When, to Quinn Martell’s alarm, a grainy head shot of Sophie filled the screen. Vice Admiral Reed tapped the table to get their attention and the men turned to look at the screen. “This is from CCTV on top of a mobile unit parked down the street from the hotel just before the airplane was used as a mobile bomb to attack the Four Points Hotel,” he informed the gathered personnel, the murmuring stopped as everyone in the room fell silent. The screens showed a poorly lit video of an aircraft trundling by. “If you look at the top right hand corner of the screen," he froze the image. “You can see that the escape-hatch opens, the chute deploys, and the terrorists jump from the plane.” He moved the images on a few frames and Sophie’s face filled the screen.
Hamilton Parker over-rode the footage and his face replaced Sophie’s on their monitors, and was back to his cocky self. “Well, well, well, look who it is? Anything to say, Quinn?”
All eyes swiveled to the surgeon general. “I’m telling you -”
“I remember you telling us before -” cut in the President, he prowled the Oval Office, fully back in charge. “- That she wasn’t involved in releasing the virus at the hospital, that she wasn’t involved in the former President’s murder, and now, I suppose that she’s not involved in this atrocity? How gullible are you? Let us examine the facts, she was seen sneaking away from the island, the very hospital where this plague started -”
“We don’t yet know where it started,” Quinn Martell argued back.
Hamilton was on the attack, he held up his index finger to emphasize the point. “Yet, there she is right there in the thick of it, right at the very start. Next the former President is assassinated and who appears on his security cameras fleeing the scene in a stolen vehicle in her bid to escape?” He held up a second finger. “And now an audacious attack on our premier command post in the danger zone, driving an airplane into the building no less, and who appears on nearby CCTV cameras?” He held up a third finger.
Quinn was on the ropes but defended his protégé. “There will be an explanation, if -”
“I think we’ve all heard enough from you, Quinn. We’ve delayed action because of you and your procrastinating and it cost General Malloy his life. I’ve been discussing this with my advisors -”
“His advisors?” mouthed Vice Admiral Reed to Quinn Martell. “What advisors? Surely we’re his advisors?”
“We’re going to Defcon two -”
“Defcon two?” Queried Reed, “The country has only ever been at Defcon two once, that was during the Cuban missile crisis. We did not do that even after 9/11.”
“This terrorist threat is far worse -”
“It’s not terrorists, for Pete’s sake -”
“We estimate that five million people are already dead from the chemical attack. And if any of these carriers break through the blockade, it will run into hundreds of millions dead,” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “Now my advisors figure that the suspect identified as Doctor Sophia Garcia - foreign born I should add - is not working alone, but at the moment she is the only one we can identify for sure. She obviously has an antidote and is able to move freely amongst the carriers. So she, and more importantly her antidote, is the most essential element to the survival of the United States of America.”
“But,” started the Vice Admiral cautiously, “Hasn’t she escaped . . . again?”
“Yes. We figure she has a network of followers aiding her, but as we speak we have operatives on the ground infiltrating these groups and sending out the message that there is an extraordinary reward for anyone assisting with her capture – something irresistible.”
A murmur quickly started in the room, and the consensus was that this was an excellent plan. They all agreed - except Quinn. “Your plan is solid, Mister President, except for a couple of things,” he said. “The fact that she is NOT a terrorist, and has NOT developed this new strain of the Bubonic plague, therefore, and more importantly has NOT invented an antidote.”
He looked around the faces of the military personnel gathered around the large conference table but no one looked at all interested.
Hamilton Parker grinned. “Their silence speaks volumes, Quinn. I think we’ve all heard more than enough from you. Your function here as the Surgeon General was as an expert on communicable diseases . . . but your expertise has come up short, you have come up short. Your services are no longer required.”
“But I . . .” stammered Quinn in shock. “I have a wealth of -”
“Don’t embarrass yourself, Martell, you’re dismissed,” the President said firmly.
Quinn gazed around the table at the gathered men and woman of the armed forces, none of whom would even look him in the eye. He stood and gathered his belongings and left the room with as much dignity as he could muster.
Vice Admiral Reed cleared his throat. “We have also isolated this man, as another person of interest, he was seen at the hospital with Doctor Garcia, and we’ve taken this image from the same CCTV camera near the Four Points.” A grainy headshot of Luke filled the screens. “He’s been identified as Luke Spencer.”
CHAPTER 25
12:00 MIDDAY
The noonday sun scorched the street. Richie Carpenter could see a vapor haze trailing up from the pavement surface, making the building opposite shimmer like an oasis. He was on the corner of Sunrise and 48th Street, in Fort Lauderdale. The heat as intolerable as ever, had sapped his energy. He lit a cigarette and stayed in the shadows as a military truck zipped past him. He headed to a huddle of people hanging near the edge of a park. All had scarves covering their noses and mouths in a vain attempt to protect them from the virus.
Carpenter, flicked away the cigarette, pulled up his neckerchief, and waved to them in friendly greeting.
Jake, the surfer dude, spotted him and raised his hand slightly in welcome. “Hey, Dude, you clean?”
“I ain’t a darkie; I’m good, take a look.” He twirled as if on a fashion catwalk and lifted his shirt. He smiled knowing that he would pass their test, as he didn’t have buboes or darkening of the skin.
Jake ginned. “He’s clean, welcome to our gang.” The others eyed him nervously and nodded to him. “How did you find us?”
“I’ve been tailing you for a while, making sure you guys were clean. How come you ain’t gone to the refugee camp?” Carpenter asked.
“Don’t trust the government, if you get my drift.”
“I hear you loud and clear, partner.” They slapped hands in their newfound bond. “I thought I could be more use in a partisan gang, than on my own.”
“We ain’t no uprising,” said Winnie who had stuck with Jake after they’d escaped prior to the gas-attack at the stadium. “We just trying to survive and get out of this hell-hole.”
“I hear you, sister,” he said, noticing Winnie bristle at this remark. “So; you guys ain’t behind the attack on HQ?”
“HQ?” Winnie asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
Carpenter gulped and quickly covered his error. “The Four Points Hotel, has been turned into the military HQ for South Florida, I thought everybody knew? I’ve been watching and reconnoitering looking for a chink in their armor -”
“You a one-man resistance unit?” Winnie asked with a sneer in her voice.
“I’m trying to be. I assumed anyone not escaping or going to the refugee camps must be resistance fighters,” Carpenter replied.
“Not us, we only want to stay alive,” Jake told him.
“Anyhow,” Carpenter continued. “There I was reconnoitering the HQ, when – Jesus! I could not believe my eyes! This jet came whizzing down the street, crashed into the hotel and exploded. Jesus, I ain’t seen anything like it.”
“What happened to the hotel?” Jake asked.
Carpenter made a toppling action with his forearm. “9/11, man, a goddamned 9/11.”
The gang gasped as they digested this newest piece of information. “We heard the explosion, dude.” Jake whistled. “And you thought that we we
re behind the attack?”
“Fucking A. I was kinda hoping. That’s my sort of retaliation,” he said. “Cut them off at the knees.”
Jake smiled and said. “Good luck with that, buddy. We don’t want a war. We just wanna get out of here. You’re welcome to tag along. I’m Jake.”
Carpenter shook his hand, “Lei –, Lew –is, Lewis Carpenter.” He covered. “So, how are you planning on escaping?”
Jake started, “Well, we thought our best chance -”
Winnie cut him short. “You ask a mighty amount of questions for a stranger.” She gave the newcomer the evil eye. “Well, what you got to say for yourself, hmm?”
“No offence ma'am, I’ve been on my own since this started and I wanted to talk to a fellow human being. The loneliness has turned me into a chatter-box, I meant no harm.”
This convinced Jake, he signaled for him to sit, as did the rest of the group and they settled back down to an impromptu meal. Jake offered him an opened can of beans. He sat and ate the baked beans, cold, and straight from the can. Winnie eyed him suspiciously. She pulled Jake aside. “This is too much of a coincidence. Look at him; he ain’t starving. He ain’t been out on the streets, trying to survive. His shoes ain’t even scuffed.”
“You think he’s a plant?” he asked, then after a moment said. “Why would the Government do that?”
She pondered the question, and then shrugged. “Well, no, it don’t make no sense, but he’s up to something. I don’t like it.”
“We’ll keep our eyes on him. But I just can’t think why they’d send in spies.”
Carpenter saw Winnie whispering to Jake who seemed to be the self-elected leader of the little group. He took off his boot, pretended to rub his foot as if it were aching, then twisted a cover from the heel and flicked a transmitter switch on a tiny GPS tracker hidden in the false heel.
Mission accomplished, thought Lieutenant Carpenter with a smile.
CHAPTER 26
Lieutenant Carpenter’s movements were now being monitored. He was on a top-secret mission entrusted to him by General Malloy himself, no less. He felt honored and could not wait to tell his mom and pop, after a suitable period of course. It was a top-secret mission, after all. He would not let the general down. He thought of him crushed under the collapsed hotel and sighed. Still if anyone could survive the catastrophe, it would be him. He was the toughest son of a bitch he’d ever met, no desk jock neither, he led from the front, not like those Washington pussies who’d never been up the sharp end. No, you could respect a man like Malloy.
Carpenter had thrived in the army, and his natural cunning had made him rise to the top, he applied for airborne training and knocked them dead at Fort Bragg. From there he’d been recruited into a special forces brigade, where his unusual knack for becoming a local effortlessly, made him perfect for counter-terrorism. He could blend seamlessly and could quickly pick up the patois and vernacular of the local population. Commended many times, Major Osborne took him under his wing as his rising star, and pushed him forward to General Malloy for his special mission.
His mission was of the utmost importance, to track and infiltrate the terrorists. They knew the terrorists were being helped, probably by little rag-tag armies like this band of losers. To fool the little gang had been a cinch. They had taken him on face value, apart from the old coon - she was watching him. He’d snuff her out if needs be, the general had given him a blank check to track the terrorists, he had unlimited resources, and a license to kill – just like James Bond, his all time hero. The mission simple, to flush out the terrorist Sophie Garcia, he had a bribe that would be irresistible for any information leading to her capture.
He knew that in the present climate there was no honor amongst thieves and if the misguided folk hiding the terrorists knew that squealing on them would earn them the most tremendous reward, then now might be the right time to drop it into conversation, while everyone was eating, feeling full, relaxed, and content. “Have you heard about the reward?” he asked casually.
“Reward, what reward?” Jake asked, tossing his bean can and opening a coke.
“For information leading to the capture of the terrorists,” he replied nonchalantly, scraping the bottom of the bean can, feigning starvation.
“What terrorists?” Winnie asked, her eyes narrowing. “We ain’t heard nothing about no terrorists.”
Lieutenant Carpenter smiled at them. “The terrorists responsible for this catastrophe – the virus.” he prompted.
“You saying it’s not a natural epidemic?” Jake queried, totally baffled by this. He gazed around his gang, noting everyone else was listening to the newcomer avidly.
The lieutenant shook his head in dismay. “A man-made virus manufactured by some rag-headed haters of the US.” He smiled. “Or the Bubonic Plague, here, in present day United States, I mean, Come on.”
Most of the gang seemed to agree with this theory. It was what they wanted to believe rather than some ancient microbe coming back to wipe them out. “Makes sense,” said a bald man in a Kiss t-shirt.
“How come you’re so well informed?” Winnie asked suspiciously.
“Firstly, I personally think hijacking a plane is not the work of the Bubonic Plague,” he said sarcastically. “Or crashing said plane into the military HQ is not the work of the Bubonic Plague. Secondly this.” He reached in his pocket and unfolded a flyer. “I took this from a tree down the street, it’s offering a reward, and has a couple of photographs of the people they’re interested in.”
“Let’s have a look.” The gang were keen to read about the reward. “How much money are they offering?” asked the guy in the Kiss T-shirt.
The gang’s sudden greed surprised Jake. It disturbed him. He took the flyer and saw a grainy photo of Sophie and his recently made friend, Luke. “This ain’t right. I know for a fact this dude ain’t involved.”
“Do you know him, where is he?” Carpenter asked a little too quickly.
“It ain’t him, I’m telling you,” he said firmly.
“If he’s innocent then he can prove it, can’t he? Meanwhile you’ve pocketed the reward,” Carpenter said fairly.
The crowd jumped up on their feet. “What about the reward?”
“Think about the money!” shouted another.
“How much is the reward?” a woman wanted to know.
“Oh, the reward is not money . . .” Carpenter answered cryptically, drawing it out, “It’s better - much, much better than money.” He smiled broadly knowing that he had them hooked.
13:00 PM
Luke and Sophie trudged wearily towards the docks, soaked in sweat, the hazmat suits doubled the heat and their exhaustion. “I remember a speedboat hire place up ahead. I did a story on it once, because they don’t lock their boats at night, as apparently, the replacement costs to fix the locks were astronomical. Yet on the odd occasion that one of them was taken for a joyride it was usually abandoned somewhere nearby, it made a quirky story because it was cheaper to leave the speedboats unlocked and let them be stolen.”
“So, we’re hoping for an unlocked speedboat?” she asked not enthused with the plan.
“It’ll be cool, don’t worry.”
She gasped as several rats ran across the sidewalk in front of her. She stopped dead to let them pass, feeling a revulsion towards them, as if they somehow represented the Bubonic Plague.
Sophie and Luke turned a corner to see a pack of dogs fighting over a corpse, one ran off with a string of intestine. She cringed. “Has this really all happened over the last twenty-four hours? It’s as if civilization collapsed overnight. No planes, cars, trains - no transport. No telephones, computers, e-mail, no medical help, no help, period.”
They were shortly at the docks where brightly colored signs advertizing fishing trips, tours around the bay, dolphin watches, or hiring speedboats by the hour. “This is the place,” said Luke.
As they approached, a figure stepped out from the shadows pointing a rifle at
them. “Freeze!”
CHAPTER 27
14:00 PM
General Malloy stirred from under a mound of rubble in the stairwell of what was left of the Four Points Hotel. He moved the bigger pieces of masonry until he was in an upright position. Dust swirled around in the gloom. He would kill for some light right now. He tried wiggling his toes, and they appeared to function. That had to be a good sign, although there was a crushing weight on his legs that he could not see. He waited for his eyes to adjust. He tried to guess which floor he was on, was he still halfway up, buried under twenty floors of glass and stone, or did he have all forty stories on top? Alternatively, had he fallen to the bottom, he recollected that there were two sub-floors, containing the kitchens and delivery bays. Still, he was alive and he was damn well going to get out of there. He pulled at the weight on his legs and was shocked to find it was a body. He yanked with all his strength and the upper torso of a man, flew up and over his shoulder, covering him with innards. “Damnit,” he said, wiping his face picking offal from his chest. He wriggled some more and freed his legs, stood and brushed himself down. He kicked a discarded flashlight. Retrieved it, switched it on – nothing.
He rattled it some, tried again and had a beam. He shone it around to get his bearings and discovered bleakly that all exits were blocked. He felt a slight breeze on his face, took out a box of matches, struck one and was elated when he saw the flame flicker. He followed the source of the draft until the match burnt his fingers. “Damnit.” He dropped the match, lit another and tracked the source of the draft and possible escape to a hole high up in the air. He allowed himself a smile, knowing that the stairwell would be at the side of the building and that the hole should lead, eventually to the outside. He clambered up the pile of rocks, as he neared the top, a mini avalanche sent him back down the pile of slabs. He tried once more, carefully picking his foot-holes. He was tantalizingly close to the hole and freedom, when a hand gripped him around his ankle.
The Doomsday Infection Page 17