by Alex Siegel
"This is Windy City Bank, right?"
"Yes, sir," Tryan said.
"Then I'm talking to the right outfit. My family received a gift basket two weeks ago. The note read, 'From your good friends at Windy City Bank.' The chocolate was spoiled, and it made my children very sick. Tell me who is responsible."
"Why did we send you a gift basket?"
"I have no idea!" he said. "That's why I'm calling you. I want to know who authorized this crime! If I don't receive appropriate compensation, I'm going to sue."
"Hold on, sir. Calm down. Give me a minute to ask around the office and find out what's going on."
Aaron heard cheerful hold music.
He leaned back in his office chair and looked at the gray shelves behind his desk. Three items were on display: a white phone used by billionaire Roger Gains, a miniature monkey machine built by Neville Cantrell, and a stress ball used by General Arnold Joseph. Aaron hoped the cannibal crisis would end in a fourth trophy before too long. The shelves were still pretty barren.
Perry was working at his computer in the far corner of Aaron's office. Perry looked over with a curious expression.
"Pull the pictures off my phone," Aaron said. "Start doing some research. We're looking for gift baskets containing chocolate. Odelia thinks the cannibal germs are hidden in the chocolate."
"Yes, sir," Perry said.
While Aaron waited, he idly wondered how his parents were reacting to the cannibal crisis. He decided his father was probably stubbornly ignoring the problem or trying to make money from it. The old man was always looking for financial opportunities.
Aaron had promised his parents he would visit them again someday. He still intended to make good on the promise, even if it was problematic. As a commander, he felt obligated to follow the rules, and visiting parents was definitely against the rules. Regardless, he would make it happen. He just needed his life to calm down a little.
After about twenty long minutes, Tryan got back on the line. "We never sent you a gift basket, sir."
"You're just covering your ass because you don't want to get sued!" Aaron said.
"No. I'm being completely honest. I asked people in sales and promotions, and they had no idea what I was talking about. The only gifts we give out are credit card points."
"Are you telling me the note was a fake? Why the hell would anybody send me an expensive gift basket with a fake note?"
"I really don't know, sir," Tryan said. "I'm very sorry about your children getting sick, but Windy City Bank had nothing to do with it."
"Ask around again. I have a great lawyer, and he'll find the truth, so you might as well fess up now."
"Give me a few more minutes."
Aaron heard more hold music.
He looked over at Perry and said, "Got anything?"
"I don't think the bank paid for any gift baskets, sir," Perry said. "I checked the accounting records pretty carefully using the twins' pattern matching code."
"Which means the note is a red herring."
Perry nodded. "If you're going to mail deadly germs to people, you wouldn't sign the card with your real name, right?"
"It was a lead worth checking, and I'm glad I did. It confirmed we're on the right track."
Eventually, Tryan rejoined the conversation. "I'm absolutely certain we didn't send any gift baskets, sir."
"Sorry about wasting your time. Bye." Aaron hung up.
He looked at the pictures on his phone again. The other side of the note read, "Loving Sun Chocolate and Nuts."
He went back to his computer and found the company website. He could tell at once that Loving Sun was a small company. The website was plain and lacking in content. The main page showed just ten different kinds of gift baskets. Chocolate and nuts were nicely arranged, and there was a generous amount of each in the baskets. Some also included candy canes, cookies, or flavored popcorn. The type of basket matched the pictures on Aaron's phone. The company had only one store address listed.
Could be a front, Aaron thought.
"Give me the address where my team is located right now," he called.
"Yes, sir." Perry typed on his computer for a moment.
He read off an address, and Aaron wrote it down on a sticky note. Then he called the phone number of the Loving Sun store.
"Hello?" a gruff, male voice said.
"I'm Detective Frank Geyer of the Northbrook police department," Aaron said. "I'm investigating a murder, and one of your chocolate gift baskets is involved."
"Oh?"
"Yes. It seems the victim received the basket in the mail about two weeks ago. The attached note was very threatening. We believe the murderer sent the gift to intimidate the victim, but the note wasn't signed. My question to you is who paid for it?"
"What was the address?" the man said cautiously.
Aaron read off the address Perry had given him.
"Hold on."
Aaron continued to study the Loving Sun website while he waited. There were only a few pages, and the formatting was sparse. The site lacked all the social media icons that he had come to expect.
"Perry," Aaron said, "check out the Loving Sun website. Give me your expert opinion."
"Yes, sir," Perry said.
Finally, the gruff, male voice spoke, "We don't have that address in our records."
"You're sure?" Aaron said. "I'm looking at one of your baskets right now."
"Very sure. Maybe it was delivered to somewhere else and moved there."
"That seems unlikely."
"But possible," the man said. "What did Sherlock Holmes say? 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' It is impossible that we sent a basket to that address."
Aaron raised his eyebrows. "I see. Thank you for your time." He hung up.
He stood up and walked over to Perry. The hacker was lying back in a chair made of soft, stretchy webbing. He was almost horizontal. Twelve large computer monitors were positioned above his feet where he could see them without straining. Two keyboards and two mice were on angled trays above his stomach. He was wearing jean shorts which exposed his pasty, white legs.
"This is interesting, sir," Perry said. "Loving Sun has owned their internet domain for only two months."
"What does that mean?" Aaron said.
"They didn't even have a website until two months ago. Let me check the financials." Perry typed on his keyboard. "Privately owned. Incorporated two months ago. No taxes have ever been paid. I can't find a bank account. I think it's a phony business."
Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. After two days of frustration, this case was finally lurching forward. He now had a good idea of what was causing the disease and where it was coming from. It was just a matter of following this lead to the people responsible.
He took out his phone and called Norbert.
"Sir?" Norbert said.
"I want you and Tawni to go to the Loving Sun store," Aaron said. "I'll text you the address. Look around and talk to the people, but be careful! There is a good chance the plague originates there. Do basic reconnaissance and then leave peacefully. No fighting. Got it?"
"Yes, sir. What about Sheryl and Odelia?"
"Send them back here. Their work is done." Aaron hung up.
He smiled at Perry.
"You seem happy," Perry said.
"We're going to break this case wide open tonight. I can feel it." Aaron clenched his fist in victory.
"Just in time. Look at this."
Perry brought up a map of the central part of the United States, stretching from Iowa to Ohio. Red dots marked several locations.
"What's that?" Aaron said.
"Military mobilizations. The Army is preparing to invade Chicago. They're just waiting for the 'go' order, but the President is holding them back."
Aaron had a cold feeling. "How many soldiers?"
"Maybe as many as fifty thousand, sir. Four divisions including some tanks."
Aaron went back to his desk and sat down. Even if his team destroyed the source of the plague, many hundreds of people were already infected. Unless a quick cure was found, they would become cannibals and go on a murderous rampage. Then the President would have no choice. The Army would get that "go" order, and Chicago would become an official war zone.
"Fuck," Aaron muttered.
* * *
Smythe stared at the image on the display in his lab. Using confocal microscopy, he had scanned the muscle tissue sample at a resolution sufficient to see individual structures inside the cells. The nuclei and mitochondria were easily identifiable. There were also many small, conical structures that he didn't recognize. The sample was fresh and properly chilled, so they weren't the result of decay. Those things had to be the bacteria that were causing the cannibal plague. They were living inside the muscle cells, safely shielded from the body's immune system.
Smythe went off to find Aaron.
Smythe paused briefly in the main room where the aperture was being built. The twins and most of the scientists had gathered around a bulky hunk of equipment. The scientists seemed excited. The legate and her bodyguard watched from a short distance away.
Smythe moved on. Not my concern, he thought.
He found the commander in his office. Aaron was standing near Perry, and they were looking at satellite photos on Perry's computer screens.
"Sir," Smythe said, "I have good news. I can see the bacteria under the microscope. They actually live inside muscle cells. We're half-way home to finding a treatment."
Aaron smiled. "Great, and I have news. We believe the disease is being delivered to victims by mail. The bad guys are sending gift baskets full of contaminated chocolate. Norbert and Tawni are on their way to the source now."
"What about Odelia?"
"She and Sheryl will be here any minute."
Smythe grinned broadly. "I can't wait to show her what I found in the lab. What are you looking at?" He turned his attention to the satellite photos.
Aaron pointed to a building in the center of one picture. "That's the Loving Sun Chocolate and Nuts Company. They make the baskets."
"It looks like a house, sir," Smythe said.
"It was a house until two months ago. Now it's their corporate headquarters, factory, and storefront. It's not a big operation."
Smythe leaned in for a closer look. The house had two stories, and there was a large, detached garage in back. Some other houses were about a hundred feet to the south. Train tracks were to the north-east. There were a lot of large trees and bushes in the picture. Judging by the density of the buildings, it looked like a semi-rural area.
"Where is this?"
"Silver Lake," Aaron said. "Fishing and farm country. It's about an hour's drive from here."
Smythe nodded. "Did you warn Norbert and Tawni to be careful, sir?"
"Of course."
Smythe faced Aaron. "While I was working in the lab, I was thinking about something. At the jail, we bumped into a joker from the Army Medical Research Institute, a Captain Mazza."
"You told me," Aaron said. "That was your old outfit, as I recall."
"Yes, sir. That meeting may have been more significant than I realized. This bacteria probably didn't evolve naturally, or there would be reports in the medical literature. The effects on the human body are too specific to be accidental."
"You believe it was genetically engineered?"
Smythe nodded. "And I wouldn't be shocked if this doctor knew something about it. He was acting a little odd. Perry, where is Captain Mazza now?"
Perry typed on his keyboard for a minute. "Orlando, Florida, sir." He typed a little more. "He flew there from Chicago this afternoon."
"Hmm."
"If this Mazza knows what's going on," Aaron said, "why isn't he telling anybody?"
"Maybe it was top secret research that was officially expunged. If the Army developed the bacteria, and now terrorists have their hands on it, that's embarrassing for everybody."
Aaron furrowed his brow. "Let's talk to the legate."
He and Smythe left the office and walked over to Ethel. She was staring at the piece of equipment at the center of the excitement. It was the size and shape of a coffin standing on end, but it was made of polished, silvery metal. A control panel was mounted on the face. Impressively thick electrical cables were attached to the base.
"What's going on, ma'am?" Aaron said.
"I was told this will be a significant event," Ethel said.
Bethany was tweaking the controls on the device while Leanna watched. After a moment, Bethany stepped back and held her finger over a green button. She hesitated.
"Do it," Leanna said.
Hearing her voice shocked Smythe. She almost never spoke these days.
"But what if..." Bethany said.
"We have no choice," Leanna said.
Bethany nodded and pressed the button. The lights dimmed. Smythe felt his balance shift, as if the floor were tilting towards the device, but the strange sensation passed. The lights returned to normal.
A green light was blinking on the device.
All the scientists cheered and exchanged handshakes as if they had achieved a great victory. Then they dispersed in various directions.
"What is that?" Smythe asked Bethany.
"Our ignition source," she replied in her synthetic voice. "Like the spark plug in a car. It's converting dark matter into stored energy right now."
"How much energy?"
"Three hundred kilograms when it reaches full charge."
"Kilograms are a unit of mass," he said, "not energy."
"According to Einstein, mass and energy are interchangeable. I assumed even you would know that. In terms you're more familiar with, it's approximately six million megatons of explosive power. It would shatter the planet."
Bethany and Leanna walked off.
Smythe was left staring.
"Ma'am," Aaron said to Ethel, "Smythe had a thought."
Smythe shook himself. "Yes, ma'am. I suspect the Army Medical Research Institute might be hiding information about this plague."
"You would know," Ethel said. "You used to work for them."
"Can the President order an inquiry?"
"Roy certainly could, but I don't think it would be effective. Government labs know how to evade and deflect official inquiries. My team in Washington will have to lead the investigation if we want quick answers."
"I agree," Smythe said. "May I contact them directly?"
"Yes. The commander is Neal. You can tell him you're speaking on my behalf."
"Thank you, ma'am."
He looked back at the "ignition source." The green light was blinking slowly. Six million megatons, he thought, and this is just the spark plug.
Chapter Eleven
Neal walked into the hospital room, and the sight of the patient in the bed made him stiffen. Thick bandages were wrapped around Wayne's chest and right arm. His left leg was in a rigid brace. The pale color of his skin showed he had lost a lot of blood. His eyes were open which was a good sign.
Neal walked over and smiled encouragingly. "How are you feeling?"
"Not great," Wayne said, "but I'll live."
"You can be proud of yourself. You fought like a true legionnaire. You're a credit to the Society."
"Thank you, sir. Did you get the Butcher?"
Neal nodded. "I ripped his face off and watched him scream until he died." He inspected his fingernails.
"I wish I could've been there." Wayne smiled weakly. "He deserved even worse. Those girls..."
"Don't remind me."
Neal's phone rang. He checked the caller ID and didn't recognize the number, but it was marked as a secure call. An unknown person in the Society was trying to reach him.
He frowned and answered the call, "Hello?"
"Is this Neal, commander of Washington, DC?" a man said.
"Possibly."
"I'm Smythe, from Chicago, sir. You ma
y remember me from the convention last winter."
Neal nodded. "Yes. The healer with the magical hands."
"That's right. We have a problem, and we need your help."
"This isn't a good time. My team just came off a brutal mission. One legionnaire died and another is recovering in the hospital. Only two are available for active duty, and they just went to sleep after days without rest. I'm not going to wake them up now."
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Smythe said in a sincere tone, "but if you've seen the news, you know we have a severe cannibal crisis in Chicago. The legate asked me to ask you to help. She's here now."
Neal winced. He couldn't ignore an order from the legate no matter what the circumstances were.
"What do you need?" he said.
"During our investigation, we ran into a doctor from the Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases."
"That's based in Fort Detrick, right?"
"Correct, sir," Smythe said. "Captain Mazza is the guy. I suspect he knows something."
"Do you have any proof?"
"No, but I talked to him, and his behavior wasn't quite right. He was too edgy. I used to work for the Institute, so I should know."
Neal furrowed his brow. "Sounds like a fishing expedition. It could be a huge waste of my time."
"It's worthwhile, I assure you. The situation in Chicago is extremely bad and getting worse. Victims are being eaten alive. I'll send you a full mission briefing. It will tell you everything we know."
Neal rolled his neck. He also needed to sleep. "I'll get on it. Send the briefing to my hackers too."
"Thank you, sir," Smythe said enthusiastically.
"You're welcome." Neal sighed and hung up.
"What's up, sir?" Wayne said from the bed.
Neal shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Get some rest. You deserve it."
He went into the hallway. Nurses in white uniforms walked swiftly on the tile floor as they went about their duties. Patients in blue gowns moved more slowly. Public announcements droned in the background. The hospital smelled of disinfectant, but that was better than some other possible odors.
Neal called Todd, the senior computer hacker on the Washington team.
"Sir?" Todd answered at once.
"We're investigating a doctor from the Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases," Neal said. "The Chicago team is sending us the details. We're helping them with a mission."