The Doomsday Infection

by Lamport, Martin

  CHAPTER 44

  22:15 PM

  Vice-Admiral Reed arrived at the White House security gates, and went through the usual rigmarole of being ushered into the building’s checkpoint, vigorously frisked by a marine, eventually satisfied he saluted him and he was in and although not a stranger to the powerhouse he marveled at his surroundings.

  In the Oval Office Hamilton Parker shouted down the internal telephone, “Vice-Admiral Reed is here? Why? Who sent for him? I most certainly did not!”

  The Surgeon General observed the President with caution as the man paced the Oval Office in a state of panicked rage. He had flipped between being a charming, smiling politician to a raving lunatic and back again in the blink of an eye all evening. He noted that the President was in a permanently agitated state, and that he had not shaved all day, adding to his overall unkempt appearance, “No, no,” continued the President. “Send him up.” He slammed down the telephone and then swept it from his desk as an afterthought.

  The President turned on Quinn Martell. “I know what you are up to, you and the Vice-Admiral, I’m not stupid, you know. What you two are plotting between you is treason of the highest order. I’ll have you thrown in jail and executed for this, you see if I don’t.”

  “I have no idea what you mean, Mister President.” Quinn said in alarm.

  The President nodded at the ever-present armed guard in full dress uniform. “You see my personal guard over there, I can order him to shoot you, you know?”

  The young guard’s eyes registered shock, flicked to the President for a split second then eyes front as usual, but he swallowed hard.

  “Don’t you believe me?” asked the President sinisterly.

  “I, erm, I, I’m not entirely -”

  A sharp rap on the door broke the tension and Vice-Admiral Reed entered. He extended his arm to shake, but the President waved his hand away. “Ah, conspirator number two,” the President jeered, “Come on in, come join the party.”

  Reed looked from one man to the other. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”

  Hamilton Parker circled the desk. “You two.” He pointed from one man then to the other. “I know all about your plotting and your secrecy, I know everything. I’ve been listening in on Quinn’s telephone calls to you. They made highly interesting listening too, I might add. You were going to try and have me subpoenaed, claiming I’m unfit for office on medical grounds, saying I’m mentally unbalanced?” His voice rose to a screech. “I’m as sane as any man in this goddamned room. I’m under enormous pressure, you know. I’m facing an unprecedented end of the world catastrophe. Can you even start to imagine the pressure I’m under? Who knows how I’m meant to behave. We’re being attacked by an unknown enemy country. We don’t know who to retaliate against, but, boy when I find out.” He smacked his fist into the palm of his hand, “They won’t know what’s hit them. I’ll unleash a counter attack unlike anything the world has ever seen. These terrorists have picked on the US for the last time. I have my people working on this problem. The moment we find out who is behind the releasing of this plague we will bomb the bastards out of existence, show these goddamned rag-heads for the last time that we are not to be messed with, we’ve had enough of playing the nice guy, and we have turned the cheek for the last time. Mess with us at your peril, the US of A will not tolerate any transgressions, and that means we will demand the respect of the worlds’ leaders or they’ll damn well know about it. It’s about time that this great country had a leader to match the power that we are capable of and that man is me.” He leaned on his desk and added. “But first I’m going to start worming-out the lily-livered appeasers at home trying to undermine me - like you two.”

  “Mister President,” the vice-admiral finally found his voice. “I’m not entirely sure what you think the surgeon general and I have done?”

  “You two are plotting against me for starters. Trying to remove me from power is tantamount to attempting to overthrow the government. That is a treasonable offence for which I could have you executed.” He chuckled to himself and watched them squirm in discomfort.

  “Nothing could be further from the truth,” said the vice-admiral. “Our intentions are only for the good of the country, and keeping stability throughout the world.”

  “My, my, aren’t we noble,” he said sarcastically. “How altruistic. So, no plans for your own political ambitions?” said the President, but he could see the vice-admiral looked baffled. “Let me explain; who stands next in line to be President if I were removed, hmm?”

  “Well . . . normally it’d be the Vice President, which we don’t have . . .” the President made a hand gesture for him to continue his line of thought. “Erm, then the Speaker of the House, who, erm, resigned, then . . . oh!” he said and concluded the succession.

  “Ah, the penny’s dropped,” barked the President. “That’s right - the Secretary of Defense – you!” he snapped.

  “I assure you nothing was further from my mind, Mister President, I only had the best interests of -”

  “Can it, Reed. Save it for your trial. A couple of years in federal prison should give you time to think and repent your crime before you’re execution.”

  “Mister President, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion.” chimed Quinn.

  The President cut him off. “And you, Quinn, will be sitting right next to him, charged with war crimes.”

  “War crimes?” spluttered Quinn. “That’s absurd!”

  The President held up a hand, and pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. “Get me security.” He turned and grinned nastily at them and Quinn felt a chill run down his spine.

  The President nodded to the armed guard. “Cover these two traitors,” the guard fumbled for his sidearm, unsure what to do, and with a trembling hand pointed it at the two men. “You are under arrest for treason, you sonsofbitches!”

  22:30 PM

  Sophie had reset Luke’s leg and made a splint from two table-legs. She had also fashioned him a crutch from a tree branch. He hobbled onto the embankment and rummaged through the national guardsman’s belongings trying to find anything of use. “What’s this? Some sort of communications devise?”

  “It’s a military satellite phone.”

  “Would it work for civilian telephone calls?” he asked.

  She felt excited, for the first time in a long while, as they now had a link to the outside world. “We must be sparing with it, I think they’ll be able to trace the call,” she took it from him, and removed the batteries from the compartment. “Even when it is off, the batteries make a signal that can be triangulated and would pin-point our exact location.”

  “Let’s call your buddy, the surgeon general.”

  “I will soon, but we must get out of here, these guys will be missed, and someone will come looking. Are you up to moving?”

  He hoisted the soldiers rifles over his shoulder, tested his weight on the crutch, it appeared to take his weight, and he grimaced. “Sure, let’s go,” he said unconvinced and almost fell back into the canal.

  22:45 PM

  In the war room, tensions were running high; the remaining chiefs of staff were fighting a losing battle down in southern Florida and knew it. The back-room staff were dealing with reams of information, which in turn made mountainous piles of papers, with each new piece of information analyzed and if necessary forwarded. They faced an avalanche of information overload and it buried them.

  The chairman of the chiefs of Staff, Colonel Simpson, known as Homer, to the wittier of his friends, tried to keep order. “What’s the latest from the Jefferson?” he asked above the din.

  “No response from the USS Thomas Jefferson, sir,” replied a major.

  “Still?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No communications, again? We need to get them back online. That ship is our eyes and ears down there.”

  “Colonel, you don’t think . . .” the major started to suggest.

  “What, that t
he terrorists have overpowered a six thousand strong contingent of men aboard the most advanced aircraft carrier in the world? No, I don’t think so,” he smiled at the ludicrous suggestion.

  “Could the Bubonic Plague have gotten on board, sir?”

  “Not a chance, I know Captain Phillips personally, and his rigorous testing for any traces of the Black Death would have been second to none.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir. But the Jefferson has one of the most sophisticated communication systems known to man. If one line of communication has failed then they would have countless other methods to get a message through to us,” he said.

  The Colonel absorbed the information, “You’re right, Major. Send a jet to do a fly by, see if there’s a problem.”

  “All the jets in the vicinity are on board the aircraft carrier, sir.”

  “Find one, Major,” the colonel snapped unfairly. “There has to be a goddamned jet somewhere,” he said exasperated.

  23.15 PM

  The F-18 Tomcat scrambled from Fort Branson, based in Alabama, had lieutenant Carrington sat at the controls. He pushed forward on his stick, checked his height and heading, and puzzled over the peculiar instructions he’d received - to fly into the exclusion zone down in Florida.

  He felt a slight pang of anxiety. Flying into the zone would be dangerous, especially now he had read the bulletin concerning the district. The main one being that any aircraft, friend or foe, within the zone would be shot down immediately. In fact, in all likelihood he would be blown out of the sky by the very aircraft carrier he had been sent to contact. He hoped that they had gotten the message to not target him.

  It was a problem, because their communications were down. He gulped and swallowed down his fear. He felt sweat trickle down his spine. What a predicament, he was to establish contact with a vessel whose last instructions were to shoot him down. How unlucky could he get, he grumbled. The Thomas Jefferson had the capability to shoot him out of the sky from a distance of over two hundred miles away easily. He would already show on their long-distance radar, his course heading would ring alarm bells, and their weapons would automatically lock onto him. He shuddered at the thought. Killed by his own side. No heroic dying in combat for him. No aerial battle of wills, or dogfights like his heroes of WW1. No, he’d be blasted to smithereens by his countrymen.

  He crossed over into the exclusion zone and held his breath. So far so good. He scanned the horizon, the blackness of the night adding to his feeling of dread. He checked his monitors; nothing had fired at him, and in fact nothing showed on his monitors at all. Not a thing. He was the only mechanical object in the sky. He glanced over and with an eerie sensation, he saw the lights of the towns, cities and the freeway networks of northern Florida, suddenly turn an inky black as he crossed into the exclusion zone. He could not begin to contemplate what life would be like down there for the survivors.

  He brought his thoughts back to the present. Even though his monitors were clear, he still felt better using his own eyes, knowing that even electronic components could malfunction. Ninety-nine percent of his job entailed minding the computers that flew the craft for him, the one percent was for when there was a glitch with the equipment, or a snafu as he and his pals liked to call it.

  He hoped that the aircraft carrier was not suffering a snafu now and was at least receiving incoming communications. He looked forward, wondering if he would be able to see the approaching missile. Would it be so fast that it would glow red in the dark sky, or would the brand new aircraft carrier have some new technology that jammed his systems, so he would not know of his impending doom.

  He slowed the F-18 and descended to make his approach, surprised that he had no visual contact with the ship. On a cloudless night such as tonight, the aircraft carrier should be lit up like a beacon on the black vastness of the ocean. He pulled on his stick and descended further, and slowed his speed. He would be over the co-ordinates within a minute. However, he still could not see the aircraft carrier. He checked his monitor, still nothing else flying. He thought that at least one of the aircraft carriers seventy plus aircraft would have been flying a reconnaissance mission. Night-time operations were standard on an aircraft carrier, but he couldn’t see anything.

  He flew lower still, checked his monitors and flew over where the ship should be. It made no sense? He thought. How could it disappear? He had seen nothing on approach, he could see seventy miles in all directions at least, and they could not be more that seventy miles off course.

  He banked tightly feeling the g-force pushing him back in his seat, as he went for a visual from the other direction, not that it made any difference. Nope. Nothing.

  He pressed his communication button, paused and gathered his thoughts, thinking how crazy he would sound. At best, they would think him incompetent and his flying career would be over. At worst . . . nope, he shook his head. No, he didn’t want to think what the worst-case scenario would be.

  He released the transmit button, and said; “This is flight two-zero-seven, come in?”

  Instantly he received a response, and a cool detached voice replied. “Flight two-zero –seven, please stand by, you are being patched through to the Pentagon.”

  The Pentagon? His brain froze, what the hell? “Roger,” he replied aware that his voice had croaked.

  “Flight two-zero-seven?” boomed a deep voice through his speaker, “this is Colonel Simpson, can you relay your findings please, over?”

  The words stuck in his throat but finally he said. “I, erm, I can’t find the USS Thomas Jefferson, sir. It is not here. Over.” He trembled and wondered how incompetent they would think him.

  “Stand by, two-zero-seven.”

  The colonel looked around the vast mahogany conference table in stunned disbelief as the implication sunk in. Gathered in the war room were the best of the best. Each an expert in their field. Yet during the course of the evening none of them had noticed the lack of communication from their prized aircraft carrier, the jewel in the crown of the US navy fleet, and now in all likelihood it was floating aimlessly with a dead crew, or worse still, had been over-run by terrorists, or the unthinkable, it had somehow sunk.

  Some of the military men were ashen faced and silent. He resigned himself to the undeniable truth. He spoke to the pilot once more, “Flight two-zero-seven. Do a fly-past using infrared. Over.”

  “Roger,” lieutenant Carrington confirmed, switched the monitor on, and swooped low, he flew slowly over the co-ordinates. His jaw dropped. He stared at the screen stupefied and tried to register the enormity of what he saw. He glanced through the cockpit side window for a visual confirmation, and his heart sank.

  He could see something glowing below the waves, the size of which could only be the gigantic aircraft carrier. It corresponded with the enormous object showing upon his screen. He took a deep breath, unable to believe what he was about to say. He flicked on the transmit button, “this is flight two-zero-seven, over.”

  Almost immediately, he received a reply. “This is Colonel Simpson, two-zero-seven, what have you discovered, over?”

  “It’s – it’s down there, Colonel. Over.”

  “Be more precise, son.”

  Lieutenant Carrington’s heart palpitated and he said; “The USS Thomas Jefferson, it’s sunk, sir, it’s lying on the bottom of the ocean.”

  23:25 PM

  On an unlit Miami back street, a patrol had got lucky and had stopped a Toys R Us truck, which had been crawling along without lights. It had been a fluke that a soldier was playing around with infrared goggles and had seen the heat register of the engine.

  “This way, sir,” said a young soldier, and led the hazmat suited General Malloy towards the truck. “You’re going to love this. A truck-full of wet-backs.” He handed him a flashlight, as Malloy struggled up the tailboard into the truck.

  The general sucked in his breath in surprise. He shone the flashlight beam around the truck, and saw the thirty or so dark-skinned illegal immig
rants cowering in the dark, held captured and under the gunpoint of several soldiers.

  The frightened Cubans’ stared at the orange-suited soldiers as if they were aliens from another planet. “Anyone speak English?” general Malloy asked in a metallic voice that spooked the quaking illegal immigrants further.

  A young girl held up her hand apprehensively. “I speak it some,” she said.

  “When did you get here?”

  “One hour ago.”

  “You do know that the Black Death is killing everyone here?”

  “Si.”

  “Then why -” He stopped the line of inquiry. He knew the answer. Now, of course, the perfect time to enter the country illegally, while the navy and coast guard were stretched to capacity. Even though they faced almost certain death from the Black Death, the illegal immigrants still kept on coming in like an unstoppable tidal wave.

  “How did you get here?” he asked the girl.

  “By boat.”

  “Where did you disembark?

  “No comprendo?”

  “Where did you land?” he asked but her expression still looked blank. “Where did the boat stop?”

  “Near Miami, I think,” she said. “We, erm, did this . . .” she made swimming gestures with her hands.

  “Swam?

  “Si, we swammed from the boat.”

  “That’s impossible,” the general snapped.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s impossible, that you could sail in close to Miami, without being challenged.”

  “I no understand?

  “There would have been patrols. They would have spotted you on radar at the very least. There are scanners aboard a ship fitted with motion detectors, infra-red detectors, long-range radar, short-wave radar, this could not happen,” he said more to himself, knowing that she was not following any of it.