“Anything else?” Brooks asks.
“One more thing,” Riguez answers. “It’s about the vet who started this whole mess.
“Dr. Faress,” the Major nods.
“Apparently, after the news about the discovery of the Manchester’s bodies made its way back to the good doctor, he sent an email to the CDC in Atlanta, offering his own speculation on the couple’s demise and expressing his concerns about their missing dog.”
“Goddamn it!” Brooks says. “How did they respond?”
“They didn’t,” Riguez says. “By that time, the doctor was already on our radar and we were monitoring all of his communications. Email, cell phone calls… everything. We intercepted the email before the CDC received it. But we won’t be able to keep that up for much longer, especially after the shit hits the fan and more people become aware of the outbreak. There has already been a few news reports about the attacks from local television stations.”
“Has anything been picked up by any of the national networks?”
“Not yet. But we’ve squashed several hundred reports on Twitter and other social media. It’s all our tech guys can do to keep up and even then, some are slipping through. It’s only a matter of time before this thing goes viral.”
“Is that some kind of joke, Master Sergeant?” Brooks asks, instantly annoyed by her subordinate’s last comment.
“No pun intended, Major,” Riguez says, standing a little more rigid. “Just a poorly chosen phrase, but I think you get my point. Unless we do something pretty quickly, the internet is going to be flooded with reports. Some fact and some speculation, but there won’t be a thing we can do to stop it once the levee breaks.”
“Not unless we shut this shit down now,” Brooks says.
“Do you mean the entire state of Ohio?” Riguez asks.
“To start with. The only thing we have going for us right now, is Lake Erie separating Ohio from Canada. If we don’t get this contained soon, we could be talking about all the surrounding states as well. Michigan, Indiana, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania… maybe even New York.”
“Ho-ly shit,” Riguez gasps.
“You said it, Jorje. If things get bad, we might have to consider quarantining everything east of North Dakota, and down to Texas.”
“That’s half the country!” Riguez replies without thinking.
“I’m familiar with the map, Master Sergeant,” Brooks replies.
“But my family lives in Chicago,” Riguez says. “Can I at least call and warn them?”
“No way,” Brooks replies sternly. “I need you here, monitoring the situation and reporting back to me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Major,” Riguez answers, snapping to attention and saluting his commanding officer.
“Then as you were,” Brooks says, returning the salute and sending Riguez back to his duties. She watches him for a few seconds to make sure he’s focused on the orders she’s given before leaving. After the door closes behind her, she turns to the two security officers posted outside the communications room.
“Weinhardt,” she begins, speaking directly to the larger of the two men. “I want you to go into the communication room and place Master Sergeant under house arrest. Confine him to his quarters until you hear from me. I want you to make sure he has no type of communication devices on him when you do. While he’s doing that,” she says, turning to the other officer. “I want you to tear his quarters apart and make sure he cannot contact any civilians. Then I want a detail posted outside his quarters and one soldier inside to keep an eye on him. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” he replies.
“What’s the Master Sergeant done?” Weinhardt asks.
“I’m trying to prevent what he’s capable of doing,” Brooks answers.
“What should I tell him if he asks what the charges are?”
“Tell him it’s suspicion of sedition and potential treason. And if he resists, I want you to advise him you’ve been ordered to shoot him on the spot. No fucking around, no warning shots. If he doesn’t cooperate, I want you to put a bullet in his head,” she replies before considering Riguez’s years of loyal service to her and the military. “But make sure he’s clear about your intentions,” she adds.
“Yes ma’am,” Weinhardt replies with a salute.
“Carry on,” Brooks replies, returning the gesture. “Report to me when you’re done. I’ll be in Colonel Beaurite’s office.”
Six minutes later, Brooks walked into Colonel Charles Beaurite’s outer office. Corporal Lennox is seated at his desk and makes a half-hearted attempt to stand as the officer enters. They’ve gone through this same military ritual for the last eleven months. Normally, Brooks offers an “as you were” before Lennox can get up from the desk, but this morning is different. This morning, she stops and waits for the Corporal to stand and salute. To his credit, Lennox immediately realizes they’re going all-in on the military protocol and stands to attention, delivering a textbook salute.
“Major,” he says loud and clear, keeping his eyes forward.
“Is the Colonel available?” she asks, intentionally not returning the salute and keeping Lennox frozen in position.
“His calendar is clear for the next thirty-seven minutes,” Lennox answers.
“Let him know I’m here,” Brooks says, finally returning the salute, casually waving her hand somewhere near her right temple.
“Yes ma’am,” Lennox replies. Without sitting, he touches the small earpiece with the built-in microphone he’s wearing in his left ear, before speaking.
“Major Brooks is here to see you, sir,” he says formally. “Yes, sir,” he continues, his eyes darting to Brooks and then forward again. Lennox watches as Brooks tips her head slightly to the left, most likely wondering what the Colonel is saying. “Yes sir. Right away, sir,” he says after receiving his orders. “The Colonel will see you now,” Lennox says.
Slipping his hand under the edge of the desk, he pushes the button that releases the door lock to the Colonel’s office from the outer office. A soft buzz emanates from the mechanism until Brooks turns the heavy, brass handle on the door and Lennox releases the button. Brooks enters the large office but notices Lennox moving from behind his desk and leaving the outer office to enter the hallway as she closes the door behind her. Colonel Beaurite is sitting on the other side of his desk but rises to his feet when she enters. Not from a sense of military protocol, but because he was raised to always stand when a lady entered the room. He’s a trim, six-foot-one and his hair is closely cropped with more than a little gray at the temples. He’s in his late fifties but works out every day at the officer’s gym and is easily in better shape than half of his younger officers. Occasionally, he still goes out with the enlisted men during their weekly, ten-mile morning run, just so everyone knows he can still keep up with his troops.
“You look tired, Carolyn. Please, have a seat,” Colonel Beaurite says, forgoing any formality with his subordinate as he gestures to the chairs on the other side of his huge desk. The entire thing looked like it’s been carved from a single tree and stained a dark brown. The top of the desk is covered from edge to edge with a thick layer of glass. Beneath the glass is a flat monitor screen, wired to the Colonel’s secured-server computer with a touch keyboard built into the glass. As Brooks sits down in one of the two leather-covered chairs, Beaurite takes his again and taps the glass desktop, turning the monitor to the gray, privacy mode.
“I’ve sent Robert to get us some coffee. You look like you could use a cup,” he says.
It takes Brooks a second to connect Lennox’s first name to the man, before she replies, “Thank you, sir.” While the Colonel can choose to waive military formality, Brooks is keenly aware that street only runs one way.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks.
“What day is it, sir?”
“It’s Saturday, Carolyn,” he replies.
“Then it was Thursday, sir,” Brooks replies.
“What do you have for me?” he asks, getting back to the business at hand. Before Brooks can answer, a soft chime comes from somewhere on the desk, followed by Lennox’s voice, letting the Colonel know he’s returned with their coffee.
“Bring it in know, please,” Beaurite says. A few seconds later, the Corporal brings in a silver tray with a small, matching pot of coffee, two cups and the obligatory cream and sweeteners.
“There’s also a few of the shortbread cookies you like,” he tells the Colonel. “Would you like me to pour the coffee, sir?”
“Thank you, Robert. I think I can manage it. That’ll be all for now,” Beaurite says.
“Yes, sir,” Lennox replies. “Your phone call with General Tibbitts is in thirty minutes,” he reminds the camp’s commander before leaving.
“Don’t know how I managed without that kid,” Beaurite says, as he gets up and heads over to the tray. “Best damn aid I’ve ever had,” he adds, pouring coffee from the intricate, silver pot into the two delicate cups sitting on matching saucers. He sees Brooks watching him as he places a couple of the cookies with each cup and reads the nearly hidden expression on her face. “Rank has its privileges,” he says, using the saucer to hand Brooks her cup of black coffee. Through the years, he knows this is how she prefers it, so he stopped bothering to offer cream and sugar years ago.
“Thank you, sir,” she says, not replying to the Colonel’s comment regarding the privileges of rank.
“Where were we?” he asks. They both know exactly where they were in their conversation before Lennox interrupted. But, Brooks also knows this is the old man’s polite way of telling her to continue. She runs through the report Riguez had given her a few minutes ago, including the orders she gave to confine him to his quarters, and waits for Beaurite to process the information as she takes a sip of her coffee.
“It’s probably for the best,” Beaurite finally says with a heavy sigh. “Family is a powerful thing.”
“Like they say, sir,” she replies. “If the army wanted soldiers to have families, they’d have issued them one.”
The Colonel’s read through the file on Brooks, just like he has for all the soldiers under his command. He knows she grew up as an orphan, being shuttled from one foster home to the next. Never being able to stay in one place for very long. He knows she had several arrests for various misdemeanor crimes in her teens and how the psych tests the state had given her while in the foster care system showed she had a problem with authority and making emotional connections. Beaurite remembers reading this and thinking the military was a strange choice for the young rebel. But since she’d enlisted at eighteen, her record remained spotlessly dedicated to the service, with no indications or the slightest signs of insubordination.
“That’s what they say,” he says without betraying the thought Brooks might have gone a little too far but trusting in her judgment. “Be that as it may, I want you to personally check on him every few hours and start by explaining things to him.”
“You want me to explain the reason for my orders, sir?” she asks.
“When this is all over, Carolyn, he’s still going to be reporting to you. I don’t want there to be any bad blood or hard feelings between the two of you. It’s not good for morale.”
“Yes, sir,” Brooks answers, deciding instead to have Riguez transferred once this was all over. She’d of course wait the appropriate amount of time before she filed the orders and assure the Colonel it was at Riguez’s request.
“Put our troops on alert,” Beaurite tells her. “When I speak with General Tibbitts, I’ll ask him to contact the Joint Chiefs and get them to call in support from the bases in the surrounding states. Notify the local National Guard we’ll be calling on them for support. We’re going to need to get moving on this if we’re going to shut this cluster-fuck down.”
“Do you think it’s wise to invite the weekend warriors to the dance?” she asks.
The Colonel had always appreciated his Major’s council as one of his lead officers, but he couldn’t help noticing this was the second time in the same conversation she’d questioned his orders.
“I understand your concern, but it’s a matter of numbers, Carolyn. If we’re going to cover all the roads in and out of Ohio, we’re going to need some more men. It’s as simple as that. We’ll make sure there aren’t Natty-Gs operating on their own. They’ll be matched up with military personnel in charge for every squad. The last thing we need is some local in a weekend uniform, letting his neighbors through our blockade because he’s known them all his life and trusts them. Get everything in place here and we’ll roll out in two hours.”
“Where are we heading, sir?”
“In two hours, you’ll be in the air with half our base’s troops and touching down in Columbus thirty minutes later.”
“Yes, sir. Colonel,” Brooks says before standing and walking over to the small table. “You said, I’ll be in the air with our troops. Will you be monitoring the situation from here at the base, sir?”
“I will,” he replies. “I’m putting you in charge of this, Carolyn. I’ll coordinate having military transport meet you and the troops on the tarmac. You’ll be close to ground-zero, Carolyn. I want you to assess the situation and if needed, start Operation Washout. Once this shit-storm starts, there’s no turning back and we can’t afford any fuck ups. Understood?”
“Understood,” she answers, setting her cup and saucer back on the tray. “One more thing if I may, sir.”
“Speak freely,” he says.
“I recommend we round up all the dogs on base and destroy them,” Brooks says without hesitation.
The Colonel’s surprised, and more than a little shocked, by Brooks’ suggestion. He’s always held the canine soldiers in high regard as fearless and loyal comrades in arms. Truth be told, he preferred them to many of his human troops. Rounding them up and killing them on base would be a hard blow to not only his but the entire camp’s emotional well-being. But years of command keeps his expression carved in stone as he considers his trusted officer’s recommendation and dismisses it. Still, he can’t help wondering if Carolyn’s always been this hardcore or if it’s directly related to the situation they find themselves in now.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he tells her.
“As you wish, sir,” Brooks says before heading for the door. Beaurite places his fingertips on the button under the edge of his desk but hesitates when Brooks reaches for the handle. When she doesn’t hear the familiar buzz from the lock, she turns to face him. “Is there something else, sir?”
“Just to be safe, have the canine soldiers gathered and have them quartered in the kennels for now. I want them monitored by video surveillance and I only want people in there to feed them. Be certain their human counterparts are assured this is purely a precautionary measure until the situation is resolved.”
“Yes, sir,” Brooks says before salut
ing and waiting for the lock to disengage. Outside the Colonel’s office, she walks past Lennox without giving him a second glance or returning the salute he’s been holding since he heard the buzzing of the door.
“I wonder what bug crawled up her ass?” the Corporal mutters to himself once he’s certain the Major is out of hearing range.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m going to take a shower and wash the rest of this stuff off my hands,” Pam says, looking at her stained hands as she and Dave walk into their apartment.
Helga, the receptionist, had blocked Pam from entering the clinic to clean up. She claimed she couldn’t allow a potential bio-hazard into the clinic that wasn’t an emergency situation. She was prepared to provide a copy of the corporate policy that covered this exact scenario if she was forced to. She was also quick to point out the sign in the window stating they had the right to refuse entrance to the premises. The police officers gave her a bottle of sterile water from their trunk so she could wash her hands off in the parking lot of the clinic. With a lack of soap, a single liter of water and a single, blue paper shop-towel, Pam’s hands and forearms remained an awful shade of pink. It had, however, given her the opportunity to reassure herself she didn’t have any cuts or scratches on her hands while she was doing her good deed and preventing the victim from bleeding to death.
“Yeah. You go ahead. I’ll jump in after you’re done,” he replies. “I’m making a cup of coffee. Do you want one?”
“What?” Pam yells from their bedroom. “I can’t fucking hear you!”
“I said, I’m going to make some fucking coffee. Do you want some?” Dave shouts from the bedroom door but not bothering to step inside the room.
“Yes, please,” Pam replies at a normal volume and as sweet as she can be.
“Yeah,” Dave mutters, hearing their bathroom door close. “Now you’re all nice and shit when I’m offering coffee.”
“What did you say?” Pam shouts from the bathroom as she turns on the water, making any chance of Dave being able to respond without going into the bathroom, impossible.
The F*cked Series (Book 1): Uppercase Page 4