The Darkness Drops

by Peter Clement

  “I’m still not sure she’ll let herself be separated from me.” He also harbored a crazy idea that maybe Wey Chen had entrusted Jade with a key to the search. Without a bunch of strangers around, the girl might at least talk to him.

  “Your sure it wouldn’t go faster with search teams at your disposal?”

  He explained why he needed to work alone.

  It caused an uneasy silence between them.

  Two hours ago, Phillippa Holt had requested that he go straight to Wells and start hunting for Wey Chen’s material, tonight. Her relief when he’d told her that that’s what he had intended to do anyway, because of Carla, was audible, even over the phone. Now, he sensed that same heightened urgency on her part. It was as if she’d suddenly discovered her own reasons for finding the vaccine and documentation on SHAKES in a matter of hours, not days. She didn’t explain why, and he didn’t ask, hesitant to inquire about her own health for fear she might consider the question invasive.

  “I suppose you know best, Ryder.” Her reply sounded not at all convinced. “How are you doing, personally?”

  “Could be better.”

  He heard her sigh. “I’m sorry to hear that, Terry.” Her tone had turned somber. “For all our sakes, push on as long as you can. At the moment, I’m right in the middle of something, and must attend to it. One last thing. Do you have your laptop handy?”

  “Yes, but--”

  “E-mail me everything you’ve learned so far--Wey Chen’s part in it all, the bioweapons program in Guangdong Province, and what you were told would be the contents of her package as she calls it--ASAP, if you can. But don’t reveal our trouble finding it, and omit any mention of Jade.”

  “Sending you anything now might not be a good idea, Madame President. The Chinese have been onto my movements big-time, and I have to assume they’ve somehow been monitoring my e-mails.”

  “Then what better way to send them a message. Trust me. It’ll rattle that chain we talked about, Ryder, and help avoid World War Three. But most of all, find our package.”

  Curiouser and curiouser. That accelerated urgency again.

  He looked back toward the distant blaze of lights on the promontory.

  I’m right in the middle of something.

  He’d presumed she would be in Washington or Camp David at a time of world crisis.

  If so, hubby was having a hell of a party on his own.

  Kennebunkport, Maine

  The in-house phone rang seconds after she’d hung up on Ryder.

  Her husband jumped.

  He’d been circling dangerously close to the liquor cabinet, so she pressed the intercom button, allowing him to listen in. Anything to distract the man, make him feel part of it. Too close to show time for him to take a snort now.

  “Madame President, GPS tells us the ETA of your guest will be in thirty minutes.”

  She hated these acronym geeks. “Thank you.”

  “What if Ryder takes it into his head to show up here with the girl?” her husband said after she’d put down the receiver. “That’ll complicate things.”

  His whiny tone irritated her. She’d insisted he spend these hours in private at her side, not wanting even her own security staff to hear how distraught he’d become. “Settle down, dear. He hasn’t any reason to crash our party, unless he finds that bitch’s package. Then he can charge in, bugles blowing, to save the day. Now sit and I’ll order some nice relaxing tea.” She patted the leather cushions of the sofa beside her. God she hated the decor here. The low-ceilinged yet huge living room was designed in pure big-Texas ranch style, from oversized chairs to hide rugs on the polished wood floors to gun racks on the walls. Neo-cowboy macho she called it.

  “But what if he figures it all out?” he persisted, glancing toward the liquor cabinet again. “There’s too many in on it now.”

  “I know this man. He’ll do his duty to this office. Now get a grip. We’re fine.”

  “And if he finds the package, I mean actually reads it?”

  Then you’ll have a problem, idiot, she thought. She sometimes suspected that he’d rather the see a fifth of the world die off, including herself, rather than risk the full contents of that package being revealed. Time to yank his leash. “I said, sit down, dear. We need to review the plan for tonight.”

  Chapter 35

  That same morning, Thursday, February 5, 2009, 3:18 A.M. EST

  Kennebunkport, Maine

  The grounds were lit up like a movie shoot, portable flood lamps having chased the shadows out of every nook and cranny. Troops in groups of threes and fours peered into the darkness beyond. A large Blackhawk helicopter, pilot at the stick and rotors turning at low speed, sat on a landing pad the size of two tennis courts, ready for takeoff. A hundred feet above it, two more hovered side by side, and farther inland, Terry counted another four drifting over the woods at the rear of the property. Their down-drafts swept gusts of snow into mini-blizzards throughout the estate, the flakes sparkling in the harsh light. The noise of the motors made it impossible to hear.

  His guards hustled him through the front yard, his wet shoes slipping on the frozen crusts of ice and open patches of dormant grass. He had to tread carefully, it being more difficult to keep his balance with Jade in his arms.

  They passed over a large circular driveway where a dozen men wearing chauffeur’s uniforms huddled against the cold alongside a line up of limousines. It looked like a convention of hit men. One of them even had a nasty bruise on the side of his face, and it looked fresh.

  As they approached the sprawling house, he glanced through a large front window into a low-ceilinged room festooned with western paraphernalia. Except what caught his attention had been the president of the United States, leaning over a coffee table and scowling as she talked animatedly with a diminutive Asian male who sat immobile in front of her. A silver tea set and a plate of scones had been laid out between them, but neither of them appeared to be partaking of refreshments. He wore plain wire-rimmed glasses, and his black hair was slicked straight back, plastered to his scalp without any stylistic attempt to soften its severe appearance. This unassuming presentation didn’t prevent Terry from recognizing the second in command of the largest nation on earth.

  Trying to prevent World War III didn’t seem to be going too well.

  * * * *

  “You built it, didn’t you!”

  “I beg your pardon.” Light from the flood lamps streamed through a bay window at her back, casting the room in a clarity as cold as the president’s icy smile.

  Terry stood across a desk from her. Clearly the decor in this part of the house had been chosen to her liking, an aesthetic at odds with the Marlboro-man motif in the rest of the place. The past president, Jim Holt, his brow crinkled with alarm, occupied a low-set John Adams chair to her right. To her left, General Robert Daikens perched on a similar antique, its small size and his bulk reminding Terry of a circus bear trying to balance on a beach ball. The cup and saucer in his big hands appeared the size of doll-house dishes. But it was the suit that struck Terry. He’d never seen Robert Daikens in civilian clothing before. “Nice threads, Robert. Don’t get too used to them. Your future wardrobe will be an orange jumpsuit.”

  The man choked on the tea. “What are you talking about?”

  “Saw you in the parking lot at Wells Beach. Also recognized one of your ninjas by the maroon and purple makeover I gave his face. Say hi to him for me. What’s that look of dismay, Robert? Am I going too fast?”

  “Built what, Dr. Ryder?” The president said, not giving Daikens a chance to reply.

  Terry gave her his best don’t-insult-my-intelligence scowl. “The chimera program. What else? Those holographs I saw in China were of organisms that my group had discussed as ‘what ifs’ over seven years ago. Yet there they were on actual micrographs. Wey Chen herself told me the images were pirated. And her superiors believed I’d created them. They stole them from somewhere, and my bet is that the program I suggested t
o your husband in 2004 went ahead-- secretly.”

  The past president rose half out of his chair. “Why, that’s ludicrous--”

  “How did he finance it, Madame President? My guess is he let General Robert Daikens here run the show like Operation Stethoscope, funneling legitimate funds to illegitimate operations. And where did he put it? I recall an old NORAD installation in Colorado having been suggested by one of my team members back in 2003. So please don’t pretend you didn’t know. I suspect you didn’t approve, but you knew.”

  Daikens leaned forward on his chair. “Ryder, that creepy, suspicious mind of yours has finally overheated. The Chinese could have gotten those images from anywhere. You’re talking half-cocked paranoia--”

  “You’re right, Robert. But with you in the picture, half-cocked paranoia won’t do. Make that full-cocked paranoia. Because while driving up to Wells Beach from Portland, I checked and triple checked with all my inside sources around the globe. There’s not so much as a hint that anybody else has been idiot enough to start up a chimera program. So that leaves this country, and my money is on people who were party to those top-secret ‘what-if’ discussions of my working group. But it would be someone who also had the moxie and means to raise the resources. In other words, you, Robert. Of course, your attempt to grab the bag earlier tonight clinches my suspicions. What was that about, Robert? Get your hands on the material first so you could remove any documentation of what the Chinese stole from you and your illegal program, then blame the snatch on a Sino hit team?”

  The Holts regarded each other, their expressions curled into question marks.

  Daikens leaned back on his little bit of a chair in an attempt to appear nonchalant, but teetered on the brink of toppling over. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You tried to kill me, and an innocent girl, asshole!”

  The general dismissed the accusation with a wave of his hand, as if batting off a pesky fly.

  “You did what?” the presidents Holt said in unison, she flushing scarlet, his face draining to an off white.

  Daikens’ smile widened. “Madame President, I assure you, Dr. Ryder has grossly misinterpreted our attempt to acquire the serum--”

  “Oh, shut-up, Robert.” She swung her withering gaze on hubby. “I specifically forbade any such action, and you better have had nothing to do with it.”

  Whether “it” referred to the ambush, or Daikens, or both, Terry couldn’t tell for sure, but she’d dipped the word in an acid of contempt.

  Hubby meekly shook his head.

  She sank back in her chair and massaged her temples with trembling fingers, her features crumpling into a weariness that had taken further toll.

  Hubby seemed to receive some kind of silent permission to speak. “You know, Dr. Ryder, when you demanded to meet with the three of us, we knew you had figured out the truth. While I condemn what the general did to you tonight--”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Daikens said.

  “You’ve been told to shut up, Robert!” James Holt’s voice had assumed its proper ex-presidential authority. He turned back to Terry. “I don’t deny the rest. But neither do I see how you could blame me or the general for implementing an idea that you yourself inspired. Hell, your description of a biological attack by someone using those genetic monsters scared the bejeesus out of me--”

  “Oh, I blame you, Sir!” Terry said. “Let me guess what happened. Instead of a project that focused solely on treatments and antidotes, I’ll bet Robert here brought in people who also worked on delivery systems. In other words, this country resumed what even Nixon had the integrity to shut down--a germ warfare program. Secret, illegal, and on your watch!”

  This time neither man spoke. They couldn’t even look him in the eye. He’d hit the nail on the head.

  “What will you do about it, Ryder?” the president asked. Despite the worsening tremors and fatigue, her voice retained the steel of a woman in charge.

  “Take over the program.”

  “What!” Robert Daikens leapt to his feet, spilling his tea and toppling the chair.

  James Holt stayed put, staring at Terry, eyes and mouth open wide in astonishment.

  “You loathe bioweapons,” the president said, looking equally perplexed.

  “Can you think of anyone more qualified than me to take charge?”

  “No, but why would you?”

  “Because the thought of anyone else at the helm . . . well, let’s just say I’d find it easier to sleep if such organisms were under my control.”

  Relief softened the strain in her face. “As I would--” Her expression immediately fell. “Assuming of course, that your health holds--”

  “Now just a fucking moment, Ryder!” the general said, depositing his cup and saucer onto the polished surface of her desk with a loud clatter. “That operation is under DOD--”

  Ryder closed the gap between them with a single stride, grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket, and shook him with enough force to cause whiplash. “Not anymore, Robert. It was my idea, and I’m taking it back. That means it reverts to its original mission--treatments and antidotes. As of now, all work on weapons stops.”

  “You haven’t the authority--”

  “Don’t I? How about it, Madame President?” He released his hold on Daikens and faced Phillippa Holt. Some where in the molten recesses of his brain, a voice warned, I’m out of my friggin’ mind. “If you’re the commander and chief who I think you are, and if, as I suspect, making sure that Robert’s program didn’t accidentally start World War Three is why you took this job, let me clean up his mess--”

  “My mess?”

  Terry spun back to Daikens. “Yes, Robert. Your mess.”

  “Hey, I have done only what needed doing to protect my country--”

  “Did you not try to recruit Wey Chen?”

  The grizzled warrior’s face crinkled into a show of disdain. “Of course not.”

  “Really? I’d advise you to level with me, Robert. Not only am I prone to strangling assholes these days, but you better consider that if I’ve figured it out, so can others, such as reporters at the New York Times. They may not be as discreet as me. I repeat, did you try and recruit her?”

  Silence, then, “Might have. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

  “When?”

  “How can that matter--”

  “When!”

  “Okay! Two thousand and two, right after the Anna Katasova incident. I figured if a high-up doctor like Wey Chen would sell out a stranger to save her husband, there might be no end to what she’d betray, including her country.”

  “Is that how Wey Chen found out about Operation Stethoscope?”

  “I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “She knew enough to call you last week, for help with Anna.”

  “Did Wey Chen tell you that?”

  “No, Robert. I put myself in her shoes and figured it out. You’re the contact whom she never entirely trusted. Little wonder why. But with Anna bleeding out from a gunshot wound, who else could come up with a portable ICU and doctors who’d ask no questions? They set up in the old boathouse, right?”

  Daikens glowered at him. “You need reminding that we’re on the same team, Ryder. The real enemy is in the next room, so lay off me--”

  “Where is she, Robert? If you let her die, so help me--”

  “If I had Anna in custody, she’d be behind bars.”

  “Not if you thought having her in your possession would lure Yuri and the package into your clutches.”

  “I said, lay off!” The general pushed past him and started for the door.

  Terry grabbed him by the top of the shirt, knuckles pressing on his Adam’s apple, and popped him in the jaw, sending the big man tumbling backward over his upturned chair.

  James Holt gasped, but his wife sharply raised her hand, palm out, to stop him from interfering.

  Terry stood over Daikens, his fist still clenched, the throb of
pain in his hand barely noticeable, the urge to inflict more damage overwhelming. Good, he thought, having already learned how to ride that kind of frenzy to his advantage in dealing with Siloviki these last two days. It frightened people and gave him an edge.

  The general’s fingers flew to the fresh split in his lip and came away covered in blood. “Son of a bitch! You just struck a senior officer.”

  “Time to 'fess up, Robert,” Terry said, grabbing his collar again, both fists this time, and yanking him into a half-sitting position. “You’re the cause of so much grief, I can’t begin to heap enough blame on you.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “What did you tempt her with?”

  “Tempt who?”

  “Wey Chen. When you tried to recruit her.”

  Daikens licked away the blood that had continued to flow from his lip. “The usual--safe passage, citizenship, new identities here for her and her family when she could no longer be of use to us over there.” He answered readily, almost willingly, probably more out of shocked surprise that Terry had hit him than from fear.

  “What else did you suggest would be waiting for her, once she came to the US with all her secrets?”

  “Nothing.”

  Terry leaned down, so close he could smell the acrid aroma of Daikens’ sweat. “Let me guess. A senior position in the chimera program--you made what was just an idea sound like a certainty, to lure a prize catch into your precious network.”

  The silence that followed was total. It ended with one of Daikens’ blistering sighs, this one carrying the reek of morning breath and something gone bad between his teeth. “So?”

  “So? She didn’t take the bait, did she?”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “Yet a year later I’m sticking three little blue pins amongst thousands of little red pins.”

  “What are you going on about?” The pitch of his voice had acquired an eerie edge, like fingernails on a blackboard.

  The president leaned forward, rapt with anticipation.