Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  “You make them sound more sinister than any other political party.”

  “They are not merely a political party, any more than the Khmer Rouge or the Nazis or the Communists or the Taliban were merely political parties. They are the leading edge of a mass paranoia movement aimed at destroying Edens and all those who side with them. Now that they have power, do you think they will give it up lawfully?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  Spooky sighed, as if Reaper were particularly dense pupil. “Because they do not respect the rule of law. They already have the Blackshirts, a paramilitary wing that attempts to intimidate anyone who dares to speak against them. All they have to do is accuse someone of being an Eden, and the Security Service – which has been deeply penetrated by the Unionists – will arrest them. Even if they are subsequently proven innocent, they will be stigmatized, facing loss of work and ostracism in their communities. Jill, within two years, the United States will have a one-party system, which means it will become a fascist state.”

  “You once told me that fascist states can’t last.”

  “In the long run. But that run may be very long indeed. The Soviet Union stood for seventy years, and has now been revived. Their adventurism caused untold damage in the last century and will likely cause more in this one. Like them, a Unionist America will turn their attention to the destruction of the Free Communities, because we represent everything they are not. Freedom. Tolerance. The rule of law.”

  “That’s funny, coming from you. If you were in charge, I bet you’d be a fascist.”

  Spooky waved a diffident hand. “Don’t mistake the guard dogs for the master. We both exercise strong authority in order to provide the ordinary citizen with the benefits of security. I have no interest in being a political leader.”

  “Good. Because if you did, I’d have to kill you.”

  “My, my. From whence does this anger flow?”

  “I think it crystallized when a drug cartel butcher of a doctor was pulling two kilos of cocaine out of my abdomen.”

  “You agreed to that subterfuge.”

  “To complete the mission. Then, they betrayed us. I doubt they would have crossed you or the Mendoles cartel if they hadn’t been given some indication they could get away with it.”

  “I assure you, I had nothing to do with that. They betrayed you on their own, and they’ve paid a steep price,” Spooky said.

  “I wish I could believe you.”

  Spooky shrugged. “It’s true, whatever you believe. Personal issues aside…the Unionists?”

  “What about them?”

  “Right now, they’re distracted.”

  “By the Texas situation,” said Reaper.

  Spooky smiled. “Among other things. I’m doing what I can to keep them busy.”

  Reaper nodded. “With the cartels. Even more reason for me to distrust you.”

  “I flood the U.S. with cheap cocaine, heroin and synthetics. These have little effect on Edens, who are not likely to become users, but soak up a great deal of the U.S.’s law enforcement resources. The drugs are tools in our fairly limited arsenal. We cannot be too picky in choosing our weapons.”

  “This is all very fascinating,” Reaper said, crossing her arms, “but you still haven’t told me what you want the team for, why I would be willing to lead it, or how it relates to nukes in Texas.”

  “I spoke of drastic measures earlier. Our source networks have indicated that the U.S. is readying a potential final option for Texas. B-2 bombers have been forward-deployed to Holloman Air Force Base in New Mexico. It’s even been in the press, obviously as a warning to Texas, but what they haven’t said is they’re conducting exercises with nuclear-tipped air-to-ground missiles. Those weapons are highly accurate, virtually unstoppable by Texas’ air defenses, and won’t alarm the rest of the world the way an ICBM launch would.”

  “I still find it hard to believe. They wouldn’t dare,” said Reaper. “Not on Americans.”

  Spooky smiled patiently. “Don’t forget Los Angeles and West Virginia.”

  “They explained those as terrorist attacks. There’s no way they could do that this time.”

  “If they feel there’s no other way, they will not hesitate. The Unionists will worry about how to spin it after the fact. They might even try to blame it on us.”

  Reaper felt her resolve weakening. No matter her personal issues with Spooky, he made a solid argument. “And you think I can get the mission done where others can’t?”

  Spooky nodded. “Yes. We need a covert infiltration that can destroy, or at least disable, those nuclear weapons. They are a game changer that we cannot allow to be introduced into the equation.”

  Reaper felt more sarcasm welling up inside her, but she suppressed it. Something within her was also pleased, even flattered. Spooky was asking her to do something that no one else could do.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” she finally asked, more stalling than expecting an answer.

  “Because I want this mission to succeed.”

  Reaper snorted. “Like Ethiopia?”

  “That was different. That was a mission rammed down my throat by Markis and Cassandra Johnstone. I didn’t think it was a good idea, so I attempted to comply with the letter of my instructions while bringing about a result I thought would be far more effective.”

  “A massacre.”

  Spooky spread his hands. “I thought those people were doomed anyway, and we might as well get some sympathy out of the situation. But I was mistaken, and I admit it. You pulled it off after all! That’s why I need you, Jill. Because you’re our best shot.”

  “Are you sure you want me to succeed this time?”

  “Of course. This isn’t about ten thousand refugees five thousand miles away. This is about millions of lives on North American soil.”

  Reaper snorted. “Texans are more valuable than Africans?”

  “To me and the Free Communities they are, because most of Africa is a sideshow with no effect on world politics. Texas, however, is pivotal. Not only is supporting it a good idea in general, it’s crucial to the long-term security of the Free Communities and Edens around the world. If Texas wins, they’re naturally aligned with us. If not, we need them to weaken the Unionists as much as possible before they collapse.” Spooky lifted a palm. “You’d also have the added benefit of knowing you might save millions of innocent lives.”

  “I’m getting a bit tired of your heavy-handed manipulation.”

  “You’re distrustful of me and I understand that, but things are what they are. This is our best chance to stop a very bad thing from happening. I trust you realize these opportunities don’t come along often.”

  Reaper clenched her teeth. She hated to admit he was right...assuming he was telling the truth. What possible reason would Spooky have to lie about something like this? She would have to find some independent confirmation – or denial – of his assertions.

  And she knew right where to get those.

  The small Asian man stared at her patiently while she thought.

  “Fine,” Reaper finally said, shaking her head. “I’ll lead the team on the mission, but the first indication I get that you’re screwing us over, I’ll abort.”

  “Of course,” said Spooky, standing. He bowed slowly and solemnly. “I thank you.”

  Reaper was so surprised that her martial arts instincts kicked in and she bowed in return. The moment felt heavy with purpose and meaning.

  Spooky pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk to Reaper. Everything you need on the team and the mission itself are in here.”

  She flipped open the folder and began going through the pages. She saw information on the team members, which was nothing new to her. She stopped when she saw a photo of a thin man with a jaunty smile.

  “And this?” she asked, tapping the picture.

  “A man who will get you across the border,” Spooky said. “He’s part of the network I have developed.”

 
“Your drug smuggling operation?”

  Spooky shrugged. “It works, and it’s secure. Do you have a problem with the insertion plan?”

  “I don’t like it. It reminds me of the Africa mission, but meeting up with one of your drug smugglers doesn’t hold a candle to carrying coke in my body to get into Kenya. That, I will never do again.”

  “Yet it was an inspired solution, I must say,” Spooky said with a slight smile. “I understand your reticence, but it got you into the country.”

  Reaper felt her blood pressure rising. She’d already agreed to do the mission, at least in principle. It did no good to get into an argument with the man in front of her. It was one thing to be mission-focused, but Spooky bordered on obsessive. She wasn’t likely to change him. She looked back at the picture in the folder. “How do you know him?”

  Spooky’s head tilted slightly. “Maybe I should ask you the same question. It appears you have seen him before.”

  Reaper slammed the folder shut and picked it up. “Okay. Let me digest all of this, meet with the team and get back with you. What’s our timeframe?”

  “The nukes are already on station, but it will be three weeks before they’re usable, I’m told, due to some technical issues. So, the sooner the better, of course.”

  “Of course. I’ve got work to do, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Certainly,” said Spooky with a smile. “I knew you’d see reason.”

  “Don’t think this makes us BFF’s or anything. I still don’t trust you.”

  “A wise view. It is best not to trust anyone unless you have to, but I hope we can work together.”

  Reaper didn’t bother to answer as she turned to walk out of the man’s office. She was thinking about the picture of the drug smuggler. A thin, wiry man with ropy muscles. The facial scars were now healed and he was physically younger than when they’d first met, but the blue prison ink coiling up around his neck from the concealment of his shirt was unmistakable.

  This was the man who was supposed to get her across the border, a man who had saved her life in a U.S. prison camp what seemed like years ago, a man she thought was dead.

  The man she might have had feelings for, until she thought he’d been killed.

  A man named Python, though she’d called him Keith.

  Once, fate had brought them together.

  Apparently it had again.

  Chapter 5

  Skull sat in the brightly lit interrogation room, hands shackled through a ring on the heavy bolted-down table in front of him. He stared calmly at the large two-way mirror that filled the wall across from him. He imagined men staring back, discussing their new captive.

  The FBI team had searched him and taken the thick envelope in his pocket. Skull vowed to make Kepler pay if he’d lied to him about the contents being innocuous.

  The door opened and Vergone walked in, carrying a thick file and a steaming mug of coffee. The man set the drink and folder down carefully before he reached for the chair across from Skull. He pulled it out slowly, with a loud, prolonged screech, watching Skull carefully before seating himself.

  “Save it,” said Skull with a grin.

  “Save what?” asked Vergone.

  Skull brought his shackled hands up as far as he could, indicating the room. “This contrived charade. You don’t scare me and I know your playbook. Better yet, I know your hands are tied worse than mine.”

  Vergone took a slow, careful sip of his coffee. “You seem to think you know an awful lot about what’s going on.”

  “You already said you’re FBI. That means this needs to be on the level and able to stand up in court. So am I under arrest?”

  “Now why would you be under arrest? What have you done wrong?”

  Skull held up his cuffed hands again. “You tell me.”

  “Whether or not you’re under arrest largely depends on your level of cooperation.”

  “I think you’re trying to strong-arm me into doing something for you. Maybe give you information you don’t have, or maybe do some kind of job you don’t have the stomach for. You’d better back up and tell me what sort of leverage you think you have.”

  Vergone smiled, pulling Kepler's envelope out of the folder. Skull could see it had been opened and was now in an evidence bag.

  “First, you unlawfully entered U.S. government property.”

  “That was Graham Kepler’s house, and I didn’t break in. He gave me the codes in order to retrieve that envelope.”

  “The property was confiscated by federal court order more than a month ago, so actually, you did.” Vergone held up the envelope. “Second, you stole U.S. government property.”

  Skull chuckled. “You didn’t even know the hidden safe was there, much less what was inside. I did you a favor.”

  “Speaking of what was inside...” said Vergone, putting on nitrile gloves. He then opened the evidence bag and pulled several pieces of paper from inside, laying them out on the table in three piles facing Skull for easy reading. Skull could see they were sworn and sealed affidavits.

  “Do you know what these say?”

  “No, but I’m guessing it’s something you don’t like.”

  “Lies and sedition. Just the sort of thing this country doesn’t need right at this moment.”

  “What is this, the Revolutionary War? Sedition isn’t a chargeable offense, and as for lies, you’ll have to lock up every politician in Washington.”

  “Actually it is, under martial law. I think even you might agree when you read them.”

  Skull smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I get to read them? Oh, goodie. You’ve piqued my interest. Hopefully they’re more exciting than the usual Congressional sex scandals.”

  Vergone didn’t smile. He used one index finger to jab at each pile of papers slowly. “These statements are from three high-ranking Department of Defense officials, all of whom either are dead or have fled the country. They swear under oath that the nuclear attacks on Los Angeles and West Virginia were not, in fact, the work of Daniel Markis and his band of terrorists, but of the United States itself. They claim the U.S. government nuked its own people to prevent the spread of the Eden virus.”

  Oh shit, thought Skull. Damn you, Graham Kepler. I’m screwed whether they believe the affidavits or not. Won’t make any difference that I didn’t know what was on them. I’d have been better off caught with two kilos of black tar heroin and a rocket launcher than this crap.

  “I am no longer willing to answer questions without a lawyer present,” Skull said.

  “There’s no need for that. You’re not actually under arrest. At least, not yet.”

  Skull rattled his shackles once more. “I beg to differ.”

  “Oh, those are not to facilitate your detention; they’re a safety measure for both you and us. We simply brought you in for questioning. You did, after all, assault four federal agents…for which you can easily be held, pending additional charges.”

  “They didn’t identify themselves. I thought I was being mugged, and simply defended myself. Once I knew who I was dealing with, I surrendered.”

  “You used a chemical weapon.”

  Skull smiled. “I can see you boys are sore about that. I imagine that will be a popular subject for years around here, how one guy took our four agents with a squirt gun.”

  “Filled with highly concentrated ammonia. There’s a reason the District of Columbia and most states have outlawed possession of guns and other dangerous weapons by anyone but law enforcement and the military.”

  Skull snorted derisively. “Are you really that blind? The first act of an oppressor is to disarm the citizenry and shift all power to the government. Every authoritarian regime that ever took over from a democracy has done it. The Reds, the Nazis, Mao, Pol Pot, Mugabe’s Rhodesia, the Taliban, it’s straight out of their playbook. You’re on the wrong side, Vergone. Or should I say, far gone?”

  “Childish wordplay won’t convince me of anything, Mister
Denham. Deadly weapons are not permitted.”

  “But not water pistols,” said Skull. “I am completely within my rights to carry a water pistol filled with whatever I want it filled with. As a matter of fact, when this fascinating discussion reaches its conclusion, I’ll be wanting it back. It cost me ten bucks.”

  Vegone ground on, “You were carrying a dangerous chemical and used it to cause injury to federal agents. That’s battery. The delivery system isn’t actually germane.”

  “Good luck arguing that in court,” said Skull. “Unless, of course, the judges are all as corrupt as the Unionists. If you don’t like it, then change the law to ban water guns filled with cleaning liquids. It’s no more deadly than pepper spray. I mean, how is an average citizen supposed to know that authorities wouldn’t like such a thing unless they’re told?”

  Vergone sat silently for nearly a minute staring at Skull. He finally opened the file on the table and started going through the items contained inside. “Your name is Alan Christopher Denham, known as ‘Skull’ in your…line of work. You’re a U.S. citizen who hasn’t filed a tax return in the last three years, nor claimed permanent residence here. You’re a mercenary with ties to Daniel Markis’s Free Communities and other nefarious organizations around the world. You entered the United States a week ago on a false passport and used countermeasures to defeat the biometric scanners.”

  “I’m still waiting for my lawyer. Will he be here soon?”

  Vergone pulled out a glossy surveillance photograph taken at JFK airport entry control point. “You wore colored contacts to fool the iris scanner. You had cotton stuffed into your cheeks to change the shape of your face. You lifted prints from someone else and had them glued over your own fingertips using a synthetic rubber compound. Finally, you entered with a full beard, while you’re normally clean-shaven. The video shows that the customs agent had to tell you to take off your sunglasses and hat.”