truly a tragedy. It’s a shame that it took such a loss of property and life for Congress to do the right thing.

  “It seemed that every television station and reporter painted the dire picture of vast murderous mobs out of control. But then Congress did the right thing. They voted to protect the American people and what happened? Just as quickly as these riots began, they ended. What does that tell you? It tells me these were not mindless hoodlums hellbent on burning down the nation.

  “No, just the opposite. They were frustrated patriots forced into demonstrating that they were fed up with Congress’s thirty-year discussion about stopping predators. Were people hurt in the process? Yes. Did we lose precious lives? Yes, on all sides. Patriot citizens. Patriot law enforcement. Patriot soldiers. Patriots suffered until Congress got the message.” Cuning looked at the ceiling with his palms turned upward. “Thank God for American patriots!”

  He got the audience response he desired. He watched and waited. Anderson watched and anticipated.

  “You know, there’s a story in the Bible about Jesus and His disciples getting into hot water with the traditionalists of His day.” He smiled. “Those guys are still with us.” He spoke over the audience laughter. “Jesus and the disciples were walking in the fields. The disciples plucked grain and ate some. They weren’t stealing it. It’s just out there growing wild.

  “Wouldn’t you know it. A bunch of traditionalists just happened to be in the bushes. They jumped out, ‘Aha! We got you this time!’ The crime? It was the Jewish sabbath. Not supposed to do any work on Saturday. A crime against high heaven if you pluck grain. Capital punishment. I kid you not. Jesus put these traditionalists in their place. You know how he did it? He said that man wasn’t made for the sabbath.” He bobbed his index finger at the audience. “’The sabbath was made for man,’ he told them.

  “You get the point. The traditionalists of Jesus’s day were just like the traditionalists of our day. They’re about rules and tradition. They’d rather someone go without something as necessary as food than to violate their precious tradition. In our case, it’s the necessity of safety they’re willing to sacrifice to protect their tradition. But my friends, no more! The people have spoken. They’ve spoken loudly. They’ve spoken dramatically. They’ve spoken emphatically. The safety of the American people is more important than any tradition. No matter how old it is. No matter how revered it is. People matter more! You matter more! Your safety matters more!

  “My new chief of staff, George Manos, he’s not as nice as I am. When the Senate passed STOP, he said, ‘Mr. President, you’ve got Congress by the balls.’ Of course, I was taken aback by such coarse language.”

  The audience laughed.

  “I said, ‘No, the American people have them by the balls.’ Then I had to correct myself. I said, ‘George, it’s anatomically impossible for anyone to grab Congress by the balls.’”

  The people laughed as though they were at a comedy club. Cuning waited a couple of minutes and spoke as the last wave of laughter was taken out with the retreating tide.

  “STOP is the law of the land. Predators are dying by the hundreds. And as unlikely as it may appear, Dr. Anderson and President Cuning are on the same team. They both want to get rid of predators and are working together to do it.”

  Cuning began clapping vigoro
usly, looking at Dr. Anderson. Thousands of people stood and joined in the applause.

  That’s when it happened.

  “Congressman Randolph Tenny.”

  The huge crowd was caught up in Cuning’s orchestrated moment and hadn’t heard him say the murdered politician’s name. Now Anderson stood. He stared intently, his heart beating fast and hard against his chest.

  “Congressman William Night. Governor Kingston Matthews.”

  Anderson’s gaze bore into Cuning. Cuning had stopped clapping and was holding on to the sides of the podium as though a thousand volts of electricity was coursing through his body and clamping his hands involuntarily against the fiberglass edges. The expression on his face hadn’t outrun the electricity. Why had he just named Tenny and Night? Both had been outspoken critics of Cuning, and both had been robbed and murdered, presumably by predators. The cases had gone cold.

  And Governor Matthews. Governor Matthews? Another vocal critic of Cuning. Matthews had run against him in the presidential primaries and had done surprisingly well. Until He suddenly died of natural causes and was later mistakenly cremated. Anderson continued watching in silent fascination as Cuning named several other murdered, dead, or missing people, all of which had been known to be his critics.

  “U.S. District Judge Antonio Barclay,” said Cuning, amidst a growing bewilderment spreading among the crowd, as much for the president’s clenched teeth and obvious discomfort as for him naming a long list of dead or missing enemies.

  They waited for an explanation that with every passing second was like hearing the approaching train’s blaring horn and not being able to determine from which direction the train was coming.

  Cuning saw people looking at him and whispering to one another. What was wrong with him? What were these voices in his head? He looked at his enemy. No, it couldn’t be. He was bluffing. He had shaken the freak’s hand, but that had been weeks ago. If he was infected, something would’ve happened before now. But what about the interview last night? he thought. And what about what’s happening now?

  He’d deal with Anderson later. Scratch the espionage setup. Once this was over, he was going to personally empty that man’s head of that hellish brain of his, and he wasn’t going to use a gun. But first he had to find a way to shut his own mouth and get himself off this stage.