Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

Chapter 21

  Skull knew the routine by heart now; they’d done it over a dozen times. He and Herschel would arrive in a major city, go visit some contact that had a reason to live or work in a secluded area with heavy-duty electrical distribution, and then the old man would do his thing.

  Skull would go visit the local plumbing and electrical stores and return with parts and bourbon and Doritos. Herschel would work through the night while Skull slept fitfully, earplugs fitted to tune out the loud country music. The next morning they would be on their way. Skull would drive while Herschel snored loudly beside him.

  Sometimes they spent a night in a hotel, but most of the time they were able to make it to the next city before evening.

  Today they stopped early. It had only taken them a few hours to drive from Richmond to Arlington, Virginia, just across the Potomac from Washington, D.C. Skull had become proficient at his procurement runs and soon had what the man needed stacked in boxes and grocery bags on the warehouse floor.

  “You okay for a little while?” Skull asked. “I need to step out for a few errands.”

  “Right as rain,” answered Herschel, already tipping back the bourbon.

  Skull was starting to get worried about the old man. Every day seemed to be taking a worse toll. He slept and ate poorly, got little exercise, and then drank all night while working himself to exhaustion. It wouldn’t surprise him to come back and find Herschel laid out on the floor, covered in Doritos and wiring, having suffered a heart attack.

  “Can’t do anything about that right now,” Skull muttered to himself, getting into their rental car. He pulled out of the residential area and drove north.

  He didn’t know if Vergone and the FBI could track his phone or not, but he didn’t want to risk it. Skull’s instincts told him that Herschel and the locations of the devices was the only leverage he had, and not something he wanted his adversary to discover.

  Whenever Skull needed to contact Vergone, he’d buy a burner phone, and then throw it away afterward. He pulled into a nearby strip mall, made his purchase, and then called the number from memory.

  After a few rings, a bored voice picked up. “Vergone’s phone.”

  The voice was unfamiliar. “Who is this?”

  “Who is this?”

  Skull’s fist tightened on the phone. “Listen, asshole. Either the owner of this phone is in a coma or – I can only hope – dead after a long and horribly terminal bout of ass-raping by a bunch of angry gorillas, or you’re answering his phone for him. If it’s the first choice, please let me know so I can hang up and start partying. Otherwise, you better get that dickhead you call a boss on the phone.”

  “Denham?” asked the disgusted voice.

  “No shit.”

  “Wait a second.”

  It was more like two hundred seconds. Skull couldn’t help but count every one of them. He’d once obsessively counted things, but now only did it during times of stress.

  “Mister Denham,” said Vergone’s silky smooth voice when he finally picked up. “Very nice to hear from you, as always.”

  “I thought this was your cell phone. Why’s someone else answering it?”

  “Although it’s none of your business, I was in a meeting. That was an assistant. I know it may be hard for you to believe, but the FBI does have other things going on besides waiting on edge for your next call.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. That’s not how you handle a source. You’re supposed to make him feel like he’s the most important person in the whole wide world. You woo him, wine him and dine him. Speaking of which, when was the last time you took me out for a decent meal?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know whether I’m starting to crack that superficial calm. I figure it’s your professional trademark; the sort of thing that’s gotten you promoted ahead of your peers because everyone thinks you’re so cool and collected, not knowing that inside your head is a constant tsunami of doubt and worry about all the ugly things you’re doing.”

  Vergone breathed deeply into the phone before speaking. “Is there some sort of actual reason for this call, or are you merely getting off on berating me?”

  “Thought I’d let you know I’m in D.C. and we’re still on track, but you might say we’ve got an emergency.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve learned these devices are much more powerful than I first thought. They’re bigger, better versions of what lost you all those ships in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “That’s still being investigated,” said Vergone quickly. “We shouldn’t talk about it on this line.”

  “Why, you worried that the NSA has your phone tapped? I sure as hell hope so. Someone should be keeping an eye on Gestapo types like you. Anyway, you can investigate all you want, but we both know what happened.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, I’m altering our arrangement.”

  Vergone’s voice dripped menace, which Skull was beginning to realize was reflexive, well-rehearsed acting. “There is no altering. You cooperate and those adorable little kittens will be just fine.”

  “Just because it’s blackmail doesn’t mean the deal can’t be adjusted. I’ve come to realize that my position is much better than I thought it was.”

  “You don’t have a position. You do as I say, or things go badly for them.”

  “Why don’t you simply say what you mean? You’re threatening to torture and murder three innocent children, Special Agent-in-Charge Miles Vergone. You got all of that, NSA?”

  “This is a secure phone on my end, and yours is obviously a one-off. These antics are not very smart, or particularly helpful.”

  “It’s worth a try, although with the state of the country nowadays, they’ll probably give you a medal for sadism instead of prosecuting you. Anyway, I’ve been thinking. There are going to be twenty-four of these things in major cities on the east coast. All I have to do is withhold information on one of them and ‘things could go badly’ for you and your new Unionist commissars.”

  “Denham, you will cooperate fully or –”

  Skull interrupted, “Or you’ll do awful things to three little girls. We’ve established that. What you’re banking on is that I care about them as much as you think I do.”

  “You do care,” Vergone said. “Your psych profile proves it.”

  “But does my psych profile say how much I care? I bet it said that I don’t like being manipulated or feeling trapped. I might even do something self-destructive rather than be controlled. How I might do just about anything to get out of that situation if I felt it was a hopeless cause, say if I was dealing with someone untrustworthy like you, who’s just going to kill them anyway.”

  “I’ll honor our arrangement as long as you do. Keep informing us of the location of the devices so we can take them all out at once and everything will be fine. You have my word.”

  “Your word? Please. We both know you will do anything and everything to advance yourself, you egotistical selfish prick. You’re supposed to be a law enforcement officer, but I don’t see any law here, only enforcement.”

  Vergone sighed. “I’m really not very good at this sort of insulting banter. Perhaps you can suggest some nasty things for me to say to you, if that would entertain you. I do have a couple of agents from New York that are true experts.”

  “No need. I’m done.”

  “Wonderful. Now, why exactly did you call?”

  “I want to see them,” said Skull. “In the flesh. Talk with them. Visit with them. You know, family time.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Is that your final offer? We’re renegotiating the deal here. I’m starting to think my best play is to never contact you again and make sure all those little doomsday devices go off. I can think of several countries that would not miss the opportunity to attack a crippled and vulnerable U.S.”

  “There’s no upside to you seeing them,” said Vergone. “This is to protect you as well a
s them. We both know you might lose your cool or try something rash. Those little ones could get hurt in the process.”

  “I can be extremely controlled when I want to. You should know that from my dossier. I just need to know that I’m not being played, that those little girls really do exist and they’re okay. Otherwise I’m wasting my time.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Are you sure you want to find out?”

  Vergone remained silent for a moment. “Hold on.” He muted the phone. After one hundred and three seconds, he came back on the line. “Here’s how it’s going to work. You meet my men at the corner of Vermont and Fifth in one hour. They’ll be in a black van with government plates. You’ll be searched, cuffed, and hooded, and then taken to see them. You do anything we don’t want, you resist in any way, you fail to follow instructions, and you’re out of there. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly. It’s your world, boss. I just live in it.”

  Vergone hung up.

  Skull looked at his watch. It was nearly rush hour, and he had to make sure he got to the meet in plenty of time. After programming his plug-in GPS, he sped out of the shopping center.

  Twenty minutes later, he made a hard turn right off the freeway, drawing several angry honks from fellow motorists. His GPS led him to the Metro station three stops from the pickup point, and he parked in the enormous, multi-story parking garage.

  Fifteen minutes later, he emerged a block from the meeting location.

  Skull walked deliberately down the street at a pace designed not to draw attention – not too slow, not too quick. At the corner of Vermont and Fifth, he spotted not one van with government plates but two. Both were parked side by side in a convenience store parking lot, facing the street in front of them.

  Two people sat in the front of each vehicle. They appeared to be talking through the open windows.

  Ducking around behind the store, Skull made his way up a side alley to a position behind the vans. Slipping up behind them, he listened to the conversation, hoping to gather some information he could use.

  “...no way they make the playoffs this year.”

  “Are you kidding me? They got the best point guard in the league, and the east is horrible. Besides, they made the playoffs the last two years.”

  “Naw, they’re worse this year, while the rest of the Eastern Conference is better. And John Wall is not the best point guard in the NBA.”

  “You name me one who’s better.”

  Skull shook his head in disgust and walked up just behind the windows. “Hey, guys. Sorry to interrupt. I know I’m early. You want me to walk around for a while and come back in a few minutes?”

  The men at the windows froze, and a female agent from the nearest van leaned out to look. “That him?”

  “Of course it’s him. Didn’t you look at the picture?”

  “Didn’t get a chance. I figured you would.”

  Skull snorted with disgust. “The Bureau has really fallen off lately. What happened, all the best agents become Edens?”

  The woman sighed and looked at Skull. “Mister Denham, my partner and I will transport you to a secure location. We’ll need to observe certain protocols for your own protection as well as ours. These protocols –”

  “Save the speech. I know the drill. Do what you need to do.”

  “Fine,” she said testily, evidently not happy about having her rehearsed pitch interrupted. “Go into the back.”

  “Where’s your car?” asked one of the men.

  “Why?” Skull asked.

  The agent glanced away, elaborately casual. “No reason. Just wanted to keep an eye on it for you while you were away, that’s all.”

  “You guys really aren’t very good at this, are you?”

  “Good at what?”

  “No car,” said Skull. “I took the Metro.”

  The agent seemed disappointed.

  They were going to tag my car, Skull thought as he climbed into the back and sat down next to two more men.

  One of the agents pulled out a bag and held it open. “Empty the contents of your pockets. That includes any cell phones, keys, and your watch. You’ll receive all of this back later.”

  “And don’t bother trying to sneak anything by us,” said the other agent. “We’ll be searching you thoroughly.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying to sneak anything by you. Can I also say thank you both from the bottom of my heart for the service you render to our society. I know you don’t get paid near enough.”

  The man’s sneer softened. “Thank you. You’re right, we certainly don’t get paid enough.”

  “Jackbooted thugs rarely do,” Skull said. “I imagine you make it up with bribes. Even so, there’s the joy of violating our civil liberties, abusing prisoners and such. You have to remember, job satisfaction is more important than compensation. It’s a total package, you know.”

  The man’s face turned red and he looked like he wanted to punch Skull.

  “Relax, Terry,” the agent with the bag said. “He’s just trying to push your buttons.”

  “Maybe we should teach him a lesson.”

  The agent looked at Skull and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We were told that if we had any trouble out of him to kick him out to the curb and call the whole thing off. Is that what we’re going to have to do here?”

  “No worries. You won’t have any trouble out of me. Just making bromantic conversation. If I offended your esteemed colleague here, I apologize. I didn’t realize you Feds were so thin-skinned.” Skull winked at Terry.

  “In the bag,” said the agent again, holding it out toward Skull.

  Skull emptied his pockets. Terry then searched him, roughly.

  “You sure you don’t want to check my prison pocket? I might have something special in there for you to pull out.”

  “We’ll pass,” Terry said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “Put these on.”

  Skull complied. As soon as he had, they pulled a cloth sack over his head. He felt the van drive through rush-hour traffic, with many starts, stops, turns and honks. Skull bounced around on the bench seat. At one point he became nauseated from the motion and inability to see, but forced himself to relax and breathe deeply until the feeling went away.

  After forty-eight and one-half minutes – Skull counted his own heartbeats in order to try to do a radius analysis later – they stopped and the agents pulled his hood off. They appeared to have parked inside the garage of a suburban house. He glimpsed an upscale residential neighborhood with children playing on the street before the garage door shut.

  “We’re going to take the cuffs off now,” Terry’s partner, the more professional one, said. “Then we’ll go inside where you will enter the first room on the right. There, the agent in charge of this location will give you a briefing.”

  “I got it. I promise to be a good boy.”

  “Good. Please follow me.”

  Skull climbed out of the van and up several stairs into an entryway that led into a small sunroom. Inside he saw a table and four chairs, a pleasant-looking woman siting in one. The room faced a back yard with a baby pool and jungle gym. Toys spread over the grass.

  “I’m Special Agent Lisa Summers,” the woman said. “Please sit.”

  Skull did.

  “It’s important that throughout all interactions with the girls, you refer to me as Lisa and make no reference to the FBI or government involvement.”

  “Where do they think they are?” asked Skull.

  “An aunt’s house.”

  “No husband?”

  “No. Sadly, my cover husband died of a horrible disease, giving the girls and me a common bond.”

  “So they’re treated well?”

  “Certainly,” the woman said. “We’re not monsters.”

  “Monsters always say that.” Skull looked out into the back yard. “Do they get to go outside?”

  “Of course. They play with children on
the streets and have friends. They’re normal children.”

  “Normal children aren’t hostages.”

  Summers shrugged. “I haven’t hurt them.”

  “Your boss might.”

  She pressed her lips together and looked away.

  “Do they go to school?”

  The woman smiled. “Of course.”

  “Do they ask about their parents?”

  Summers’ smile vanished. “On occasion, but we try to discourage those questions, as it only upsets them. Their parents were Eden carriers and had to be isolated for their own safety and that of –”

  “– others, yes. I’ve been hearing that same song and dance for the past two years.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “It’s a total crock of shit. The girls are Edens, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you worried you’ll get infected as well? I mean, all it takes is one little slip up, one little drink from a cup or kiss on the lips and you’ve got it.”

  “Actually, that’s one reason I got the job,” Summers said. “I’m also infected.”

  Skull looked at her, surprised for the first time today. “Why hasn’t the government sent you to a camp?”

  “I caught the virus by accident, on a case. When I was tested, it was found I was one of the few unaffected by the mental side effects. I was allowed to continue to serve in the FBI.”

  “Mental side effects?”

  Summers looked at him curiously. “Mister Denham, I find it hard to believe you don’t know how the virus subverts the thinking of most infectees.”

  “Are you talking about the virtue effect?”

  Summers cocked her head. “What a stupid name. There’s no virtue in turning people into sheep. Fortunately I was one of the few that did not suffer the usual brain damage.”

  “Brain damage.” Skull snorted. “Now who’s being stupid?”

  “I notice you haven’t allowed yourself to be infected.”

  Skull stared steadily at Summers. “Touché. There’s a downside for people like me and you, I suppose, but I never quite figured out why the power brokers wouldn’t want those docile sheep showing up at their cube farms every morning with insipid smiles on their faces, working hard to make them richer. The Eden problem could have been handled so that everyone won. Instead, we come to this.”