The Zombie Plagues (Book 2)

by Sweet, Dell

  To Neo it wasn't personal. He did his work and he was paid well. It truly didn't matter what the work was. It was all the same. He had drawn lines when he had first come down the road years before, but after redrawing those lines so many times he had finally stopped drawing lines.

  He wasn't an animal like Jimmy West. Jimmy was employed by Tommy Murphy too. A problem solver as Ben himself was, but Jimmy did what he did crudely. It was a wonder to Neo how he never managed to be caught: How he drenched himself in blood and violence, lost himself completely in it at times, yet had the presence of mind to save his own ass on occasion. He always seemed to walk away just at the right moment. Like he could sniff the air and smell his demise: Skipping out just before the ax fell.

  The problem with that was the unknown. If you didn't plan, you didn't know what you needed to be safe. And how long could you play that game and live? Walk away? For Jimmy, almost 15 years now.

  Neo believed in plans. He stacked his deck as completely in his favor as he could every time, but he didn't get complacent. He didn't trust to his plans completely. He trusted his head and the knowledge it contained. He watched himself and everyone who came in contact with him.

  He guessed if he were to be honest, that he did have a few lines left. He would never do the sort of work that Jimmy West did: Never, but Tommy Murphy seemed to know that and had never asked Neo to do that sort of work. It wasn't that he couldn't do wet work. He could and did almost every week, but there was a difference in the contracts he took and those that Jimmy was given.

  The other line he wouldn't cross was working with Jimmy. And that had never happened either. Tommy knew without asking. The same as he knew about the types of work. In Neo's mind Jimmy was a paid serial killer. He would've been out there doing those sorts of crimes, the way he did them, for free. He had simply been fortunate enough to find a way to get paid to do them.

  The numbers changed on the screen and he picked up the phone and dialed the number he had been given. He had sent the photos as an attachment hours ago, shot from a rooftop a half mile away that had a clear view directly into Jefferson Prescott’s Manhattan penthouse. He had received Jefferson's reply in the contract. It was only details now. When, how and whatever else there might be.

  The phone was answered and Ben Neo listened. His mind worked that way. He could hear it once and that was all he needed. A phone number, a license number, a street address. It didn't matter what the information contained, he could spit it back out verbatim whenever he needed it. And when he was through with it he could flush it out of his head just as if he had erased it from his memory for good. He listened; he said nothing until the end.

  "It's not something I would do," he said. He listened as the voice persuaded him. It wasn't exactly a line he was asked to cross: It was subjective, and after a few minutes of listening he came to believe it was necessary.

  "Okay," he said at last. "When the time comes let me know." He hung up, shut down his laptop and closed it.

  One week before:

  Tommy Murphy stood at the rail of his deck and looked out onto the pines in the forest below. Jefferson had his place in Ecuador; this was his place in New Paltz. It just wasn't so far away, and he spent every extra moment here that he could.

  He owned 1600 acres, and the house, all cedar shakes and black glass, sat right in the middle of that. A private road led in and out, and when he was here, which was nearly every weekend he could manage, and any time in between that he could get here, his men patrolled the road and the woods. He was never disturbed by an errant hunter or hiker. After a few years of discouragement, the hunters and the hikers had begun to leave the entire area alone: Which was just the way Tommy liked it: Wanted it.

  He sipped at his drink and then puffed at the cigar he held in one hand. He turned from the rail.

  "Carlos," he said. "I know that Jefferson has talked to you and I'm so glad to see you will be with us next week. It is a... A large deal... One of our largest. Neo," he nodded at Neo, "will be along to keep things straight for me... He is my best, and it is good to see that Jefferson has sent you... His best... His right hand man... Like his own son, he tells me... You work out all the details with Neo?" Tommy asked.

  "Of course, Mr. Murphy," Carlos said.

  "Carlos... Tommy... My friend's son... So close to me too, call me Tommy."

  "Of course... Tommy," Carlos said. "I'm sorry."

  "Carlos, never be sorry... Fuck 'em, right, Neo?" he asked and laughed. He cut his eyes to Neo who nodded, and then back to Carlos. "Never say you are sorry. In this business it means you are not up to snuff. Not good enough. Not able to get the job done. We say, "He's sorry." It means he's washed up. You see?" He nodded at Carlos. "A man should never apologize, never... Leave that to the women," Tommy said.

  He looked out over the deck rail for a moment longer and then turned back to Carlos. "Carlos, could you excuse Ben and me for a few moments? Go on down to the main room. There are several young ladies here for the weekend... Enjoy yourself. Tomorrow the two of you will leave to take care of business." Tommy nodded as Carlos got up and left the room. He waited until Carlos was gone. He turned to the huge bodyguard at the door. "Jack, I want you to speak to Kim. Put her on to Carlos. Make sure he has a good time. Tell her I said so... And Jack, when you come back give Neo and me a little time: We have some business to discuss." Tommy smiled.

  "Certainly," Jack said. He left and closed the door.

  Tommy smiled at Neo. "You're quiet, Ben, is everything okay?"

  "Yeah; everything is good, Tommy," Neo said.

  "What do you think of our boy?" Tommy asked.

  "Polite," Neo said.

  Tommy laughed. "Well, I guess he's not too fuckin' polite, huh?"

  "Guess not," Neo agreed.

  “Everything is a go? No problems?" Tommy asked.

  "None at all," Neo agreed.

  "There will be, ah, three packages. They will be inside two very large bales of pot. A significant amount of cash, several bricks of product... I figure hide it in plain sight. You, me, Prescott and of course his contact in Watertown who picked it up, that is it. Nobody on this little trip will know where it is, except you... Just another drug deal as far as everyone else is concerned. You got the little bonus I wired?" he asked.

  "I did... It was very generous, Tommy. Thank you," Neo said.

  "Eh," Tommy said, and shrugged. "We all gotta eat. Watch out for me, this is the biggest thing I've ever done. Believe me when I tell you that the merchandise amounts to nothing in comparison to those three packages...” He opened his desk drawer, retrieved a small silver cartridge, and held it between two fingers. “Looks like nothing... An inhaler... Or one of those small CO2 cartridges we used to use in our BB guns when we were kids... Something like that.” He fingered the red tab on the top and then handed it to Neo. “Much more than that though... There are three small, aluminum cases... Uh... You talked to Jeff?" Tommy asked, finally getting around to asking what he had wanted to ask in the first place.

  "I did," Neo said. He twirled the cartridge back and forth. He knew nothing about what it was... A new wonder drug, a new street drug or anything in between, but whatever it was it had to be big for both Jefferson Prescott and Tommy Murphy to be involved. Very big. He rolled the cartridge between his thumb and forefinger. It felt neither cold nor hot. What it did feel, was out of place in his hand, something about the feel of the metal made him apprehensive. He handed the cartridge back to Murphy.

  Tommy Murphy nodded as he took the cartridge and slipped it into one pocket. "He thought Jimmy, but I told him not Jimmy. Jimmy shouldn't be spoken of in the same breath as you. He needs understanding and your unique skills... So I said okay if you agreed... You agreed?" Tommy asked him. He tossed off his drink, looked at Neo, "Drink, Ben?" he asked.

  "Please," Neo said. "I agreed... It's not the same as what Jimmy does. And I see the reasons."

  "He paid you well?" Tommy asked.

  "Very," Neo agreed.


  Tommy poured the drinks and came back across the room, handing Neo his. "One thing: He wants you to bring the uh, some items back. That means it's probably best to do it here, not there. You see?" Tommy asked.

  "I do," Neo agreed.

  "Good... Good... One more thing... There is this man... A cop... He's on our payroll, has been for some time, but he is a potential problem, this man. A potential problem that I thought you might personally take care of for me,” Tommy Murphy said.

  Ben Neo nodded politely. “It can be dangerous to take out a cop,” he said quietly.

  Tommy nodded back as if in full agreement with Neo. “It is. It is, but it is also dangerous to leave that cop around once he knows too much. And this last deal he was involved in at our request,” he spread the fingers of his hands in what Neo took to be a sometimes things happen and have to be dealt with gesture and then shrugged “Well, he may have learned too much. There is no way to know for certain, just a feeling really, but I've been where I am for too long not to take those little feelings seriously... And,” he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, “Unfortunately for him the local prosecutor is looking at him a little funny because he was sloppy in some help that he gave to us when we last needed it. Prescott thought we should take two birds with one stone. Of course I would be very generous and appreciative of your help in such sensitive matters, as would he.” He seemed to consider a moment. Then reached into his desktop and retrieved a tinfoil wrapped brick, nearly an exact match to the bricks of cocaine Neo normally saw coming from Prescott’s Ecuador clans. Different markings, he noticed. “Yes... A clan that works for Prescott’s competitor,” Tommy said when he saw that Neo had noticed the difference in markings. “Actual product: Hard for me to come by, believe it or not... You could plant this on the cop?”

  Neo nodded as Tommy Murphy slid a photo across the desktop and left it next to the cocaine brick.

  He spoke as Neo studied the photo. “He will come to you... He'll know about the drug deal. Be tipped off.”

  “Maybe he could follow me... Have an accident... It would be a shame to die in a car with drugs right there too,” Neo said.

  “Exactly,” Tommy agreed. He reached into the same drawer and pulled out a stack of cash. “And money too... Must have been on the take as the prosecutors are so fond of saying. And of course the markings will get them looking away from my interests.” He shrugged and smiled, sipped at his drink. “They thought as much anyway so it will simply confirm their suspicions.” He pushed both items across the desktop, bent behind the desk and produced a small black duffel bag that he handed to Neo. “I will wire a little something to your account, Ben. And again I do appreciate your discretion. Prescott will too.”

  “It's no trouble at all, Tommy,” Neo told him. “None at all.”

  “That's it then, Ben. Go on down and enjoy the evening... I think there's a little of everything available... I'll be gone in the morning." He reached into his pocket and took out a thick envelope and tossed it to Neo. "That should cover your expenses: If not let me know." He smiled and then turned back out toward the mountains. "Send Jackie back in, would you, Ben?" he asked.

  "Sure," Neo said. He tossed back the drink, picked up the duffel bag and left the room.

  Watertown

  Tuesday Morning:

  Watertown

  Project Bluechip

  Major Richard Weston

  He read the report twice and then carefully set it back on his desk. Johns or Kohlson: One of the two had stolen samples of SS-V2765. It was not a question. No one else had the access, no one else the proximity or knowledge of where it was stored. Two of the viruses, one each of the REX agents were missing. Enough to infect several million people, and that was just the initial infection. From there the infected would go on to infect even more, where it stopped was anyone's guess.

  Knowing it was one of the two did not solve the problem of how for him though: There should have been no way to get it out. Every area of the facility was under surveillance. There had to be more than just one of the two involved.

  From Complex C they were stripped down, showered: Out of the showers naked and into a locker room where they could retrieve their own personal clothing they had stripped out of that morning: Dressed, frisked, metal wanded and then allowed into the elevators that would take them six stories to the surface. This theft was not something either of them could have committed alone.

  “Alice.” He picked up the report from his desk. “I have a problem... A problem that requires your... Expertise. Two fold... First, all the guard and camera operators for C Complex are to be relieved of duty. You will personally interrogate them and find out which of them took a payoff to look the other way... Our boys, Johns and Kohlson... Both or one smuggled out the virus.” He paused... “It hardly matters in the scheme of things, it changes nothing, but it is the principle of the thing.” He tossed her the report. “Read it... Quartermaster’s office... Handle that too?” Alice nodded before she bent and looked over the thick report. “Second thing is the virus agent and the REX agents are out there somewhere.” Alice raised her head from the report. “Find it and bring it back?” Alice nodded once more before her head dipped low again; eyes devouring the report. Weston leaned back in his chair, the cigar that was a near permanent fixture in his mouth, rolling from side to side as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “It goes without saying... They're all expendable,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Sir,” Alice said before she returned to reading.

  Ecuador

  Jefferson Prescott's Estate

  Wednesday Morning

  Andrea Zurita had been alive for the second time for more than three days. The men who had left her body had done so carefully: Senor Prescott would be very angry to find them on his land: Transgressions had been met with violence in the past, the bodies dumped into the ocean.

  Andrea Ivanna Zurita had taken I'll three days before in the small village near to Prescott's property. She worked for Prescott, someone allowed on and off the property with ease. She had taken ill at work suddenly, no one knew the why of it and her family was poor: A doctor, other than the local clinic was out of the question. So she had been sent home to rest, but she had never made it to the local free clinic: She had lapsed into a coma a few hours later and while her family had still been reeling she had died: No rhyme, no reason.

  Andrea Zurita was a young woman, there seemed no reason for her sudden illness and death, but there were things that should be done and so the local Mirukus, shaman had come. A few words, prayers, the shaman was a transplanted Haitian: They understood most of what he said, but not everything. He had left and they had prepared her for burial. She was washed and dressed in a plain white cotton dress. The second day came and the family came to call, leaving their wishes where she lay in her grandmother’s home. The third day came and the burial was coming. Cousins, men who worked in a neighboring village were on the way to open the grave. That was when Andrea had sat up and vomited blood.

  Her eyes had rolled back into her head. Her body shook, but her chest did not rise. She had spoken no words, but she had tried to rise several times before one of the arriving cousins, crossing himself, had bound her with rope, hand and foot. They had sent for the Mirukus again.

  The old Haitian had come quickly, taken one look at Andrea and then spoken cryptically, quickly. “Return her to the man that has cast this spell on her. He has bound her to him in life and that has followed her into death: Return her for she is yours no longer.”

  The Mirukus believed the white man, Prescott had attempted to control the river spirit Pullujmu, to take control of the beautiful young woman for his own devices, but she had slipped over into death and was now controlled only by those who controlled the dead. He had left fearfully, quickly and had refused to come back for any reason. With nothing left to do for her they had taken her and left her bound body on the long drive that lead to the Prescott house. The white man may have her, but he
would not have what he expected to have.

  Jefferson Prescott.

  Jefferson watched as the men carefully skirted the body of the young woman in the back of the patrol truck. They had picked her up and not knowing what else to do they had bought her to him.

  Her eyes rolled in her head, but occasionally they would stop and focus, seeming to stare through him. Blood seeped from her open mouth, staining the front of what looked to be a burial garb of some sort. She was, at first unrecognizable to him until one of the men told him she was his own worker, Andrea Ivanna Zurita: Kitchen help, among other things; she had been here for more than a year. To Jefferson's Catholic upbringing she seemed possessed and he kept his distance as he watched her, perhaps as superstitious as the local shaman had been.

  He had eventually made the phone call to the Policía Nacional del Ecuador and left the matter in their hands. He had seen stranger than this in his time in Ecuador and had no doubt he would see it again. He sent one of his men into the small village with a thousand dollars in U.S. Currency, Ecuador had no currency of its own for her family. A thousand dollars would go a long way for a poor family living in an equally poor village.

  His phone had chimed and he had excused himself to answer it. He was needed back in Manhattan; Ben Neo had found the answers he required. He pushed the problem of Andrea Zurita from his mind and concentrated on plans to leave that evening and return to Manhattan.

  The Policía Nacional del Ecuador had come some hours later, taken her off his hands without question, as though they saw this sort of thing every day and he had never heard another thing about it or given it another thought. He had taken his private helicopter back to the United States later in the day as though nothing of any significance had occurred.

  Manhattan

  Wednesday evening

  "You have a beautiful view, Mr. Prescott," Ben Neo said. He stood on the balcony of the top floor of Prescott's building which was his home in Manhattan and where his wife and two daughters lived full-time.