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

by Eric M Hill

  “Malik Assad Muhammed.”

  “I knew it,” said Anderson. He listened in awe at the next several names. The next one made him take his seat. It was the last name he heard.

  “Emerald Anderson. Brenda Addison. Hal Cook. Sandra Cooper.”

  Cuning felt like something inside of his head was subsiding, like water going down the bathtub’s drain. The last of it—whatever it was—left. He didn’t know if he could, but he felt that he could speak if he wanted to—the real him. Not this thing that had hijacked his mouth. He looked around at the silent, still audience. He had never felt this before in his life. The sense of not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he no longer had that problem.

  “Killers of life are threats to survival. Threats to survival must be stopped!” Cuning yelled. His body trembled as he looked at one befuddled expression after another. His next words came out of his mouth with much labor. “Stepping stones…all of you. To hell with democracy.” He fought to turn his head toward his enemy. It turned slowly. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Anderson, you Constitution loving—”

  He collapsed to the floor.

  In a flash, Secret Service was on stage, one checking Cuning’s vitals while the rest formed an armed wall of flesh around his body.

  Agent Alvarez looked at a dazed Dr. Anderson. “What was that?”

  Anderson looked at the agent, but saw only his daughter’s body as he’d last seen her at the morgue in Austin. He spoke through the fog of his loss and pain. “Democracy.”

  Chapter 79

  The modest building seemed as formidable as Mount Everest. No one knew what he was up to. Even he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He waited at the traffic light, trying to make sense of it all. Competing thoughts slammed against one another as though his mind was a demolition derby. But some thoughts maneuvered skillfully through or around the mental wreckage as though belonging on a race track and not in a gladiator contest.

  One in sixty-eight children. Present in all ethnic, racial, and socioeconomic groups. Statistically significant difference in occurrences in boys and girls: 1:42 versus 1:189. Were boys absolutely more susceptible? Or were girls simply less susceptible? Genetics? Chromosomal? Neurological? Some external factor? If so, did it (or they) cause or trigger the condition? Why the spike in total occurrences? What’s behind the link in this condition and Down’s syndrome and tuberous sclerosis and Fragile X syndrome.

  He thought of some other conditions, then went back to FXS. Fragile X. The fragile X mental retardation 1 gene…FMR1…missing fragile X mental retardation protein gene…they can’t be trusted...too unpredictable.

  He was referring to trying to use M-cells in some way to fight disease. Discovering them had been like discovering and opening the genie’s bottle. The genie had granted his wish of killing predators. But this genie was proving reluctant to stay in its bottle, mysteriously jumping from one predator host to another. Such a mystery was acceptable, even good. Thousands of predators had died. But this was good only as long as it jumped solely on predators.

  But who can control a rebellious genie? he thought.

  BAAAAAAOOOOONK! BAAAAAAOOOOONK!

  “What’s your problem? Move your butt, moron!”

  Anderson snapped out of his daze. How long had he zoned out this time? He turned left and entered the parking lot and found a spot that faced the small two-story building. The structure itself was unremarkable in any distinct way or architectural design, except for the full green trees and beautiful flowers that surrounded it in stark contrast to the rest of the street.

  Nonetheless, Anderson found its small size and pleasing but nondescript appearance among the large buildings that towered over it profound. So much evil in the world. Entrenched and towering over good like these buildings towering over the people in this little building who were trying to make the world a little less harsh for those most vulnerable to its cruelty.

  He looked at the building’s entrance as though it was a huge dog that would either lick him silly or tear his throat out. Anderson was perplexed at his anxiety. Shouldn’t he feel good about this? He had helped millions. Why was he so fearful he’d fail at helping one?

  You can’t even drive yourself without going into one of your save-the-world trances, the thought accused, when his mind drifted into him doing something absolutely ridiculous. Isn’t that why you use a driver or auto-drive mode? Remember Emerald. She died alone.

  He absorbed the blow to his gut and opened the Titan’s door. He took a deep breath and stepped out of the vehicle. He didn’t know what the outcome of this meeting would be, but he did know one thing. He was going to walk across this parking lot and talk to this lady.

  Anderson stood before the receptionist, belly churning nervously, and wondering what in the world he was doing. Before he could take a seat, he heard, “Dr. Anderson.” He turned around. A tall woman, impeccably dressed, extended her hand and spoke with a softness her face didn’t possess. But the width and genuineness of her smile more than compensated for it.

  “Hi, I’m Daureen. I’m so glad to meet you.”

  They shook hands.

  “It’s good to meet you, too. I appreciate you seeing me with such short notice.”

  Daureen’s smile was still there. “Oh, no problem at all. I’m a fan. You’ve done so much for the country…and for the veterans. Please, follow me.” She shook her head and let out an exasperated breath. “Maybe the new president won’t be so war happy.”

  They went to the elevator.

  “My nephew was in the army for two years before he was injured in combat and medically discharged. You’re a hero in our family.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stepped inside of the elevator.

  Daureen looked at Anderson, her face perfectly expressing her sympathy. “I’m sorry about your daughter, Dr. Anderson. She didn’t deserve that. She was a good person.”

  “Thank you,” he said softly, his eyes going thoughtful. “She was. No woman deserves that.”

  Daureen saw the pain in his eyes and thought about her own dark secrets. “Dr. Anderson, thank you for STOP. It has only been close to a month and the news is saying that more than eight thousand predators have died. Can you imagine how many rapes and murders you’ve prevented? You’ve saved a lot of lives, Dr. Anderson.”

  I didn’t save my daughter’s.

  “No wonder Emerald was so proud of you,” she added.

  They stepped off the elevator. Anderson followed her lead, wondering why this woman would say something like that.

  “Please, have a seat,” said Daureen, when they got to her office.

  Anderson sat and so did she. There was no way he could proceed without a clarification. “Emerald mentioned me?”

  Daureen opened her mouth wide in an exaggerated way and rocked her head. “Oh, my Lord. Are you kidding me? She’d go on and on about you. I mean, who doesn’t know who you are, right? Well, I guess there could be someone who’s never been on Worldnet or watched television. But no matter what the subject was, she’d find a way to steer it to her daddy. I think me and my staff know more about your Nobel prizes and patents than you do.”

  She saw the effect her words were having on him. It appeared that this was all new to him. Her face got as soft as it could before meeting stiff resistance. “Did you know that Daddy singlehandedly wiped out sickle cell anemia? Did you know Daddy created a medicine that identifies and heals certain prenatal genetic diseases? Did you know that one of Daddy’s Nobel prizes is for his work in genetics engineering?”

  Anderson’s eyes brightened and watered.

  “Yes,” said Daureen. “It seems that, well, let me get it right. I don’t want to misquote your daughter. ‘DNA subunits A, T, C, and G are the four genetic building blocks of all organisms. Daddy created artificial genes and expanded the genetic alphabet. Now there’s eight. He’s using this information to create new antibiotics and cancer-fighting drugs.’ I’m certain I’ve left out or twisted somethi
ng, but does that sound about right?”

  Anderson didn’t know how much longer he could sit there before he embarrassed himself. “Daureen,” he said, standing up, “is there a restroom I could use?”

  “Certainly.” She gave him directions and sent him with a smile.

  ***

  When he finally returned, Daureen pretended not to notice that his eyes were red and puffy. “Dr. Anderson, here’s the folder on Grace.”

  He studied the outside of the old school paper folder for several seconds without touching it before he dared put his hands on it. He slowly opened the folder. He looked at the large photograph.

  Daureen looked approvingly at his open mouth. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Daureen let him linger on the photograph. “She’s a very sweet, loving little girl.”

  “How could someone not want a child like this?”

  “I used to ask myself that question, Dr. Anderson. There are lots of reasons parents give up or abandon their children. But I guess the one reason that troubles me the most is that some people will accept nothing less than perfection.” She let out a breath. “I suppose for the sake of the child, it’s better for it to be raised in a home other than one where the parents resent its existence. Thank God there are people like Emerald.”

  An awkward silence followed that statement.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Anderson. I meant—”

  “No apology is necessary,” he said, not taking his eyes off the photo.

  “I pray that God sends Grace someone else like your daughter, Dr. Anderson. Someone who can love this little angel despite her imperfections.”

  Anderson methodically looked at every document in the folder. He read the documents that contained Emerald’s handwriting and statements repeatedly. Every letter. He studied how she looped her h’s and swooped her t’s. Her c’s were swooped and everything was slanted. It was like her words were strengthening his bones.

  He smiled as he felt the dark force of grief and regret leaving his body and being replaced by an inexplicable buoyancy. The heaviness was gone.

  “I’d like to see Grace.”

  Daureen smiled. “Of course. We have a viewing room down the hall.”

  “A viewing room?”

  “Yes, it’s a large screen.”

  “This little girl, Grace, would’ve been my granddaughter had that predator not taken my daughter. I want to see her.”

  Daureen looked at him sympathetically, wanting to be as accommodating as possible in helping him find closure. “Dr. Anderson, we don’t have holographic technology. But I assure you that you will get a good idea of what Grace is like.”

  “Daureen, after what you’ve told me today about my daughter, I have a very good idea of what grace is like. Please, I need to see Grace in the flesh—face to face.”

  Daureen swallowed and stood up. Her obligation to her children stiffened her posture and moved the expression of sympathy from her face. “Dr. Anderson, I appreciate your loss, but Grace bonds very quickly. She has her challenges, but she knows when we introduce her to someone that she’s being evaluated. She was already calling Emerald Mommy. I will not allow this precious child to go through this demeaning process unnecessarily.”

  Anderson heard it loud and clear. She had just told him to leave. “Daureen, with your permission I’d like you to make an exception so that I can meet my future daughter in the flesh for the first time. And there’s no reason an agency doing work like this should be run on such a skimpy budget. You’re privately funded, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unless you and your board disagrees, we’re going to upgrade this whole operation and make it possible for you to help many more little girls like Grace. We’ll start by approving a five million dollar incremental grant. That means the money will be there, pre-approved. Just show my foundation that it’s going for the stated purpose and not into someone’s pocket. Everything works out, we’ll see about getting you more money. Will that work?”

  Daureen slowly took her seat.

  Chapter 80

  Dr. Anderson thought how ironic it was that Cuning’s own hypocrisy was the reason he still had access to him. The evening of his collapse had been the last time he had spoken. And as part of his charade that evening, he had publicly applauded him for working with him to wipe out predators.

  The Secret Service agent finished his physical search of them both, then another did an electronic and chemical search.

  “Sir, once you enter the room, you may speak to the president, but under no circumstances may either of you touch him. I know you are aware of this, sir, but we have to go over it. The president is in a persistent vegetative state. This means the president is unaware of what’s going on around him. It’s believed that people in comas such as these can’t hear. But you never know, right? So feel free to speak to him. Thank you for your service to our country, sir.”

  The agent opened the door for them. He was promptly met by another agent who told him exactly what the previous agent had just told him. He added, “Notice that we are standing on white flooring and the president is on red flooring. Under no circumstances may you breach the red flooring. A breach of the red flooring constitutes an immediate threat to the president’s life. Do you understand, sir?”

  “Yes. I step on the red flooring and you shoot me.”

  “That is correct, sir. There is no audio recording, but there is video. I will be in the corner of the room. For added privacy, feel free to cover your mouth with your hand as you speak to the president. Do you understand, sir?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Enjoy your visit, sir.”

  Anderson put Grace on his hip and got closer to the president, careful to give himself a few feet of yellow flooring. He wasn’t surprised at the absence of personal glee that the man he hated was in such a pathetic condition. He had known when he had learned about his daughter at the adoption agency that the boil of hatred in his chest had left.

  But he was unashamedly relieved that the man who had come so close to becoming America’s first dictator was instead lying before him in a coma. Yet for the sake of the nation, and for the sake of less nightmares of him awakening to resume his destruction, it would have been better had the M-cells simply killed him. And perhaps they would. Hopefully, they would.

  “Cuning, this is Anderson. I’m not going to be here long and I’m never coming back. You said some cruel and hurtful things to me at the ball. You told me that my daughter died hating my guts. I now know that was a lie. You were right about me. I was a horrible father. But you were wrong about my daughter. She forgave me. And I don’t know how, but she adored me.”

  “Daddy, you’re crying,” said Grace.

  “Yes, I am, angel. It’s okay, though.” He looked at Cuning. “You murdered my daughter, Emerald. But this beautiful little girl on my hip is Grace. She’s my new daughter.”

  “Love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, Grace.” He kissed her. “Cuning, before I learned the truth about my daughter, and before I got Grace, your Attorney General told me that God is able to make all things work together for good. I figured that was one thing you and I agreed upon. Your AG’s a nut case. But then something happened that made me reconsider. You know what that something was? It was you.

  “You told me that my daughter was trying to adopt a little girl. The moment I heard those words, my heart started burning. I knew I had to see this little girl that my daughter was trying to adopt. It was like the child became my own the moment you stabbed me in the heart with that revelation. And here she is. A beautiful four-year-old angel.

  “Looks like the AG’s on to something. What you meant to hurt me has instead helped me. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. If God can use manure to fertilize the soil so that it gives life, it shouldn’t be hard for me to believe he can even use a turd like you to give life.

  “Tell the president bye, Grace.”


  “Bye, President.”

  Anderson shifted her up and turned around. She put her head on his shoulder. “I’m through here,” he said to the agent.

  Grace burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny, Grace?”

  “President.”

  “What about the president?”

  “He winked at me.”

  ***

  Anderson used auto-drive mode as he left the hospital. He knew Grace hadn’t seen Cuning wink. The man was in a coma. But that didn’t stop the sense of dread that was coursing through his body. His phone rang.

  “Jake, how are you?”

  “Well, Kyle, ninety-five percent of me is in heaven. The other five percent doesn’t know where it is.”

  “Your predator population at the prison is getting smaller and smaller from what I hear.”

  “It is. That’s the part of me that’s in heaven.”

  “Let’s hear about the other five percent.”

  “I don’t know if you remember. One of those psychopath predators that was part of the group the court had ordered released from the prison—Nick Palmer. Calls himself the wizard. This killer finds out somehow who the female doctor was that examined him prior to his release. He finds out where she lives and breaks into her house and beats her. He was tying her up when apparently the plague attacks him. She gets away. He dies in her house from cancer in his groin.”

  “Sorry to hear she had to go through that, Jake. But I’m glad the disease saved her.”

  “Well, that’s just it, Kyle. Rosa’s dead, and I’m not so sure that plague didn’t kill her.”

  Anderson wanted to tell the warden this was impossible, but he couldn’t. A genie out of its bottle could do whatever it wanted to do.

  “Kyle, I remember now that you were scared pure white when that thing jumped from one predator to the other. It didn’t concern me one bit when that thing started jumping predators on its own. But do you think this thing can jump out of the predator population? You know, there was that soldier. But at least with that one we knew he had killed somebody. Rosa’s the sweetest person in the world. I know this for a fact. I’m the one who got her assigned to the prison. She’s a friend of the family. I doubt that she’s ever stepped on an insect.”