Infertile Grounds

by DB Carpenter

  "So, Arthur, how's Boston?"

  "Not good, William. Not good at all." He was a William, not a Bill or Will.

  William took a sip of water. "I read the report. Do these people really exist?"

  "I'm afraid it looks that way," Arthur said before recounting the call from Cecil.

  "Jesus, are they certain?"

  Arthur nodded. "Yes, they are. I've got them putting together details I should have momentarily but right now I've been dealing with something else."

  "Besides this virus?"

  "I'm afraid so." He relayed the story of the day's events, particularly Wendy Johnston's attempts to go public with the story. He studied William who was a politician at heart and would analyze this from an accountability standpoint first. Who would be crucified if they failed? What were the odds of success? The classic D.C. mentality – number one, is my ass covered and a distant number two, can I look like a hero and an even more distant number three, is it the right thing to do.

  When Arthur finished talking, his boss sat quietly for a long moment before saying, "Hold on for a few."

  The image of William Stevens froze on the screen as he was put on video-conferencing hold. After several minutes the screen flashed and appeared again. This time it was a split screen with William Stevens on the right and a very concerned looking president of the United States on the left.

  7:16 am PDT Humboldt County, California

  As Seth squeezed the trigger, he either intentionally or unintentionally moved the pistol barrel so that the bullet grazed his head instead of blowing a hole through it. The blast rattled Chris' brain, and it took him several seconds of lying on the bed to comprehend that he was not mortally wounded.

  He sat up in a daze. His ears rang as he ran his fingers over the bloody trough the bullet had plowed in his scalp. Sarah walked over to him and plunged a needle into his arm. He looked at her stupidly. Oddly, she finally showed some emotion as a wicked smile twisted her lips.

  She stepped back and looked at him. She pulled Seth away and said to him in a low whisper, "Give me a few minutes alone with him."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'll be fine."

  "I'll be right outside if you need me."

  "Thanks," she said as she guided him gently out the door, and shut it behind him. She turned and shook her head slowly back and forth. "You've really messed up our plans."

  The pain in his head and arm was gone. He relaxed. "What was in that needle?" He slurred.

  "A little of this, a little of that. What's it matter – you feel better, don't you?"

  He nodded.

  "Listen to me, we're scientists, not murderers. But we're like any subset of society that isn't fully understood. If you push us, we're going to push back. It's pretty simple."

  "Tell that to David Rose."

  "Whether or not you believe it, David was our friend and co-worker. He just made a mistake. You can't be in and then get out. Not with something like this. When you're in, you're in for life."

  "I'd hate to see what you do to an enemy."

  She walked to the window and tugged on the shade. It spun up and sunlight poured in. She looked out the window silently, her back to him. The bright light filtered through her long, straight brown hair making it glow like an aura. She finally turned around. "It doesn't matter. We can't change the past. What I'm interested in right now is the immediate future – the next month or so."

  "I'm not a fortune teller."

  "No, you're not, but you can tell me how you got to be here, and who knows what about us."

  He chuckled. He could tell her all of those things, but she was living in fantasyland if she thought that he actually would. Almost as if she could see what he was thinking, she said, "Talk to me, Chris. You'll feel better once you do."

  Telling her to take a flying leap was his first inclination, but he couldn't. He felt compelled to talk to her. As if she were an old friend and they were reminiscing. Whatever was in that needle was making him feel like this. This realization helped briefly, but as she continued to prod him, he couldn't resist. The words forced themselves out from between his lips, and before he could control himself, he told her, in detail, the complete story of the past week. It was liberating to let it all out.

  As he talked, she sat down in a chair that she positioned directly in front of him. She stared, listened, occasionally tugged at her earlobe and that was it. Even when he broke down and cried uncontrollably as he talked about Karen, she was emotionless. The icy grey eyes, the closed lips – no ticks, no compulsions, she was simply collecting data.

  His cheeks were wet with tears when he finished. After a minute or two, Sarah stood up to leave.

  "Wait," Chris said.

  "What?"

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "Because I needed to know what you know. What you've done."

  "Not that. Why dedicate your life to this whole thing?"

  He was now lying down on the bed – emotionally and physically drained.

  "Because it's the root of so many problems."

  "The root?" Chris said, recalling that David had used very similar terminology.

  "The underlying cause for many of the ills of the world," she said. "Call it what you like. Society's too wrapped up in correctness. No one wants to make the tough calls. It's really quite simple."

  "So you've made the decision for us."

  "That's right. Name a problem and I can trace it back to over-population," she said as she raised her eyebrows waiting for an answer that didn't come. "How about pollution, deforestation, starvation, poverty, illiteracy – even terrorism. They're all directly attributable to over-population and I've come up with a cure."

  He wanted to debate her but the pain, the drugs and the emotions were making it difficult to focus. There were so many arguments. "That's bullshit," he finally managed to say.

  "Oh, is it? The U.S. has five percent of the world's population but consumes twenty-three percent of its resources. What's going to happen when the other ninety-five percent of the world catches up? It's absolutely unsustainable."

  "But what you're talking about is a consumption challenge in a developed country, not a population challenge. People consume stuff because they want to. It's not all population."

  Sarah smiled. "You're absolutely right, but changing attitudes and desires is impossible. Everyone wants that second car, or house, or big screen TV. And even if it could be done, it would only effect the developed nations which, immigration aside, are already seeing stagnant population growth. Reigning in the population explosion will do the same thing – globally, automatically."

  The drugs were knocking him out. He wanted to think about what she had said but his mind was shutting down. He fell asleep thinking that playing God was simply wrong.

  10:23 am Boston, Massachusetts

  "William told me what's going on, Arthur," the President said in his deep baritone that still carried a lilt of his rural Louisiana upbringing. His ruddy, handsome face was framed by closely cropped but thick wavy grey hair. "What's your read?"

  From the data he had received earlier from Cecil and his team and the enlightening conversation with Agent Pelletier this morning, he was confident in his reply. "I think that this virus exists. There are too many connected events to be random coincidences. Sarah Burns and her cronies are out there somewhere. We have to find them before they release it."

  The two men nodded their heads. Arthur's reputation gave him the luxury of being unquestionably respected by people, regardless of their political affiliation or rank.

  "On the second part, this rinky-dink news station has its hands on a woman who has heard about the virus. Her sister's husband was one of the doctors treating Agent Pelletier. They refuse to let us into their building. I'm afraid that they're going to broadcast a story about it soon."

  "Jesus Christ," the President muttered. "We'll have pandemonium on our hands."

  "And you can bet that as soon as Sarah Burns se
es it on TV, they'll disappear for good," Arthur continued. "Then there'll be no stopping them."

  William had been quiet up until now when he said, "So what do you propose we do?"

  "Two things immediately. First, I want to use any means necessary to shut down that station and keep everyone who knows anything about this quiet."

  "Like what?" The President said.

  "I want to shut down their transmitters – take them off the air," Arthur replied.

  "You know what messing with the media can do, Arthur."

  He nodded. "Sometimes, Mr. President, like right now, it's for the good of the public. It's all hearsay at this point. There're many reasons why we have to do what I'm proposing. We'll make sure it looks like an accident when they go off the air – some sort of component failure – wire break, something like that. Shit happens, right? But from my perspective, this is a red-level national security issue and as soon as we slap that label on it, we have much broader legal authority."

  "I say we do it," William Stevens said.

  The President was quiet for a minute. "You're right; let's do it. What's the second part of your proposal?"

  "We have to find Sarah Burns. I'm going to put every available man on the case."

  "Of course," the President replied. "You've got to find and stop her. I don't want to hear anything but success on this one, gentlemen. You have my authority to take whatever action you deem necessary to ensure that this virus doesn't get released. Do you understand me?"

  They did.

  "Give me updates every few hours, William," the President said. "I don't need to tell you how much myself and the country are depending on you two. Don't let us down." The President disconnected.

  The split screen flashed and returned with only William Stevens on it. "When's the final briefing going to be ready?"

  "In about two hours. That ought to be enough time to get the team-leaders briefed and ready."

  "Okay. Let's have another video call at five o'clock." William paused, "This is a big one, Arthur. There's a lot riding on us right now."

  "I know."

  "You need to be successful."

  No shit. "These people always make mistakes, and mistakes are what make our job doable. We'll find Sarah Burns. You can count on it."

  "I am," William Stevens said as he shut down his conference system.

  Arthur sat and stared at the blank screen for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts before returning to the conference room. Progress had been made. The white board, which stretched the full width of the room, was covered with all of the available data. He started at the left and walked along, studying the sparse details. They had many holes to fill.

  "Mr. Moscovitz, there's a call for you on line one," a secretary said to Carl, who was at the conference room table with several agents.

  "Can you take a message, please?"

  "I tried but he refused. He demands to talk to you. He's on your private line."

  Carl rolled his eyes and muttered a soft curse.

  "Okay, I'll pick it up in my office."

  As Carl left the room, Arthur and one of his agents exchanged glances. Arthur leaned against the conference table and studied the white board, forcing himself to ignore the Carl Moscovitz situation and focus on Sarah Burns. They always make mistakes. That was what he had told William and it was true. Sooner or later, she would make that mistake. The problem with that scenario was it assumed you had time and they didn't. The events of the past few days had a crescendo feel to them. Educated guess, he figured at best they had a week – maybe just a couple of days. That was assuming it wasn't a done deal already. Not much time at all and once this thing was out there was no going back – they didn't get a redo on this type of thing – no second chances.

  An agent ran into the room and up to Arthur. "Sir, a private word if I may," he said gesturing for Arthur to step outside.

  Arthur followed him out of the room.

  "He's gone," the agent said.

  "What? Who?" Arthur said.

  "Carl. He just bolted."

  "Bolted? What happened?"

  "That call was from someone named Wes. He told Carl that we were onto him, and before we could get to him, he slipped out."

  "Go find him!" Arthur exclaimed.

  There were at least twenty men in the room – most of them direct reports to Carl. Arthur stepped back inside and addressed them.

  "Just so you know," Arthur said. "This is an entirely separate issue than what your primary concern is right now, but Carl Moscovitz has been under investigation by Internal Affairs. Unfortunately, it seems Carl has left the building and is unwilling to cooperate in our investigation. If he contacts any of you for help, I expect you to let me know immediately. I have people out looking for him."

  The room was silent as Arthur looked at each of Carl's men individually.

  "I know that this is a shock, but we have to focus on the matter at hand. I want everyone in this room focused on finding Sarah Burns and any of her accomplices. Carl Moscovitz is secondary right now, but if you do happen to hear from him or hear anything about where he might be, you will let me know immediately. Are there any questions?"

  Silence. Arthur paused briefly before proceeding with his briefing. Carl slipping away was unfortunate, but now that everything was out in the open, he had complete control, and that was exactly how he liked it – no power struggles and he could focus one hundred percent on the task at hand.

  Carl would turn up. There's no way he could slip away so quickly and disappear and, like any other scumbag, they always make mistakes.

  12:13 pm PDT Humboldt County, California

  Chris held his breath as he pressed his ear against the heating grate straining to hear the conversation in the room below. He recognized Sarah and Seth's voices; the other two were unknown to him.

  "He may have lied," Sarah said. "But then the dose of sodium pentothal I gave him was designed to alter his higher cognitive function and make it far more difficult for him to lie than to tell the truth. It made him much more loquacious and cooperative. I'd say he was telling the truth."

  "So you think that we should unload the tractor trailer and continue as planned? Like nothing has changed for us?" Chris heard a male voice ask. "Christ, if someone like Chris Foster could find us so easily, It won't take long for the government to find us if they really start to look."

  "I know, Mike," Sarah replied. "But, frankly, he lucked out when he decided to follow Albert. It was a one-in-a-million shot. Had he arrived an hour later, Albert would have left already and Chris would be still sniffing around in Malibu right now. Now that Mark's here with the rest of our stuff, I say we just press forward as if he never existed."

  There was silence for a minute.

  "So what are you going to do with him?" A woman asked.

  "I'll take care of him," Sarah said. Her voice was icy and Chris shuddered. "It's early. If we hurry, we can have the truck unloaded before it gets dark. I'd like to have it done before Albert gets back with the Carriers. Seth, go get the others started," Sarah said.

  "Are you going to kill him?" The woman asked, shock clearly in her voice.

  "I didn't say that, Camilla," Sarah replied.

  "Good, because that's not –"

  "Then what do you propose we do with him?" Chris recognized Seth's voice.

  There was a long pause before Camilla replied, "I don't know but I'm not participating in cold blooded murder. Lock him up or something. Keep him out of the way until we can figure something out."

  "He's going to have to be dealt with at some point," Seth said. "What good is locking him up? He's seen us. Probably even saw you outside. You think he's going to just walk away and never talk to anyone?"

  "I said I don't know, Seth," Camilla snapped. "But we're not killing him and that's that."

  "Sure thing boss," Seth replied. "You tell me what to do and when, OK? I thought you were providing financing only? When did you get into the operations side of thi
s?"

  "We don't need this right now," Sarah said. "He's locked up and we've got a lot to do. We can deal with this later. Besides, he could prove to be an asset or a bargaining chip if it comes down to that."

  "So what's our schedule?" Mike asked.

  "It's going to happen fast," Sarah replied.

  "Tonight I'm going to expose the Carriers to the virus. Then Seth will drive them to the airport tomorrow. They all have tickets, credit cards, cash, and lots of Gen96. They're going to go on lengthy tours of the world, just like I told you and the old man back at Camilla's place. We'll restock them as the need arises. In forty-eight hours, there will be no turning back."

  "I'm glad that it's going to happen fast – less waiting around," Camilla said.

  "You've got the virus with you?" Mike asked.

  "It's in the truck. They'll be unloading it soon," Sarah said. "Once we get the Carriers out of here, we can all rest a little easier. At that point, all we can do is track and resupply them. We've got software that'll make that easy enough."

  The faint sound of footsteps pounding on the basement stairs reverberated through the house.

  "Let's go give them a hand," Sarah said.

  The voices faded away. Chris lifted his head from the vent in the floor and crawled over to the window. Pain shot up his arm with each movement. He peered out through the slit between the edge of the shade and the window frame and watched as they unloaded the truck.

  Forty-eight hours kept racing through his mind. How was he going to stop them? He was on his own – a software developer turned entrepreneur was all that stood between Sarah Burns and her twisted vision of the future. Jesus, what he wouldn't do for his cell phone now. A call to the FBI or Pell – anybody to talk to, to receive some much needed advice, or better yet, to just toss this all over the fence and get the hell out of here. They got paid and had the skills and people to deal with situations like this.

  He went over to the sturdy door and tried the knob again. Locked. He ran his fingers around the frame hoping to find a weakness but it was pointless. The only other way out of the room was a fifteen-foot jump out the window which was securely screwed shut top and bottom. Maybe, as a last ditch effort he could break the window and make the jump. That sounded noisy and dangerous and he certainly didn't feel physically up to it right now.