A reporter off-camera shouted something. The President turned and pointed toward the camera. “Can we get her a mic please?”
“Thank you, sir,” said a female voice after a few moments.
“Now, what were you asking?”
“I asked if cities under martial law would agree with your outlook that America is united, not divided.”
The President’s face darkened. “Those cities are under lockdown because they embraced the deception offered by the former Vice President—”
“Can you comment on the reports that some towns are still supporting President Barron and refuse to comply with your—”
The President stared down the interrupting reporter. “I have heard rumors. Yes. Vice President Barron caused a lot of trouble lately and we’re working very hard to ease the transition back to normalcy.” He turned to face the cameras. “I am granting blanket pardons to any towns or individuals who formerly sided with Vice President Barron to peacefully exchange power with their neighbors and step down from all posts of civic leadership. No one shall be prosecuted for anything they did during—”
“You’re going to pardon people who’ve committed murder?” barked another voice from the opposite side of the room.
President Harris raised his hands as the reporters shouted over each other again. “I will not let murderers off the hook. This pardon is for local leaders or individuals who supported Vice President Barron through actions and carried out—”
“What about the cities where the U.N.—at Congressional invitation—remains in control? Are they under siege now that you’re the President or will the foreign aid workers be allowed to continue their humanitarian missions?”
Harris’ face paled. “Madam, I take great offense at what you’re implying. I am not the leader of some coup. Vice President Barron illegally took power. I have received the full support of Congress—”
“With all due respect, Mr. President, so did Vice President Barron.”
The President frowned. “This discussion is something we can have another day. I’m here to talk about our response to the flu crisis and timetables for relief shipments. Our healthcare system has been pushed to and well beyond critical surge capacity. There are hundreds of thousands of people who have died in the past month. There are so many dead in our major cities there aren't enough workers to bury them. There's not enough healthy people left to tackle the job of removing corpses.”
The President took a breath and gripped the sides of the podium. "Let's focus on what's important—how to help our fellow Americans through this—"
The crowd of reporters exploded, cameras flashed, questions flew like bullets toward the President.
“Jesus,” muttered Cooper, “they’re like a pack of wolves.”
“You should have been watching earlier. Admiral Bennet walked off the stage. I thought he would kill one of them with his bare hands,” replied Charlie.
Jax snorted. “I woulda’ liked to seen that."
Cooper watched as the President tried to answer questions about the civil chaos flaring to life around the country. It went on, minute after minute.
Cooper shook his head. “Nothing is happening except there’re all wasting time.” Cooper leaned over the table and stared at a map of the Swiss Alps. “Turn that shit off. I need to think.”
Charlie clicked the TV off. “We almost had him. He had to be there.”
Brenda's dead because of that man.
“I know,” muttered Jax. “I think we were close.”
She's dead and I let him get away. Cooper slammed a fist down on the table. “How did that bastard slip out of there so quickly? How come we didn't spot him? We had drones, satellites, eyes on the ground…”
“Chartered flight, private jet, you name it—dude with money like he’s got? He’s probably got contacts over half of Europe ready to cover his movements,” grumbled Jax. He folded his arms and stood before the global threat map. “This Council had their people all over the place…”
Cooper walked over to Jax. “We had a chance to take the head off,” he said, pointing at the Austrian Alps. "Now they know we're after them, they're hitting back. You hear about the Senator that got whacked?"
"Yeah. That's some bullshit right there. Trying to show no one's safe." Jax blew air between his teeth. "Pussies."
"It'll get bloodier. The Germans aren't taking prisoners," observed Charlie, looking at the briefing notes. "You see these casualty figures? Jesus. Cologne is one big morgue."
"The virus is shifting," Cooper said, remembering Brenda's warning. He closed his eyes and wished he could remember her face more clearly. Every time he tried, the details seemed to get a little fuzzier. So he tried not to think about her, which made him think about her anyway. He clenched his jaw. I'm going to kill Reginald, screw orders.
The room was silent for a moment. At last, Charlie cleared his throat. “Anyone seen 13?”
“She's not here—don't worry about her,” growled Admiral Bennet behind them.
Cooper turned to see the Admiral storm into the room and drop red briefing folders on the map table. The three SEALs came to came to parade rest, hands behind their backs, and waited.
“Sink your teeth into that, boys," Bennett said, gesturing at the folders. "Intel’s been pouring over that laptop you brought back. They’ve come up with a short list of possible targets.”
Cooper picked up the folder. “Finally.”
Bennet folded his arms. “My bet's on Scotland, but the evidence points to Germany or Poland.”
"What evidence?" asked Cooper.
"Intel provided by 13. The CIA confirmed with MI-6."
Charlie flipped open his folder. “You let her leave?”
Bennet grimaced. “Not exactly.”
"So where is she?" asked Cooper, eyes still on the target notes.
"I don't know," replied the Admiral. His face darkened. "We agreed it had to look realistic, but I had no idea she was this good."
"What had to look realistic?" asked Charlie.
"Her escape," Cooper said, looking up. "You let her go back to Reginald."
Bennet nodded. "Correct. We ran the psych-evals. She was telling us the truth. The shrinks are convinced she's got a major axe to grind with our target. We figured, why not turn her loose and see what happens?"
Cooper poured over the target data again. He whistled. "If this is only half-correct, letting her go was the least we could do. This is a gold mine!"
"Then it's time for you to dig."
"Sure hope that super-vaccine works," Jax muttered, rubbing his shoulder.
CHAPTER 15
London, England.
VASILY STAGGERED TO THE bathroom, trying hard not to cough—he didn't want to wake Zoya. He doubted that was her real name, but he didn’t care. She’d shown him a good time last night and introduced him to many new faces from the motherland. She promised to make sure he found his way around London. He smirked, looking back toward the bed. Zoya had been a very willing tour guide.
He leaned against the doorway to the wash closet and smiled, though he felt like throwing up. Vasily closed the door behind him and staggered to the sink. He took a deep, ragged breath and felt something flutter in his chest—no, in his lungs. His eyes flew open, and he looked up at the mirror.
My God, I look terrible! That vaccine is worse than they said…
Zoya mumbled something about coming back to bed from the other side of the door. That sounded lovely. He wanted to rest—well, with her in the bed, he wanted to do other things—but he needed to get ready for his meeting. Vasily glanced at his watch. Instead of the cheap Timex he'd had for years, a glittering Rolex clone graced his wrist. The memories flooded his hungover mind in a rush—faces, music, drinks, girls. The watch had been a gift from one of his new friends.
Last night, at the club…what was his name? Aleksei? Axelei! Axe…that’s what he said to call him. Vasily stared at the watch. He hadn’t wanted to take it, but a few glances from
the people at the table warned him not to refuse a present from Axe.
He’s probably Bratva! Vasily hand his hands through his greasy hair. God, what am I doing? I don’t want to get mixed up with the mafia…
Vasily sighed, which set off an uncontrollable coughing spasm. He spit up a thick, greenish mucus into the sink and gasped for breath. That flutter in his chest gave him pause. He pulled his left eyelid down and examined the white of his eye. Is that yellow? Maybe I will see a doctor after the meeting…
He gripped the edge of the porcelain sink and looked down at the floor. For a second, he thought the room had spun. I don't have time for this. I must to get to my meeting. He checked his new watch again. A little early, but if I don’t get there now, I may not make it.
A soft knock on the bathroom door caused him to jerk upright. He didn’t want Zoya to see him like this. They'd joked last night that he was strong, like an ox. He washed the mess in the sink down the drain and turned to face her.
Zoya had been stunning in her skimpy outfit at the bar—she looked even better naked. Her flawless skin glowed in the soft light of the early morning sun. She jiggled in just the right places as she padded across the cold floor.
“What’s wrong?" She yawned and glanced at Vasily through barely open eyes. "Hangover?”
Vasily tried to speak, coughed, and tried again. “Nothing—the travel vaccine they gave me back in Moscow—it's not fun.”
A slow grin spread across her face. How he loved her lips—so wide, so expressive, so encompassing. She traced a single finger down his bare chest and tickled his stomach. She turned and sashayed out of the bathroom in a slow, deliberate gait meant to be watched. “Wait right here. I have something for you.”
Vasily stared at the retreating vision in front of him. He felt a stirring—not in his chest—and looked down. He smiled around another cough and followed her. “I’ve got something for you, too…”
Forty minutes later, Vasily stumbled out into the brisk morning air, ignoring the doorman. Memories of the previous night's drug and alcohol-induced orgy brought a smile to his cracked lips. He rubbed a clammy hand across his forehead, confused that it should feel so cold.
Do I have a fever now? What next? Damn doctors. Dedushka was right, they always lie.
A car honked on its way past and Vasily jumped back onto the sidewalk. He glanced down at the curb and looked to the right before looking once more to the left. It would do him no good to be killed like a common drunk on his way to making himself a millionaire. With his other hand he clutched tight the briefcase that held the important documents and the large cash reserve he was to deliver to Onnei's London branch.
He broke out into a sweat just thinking about the amount of cash in the unassuming briefcase clutched hanging at his side. His eyes darted to the passerby as they gave him curious glances and a wide berth on the sidewalk.
Anyone of you could try to steal this! I must be cautious.
Vasily took a deep, shuddering breath which led him into a vigorous coughing fit. The hotel doorman appeared at his side and helped him stand up. Vasily shrugged angrily away from the man's help.
He suppressed another violent cough and stared through watery eyes at the concerned face of the doorman. The man looked ridiculous in his greatcoat, shiny brass buttons, and little top hat.
The doorman asked him a question, his eyes flicking to Vasily's briefcase.
You want to steal my money! Vasily jerked free of the doorman's hand and stepped back.
"No," Vasily said shaking his head. He coughed again. "I'm fine…" He coughed again and spat a glob of phlegm on the sidewalk. It glistened pink this time, not yellow-green. That was new.
The man said something and held his hands up, then muttered to himself and returned to his post. He clasped his hands behind his back, slipping easily into his role as the hotel's gatekeeper.
Vasily stared at the wet glob of mucus. Is that blood? He looked around at the people who passed by, watching him. It doesn't matter. I must get to my meeting. My fortune depends on it.
Vasily fished a scrap of rumpled paper out of his pocket glared bleary-eyed at the scribbling. Number 3 Dunning Street.
One of the ubiquitous black cabs slowed to a stop not ten feet from him. The passenger door opened and a woman stepped out, followed by a smartly dressed older man. The man leaned down to the window and shared a laugh with the driver.
The couple strolled into the hotel and Vasily watched them as the doorman tipped his hat to the lady and opened the door. Vasily turned back to the cab and stared at the headlights for a second before focusing on the driver's face. The driver arched an eyebrow and raised a hand in the universal symbol of "Well?"
Vasily nodded and walked to the passenger door. He collapsed into the back seat and gasped for breath before he could raise the strength to shut the door.
The driver half-turned in his seat and asked him a pointed question.
Vasily muttered something he hoped sounded like an apology, then handed the crumpled paper to the cab driver. The man hesitated for a second, looking at Vasily's trembling, outstretched hand before he took the damp paper and gingerly opened it by the corners. He peered intensely at the handwriting for a moment and then recognition crossed his face.
The driver flipped a switch on his dashboard and the fare meter activated as the driver rambled on in English. Vasily closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat. He didn't bother buckling in—he struggled too much to breathe, let alone fiddle with a seatbelt.
He found himself thinking of crawling back in bed with Zoya and sleeping. The nice warm bed, next to her nice warm body. Her skin had been so smooth…
He took a deeper breath and froze, a grimace of pain on his face. His lungs burned, then everything faded and sleep found him.
Vasily jolted awake when the cab came to a stop. "How long have I been asleep?" he asked, though his throat felt like it had been filled with concrete. His hand flew to his chest—it still burned when he breathed, but not as much as earlier.
The cab driver turned in the front seat and stared at him quizzically. He jerked his head toward the large display on the dashboard. Vasily glanced at the meter and decided he didn't have the time to worry about exact change or tip. He reached into his wallet, coughing and wheezing, and pulled out a couple large notes.
Vasily ignored the protestations of the cab driver and threw open the door. He stood there on the sidewalk for a second, clutching his briefcase and attempting to control his breathing. His heart raced with fear.
Every breath was tinged with fire now, not just the deep ones. He closed his eyes to stop the dizziness that tickled the edge of his vision. No one said anything about the vaccine making it hurt to breathe.
Vasily found it difficult to stand up straight. He looked back at the cab, but the driver had already pulled back in to traffic.
He turned back to the building and glanced up at the large sign plastered above the main door, proclaiming this to be the London headquarters of the Onnei Corporation. He'd made it. He glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes early.
He took two steps and fell flat on his face.
CHAPTER 16
North of Walden, Colorado.
CHAD FIDGETED WITH THE strap on his seat. He listened to the endless drone of the Chinook's dual rotors wop-wopping through the cold air north of Denver. The inside of this helicopter was a little nicer than the Black Hawk the Rangers had flown back at Glacier National Park, but it still lacked a bit in the comfort department. He shifted his back, trying to find a more comfortable position in the jump seat.
After a few more minutes of chest-numbing noise from the engine, he keyed the microphone on his helmet. "I'm sorry to bother you—where did you say you were taking me again?"
He had a clear line of sight into the cockpit and saw the pilots turn their heads to face each other. Finally, one of them replied, "We didn't."
Chad rolled his eyes. All the secrecy grated on his ne
rves. He understood why Admiral Bennet wanted to take no chances regarding his safety. Most world governments would still love to get their hands on him, even though Dr. Boatner had assured him they had all the blood required and the serum had been completed.
He'd spent many long hours in the lab and donated more blood than he cared to think about, but as far as Chad was concerned, his service to the United States government was over. They'd replenished their stockpile, Boatner completed the serum and already administered it to special forces and regular troops.
Everyone from the President down to the lowest janitor inside the secret government complex under Denver International Airport had been dosed. A handful had come down with a mild case of the flu, but for most the only side effect had been a runny nose and a light fever.
"Can you give me a hint? It's not like there's a lot of in-flight reading material back here…" Chad said, hoping to elicit at least a chuckle.
Silence from the cockpit. One pilot turned and leaned back to look at him through the narrow passageway up front. The cold reflective visor on his helmet did not give Chad any comfort. "I'm not at liberty to tell you anything, sir. Please sit back and enjoy the ride."
"So much for the friendly skies…" muttered Chad.
He glanced to his right and looked at the cargo stacked along the side of the helicopter. In those crates lay most of the survival gear he would need to eke out a living at one of the hidden bases Admiral Bennet had selected for him. The only thing he knew for sure was he was heading north—way north.
Admiral Bennet had made certain Chad had been outfitted with cold-weather survival gear. Chad had lived the past decade in the upper wilds of Glacier National Park—he knew the temperature ranges there and the gear he'd been supplied with now was for a whole other level of cold. Chad also knew he was going to a military base, so in his mind, that put the destination somewhere in Alaska.
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 9