Cloud Dust: RD-1

by Connie Suttle

  "Congratulations, Auggie," I said. "You deserve it. I just wish it were a better time to take that position. She should have put you there to start with, instead of attempting to appease Cutter's camp. That could have saved us time and trouble."

  "You think Cutter already knew about the Program?" Auggie asked.

  "I think he knew something—what crumbs the previous administration saw fit to give him. Madam President handed all of it to him on a plate."

  "I remember what you said when he was given the job," James said. "You told us the virus had been introduced. Man, we should have shot him then and taken the jail time."

  "Oh, his cronies were doing their happy dance," I said. "I don't want to visit you in jail, honey. Let somebody else take out the bad guys. Somebody who can get away with it," I added.

  "That means Maye, Nick, Rafe or somebody from another agency," Auggie sighed. We just need to know who the targets are and where they are. We can send the cavalry after that. Cori, have you had any luck with the photographs of wealthy people?"

  "Not yet," I grumped. "Don't get me wrong; a bunch of them are steeped in felonious behavior, but it doesn't include murdering a town in Montana."

  "Let's table that for now and focus on the other thing. I'd love to hand the information to Madam President before she gets that call tomorrow."

  "That would be a coup—new Secretary of Defense solves Montana mystery," James framed a journalistic headline with finger quotes.

  "I'd have to say my team was responsible," Auggie pointed out. "Cori, why don't you and Rafe look at photographs until we have to leave for the White House?"

  "We can look while we're on a treadmill," Rafe said.

  "Joy."

  * * *

  "You have your orders," Death said into his cell phone. "Tonight, we begin."

  "You are sure, Commander?"

  "Yes. Once we attack, the retaliation will be swift. You must not be deterred, even when it seems our allies have turned against us. It is his will."

  "We are strong. None shall stand against us. We go tonight."

  "I'll expect a report afterward—be at the rendezvous point for extraction afterward."

  "It will be done. Thank you, sir. The end times are upon us."

  "The end times are upon us," Death agreed and ended the call.

  * * *

  Corinne

  "I'm not finding anything," I said. "I've gone back through some of these twice. Nobody sticks out." A computer monitor was hooked to my treadmill, and I'd walked while I studied photographs.

  "Nobody?" James walked on a treadmill beside mine, while Rafe ran on a treadmill on my other side.

  "Nobody," I shook my head. "This sucks."

  "We have to get cleaned up soon, for Colonel Hunter's appearance at the White House press conference."

  "I know. How should I dress?"

  "Nice, but dark clothing," James grinned. He'd been invited, too, since his pay grade would rise with Auggie's. Auggie was considered a civilian since he was no longer active in the regular military—that had transpired after his assignment to the Program more than eight years earlier. Almost two years after his selection as a special consultant, he'd been assigned to me.

  Being classified as a civilian, with no regular active connection to the military for more than seven years was a requirement to be Secretary of Defense. Auggie fit the bill perfectly. His rank should have been higher when he officially retired eight years earlier, but as he'd said often enough, there were some in the military who didn't like him.

  At least the Senate approved of him—the President couldn't appoint him without their consent.

  "Cabbage," Rafe extended an elbow after stopping his treadmill.

  I took his arm. I waved at James as Rafe steered me out of the gym.

  * * *

  "I really don't feel good about this," I said as I put diamond studs in my ears. Rafe stood behind me, combing his hair. We were nearly ready to go.

  "I am not comfortable, either. We will get through this, my love, as we are only watching from the side."

  "I'm worried for Auggie. And the President, although she's still on my shit list."

  "That is the way with leaders—they cannot be all things to all people, though we expect it of them always."

  "Ilya, something will go wrong—we both know it. We just don't know what form it will take."

  "I know. People will die to prove a maniac's point. It remains to be seen whether we will be counted among the dead."

  "That's scary," I hugged myself and mumbled.

  * * *

  Cameras clicked in the White House press room as Auggie stepped toward the podium. Rafe and I stood in a corner away from the cameras to keep an eye on Auggie and the President.

  One journalist caught my eye and forced me to draw in a painful breath. He'd gotten information from an undisclosed source. That information included video and photographs. Oh, God, Auggie, I sent to him. Civilian Security Services has gone nuts in Afghanistan and wiped out three villages.

  Chapter 17

  Corinne

  "I only have preliminary information," Auggie said when he responded to that journalist first. "I have been made aware of the situation, but we are scrambling for more intel."

  I fed information to Auggie mentally, while the journalist stood and stared—he imagined he had an exclusive, straight from the source. He did, but he didn't know about me.

  His information says at least six hundred are dead, including children, I sent to Auggie. Gunned down and left where they fell. These guys are cutting a swath through the Afghan hills, with nothing to stop them.

  Leo Shaw nodded as Auggie looked in his direction, then left the room. The military was about to get involved with this.

  Leo was probably more than surprised when I included him in the mental conversation. James, too.

  James, I need photographs of all those assholes in Afghanistan—the Civilian Security guys, I said. Somebody has to have those records. Get me the same on whoever has a stake in that company, too.

  I watched as he gave a slight nod and followed in Leo's wake. No matter how you looked at this, it would reflect badly on the President—those people were on the government payroll. I suspected they wanted a war, and probably had a good head start on creating one.

  The fortunate thing, I suppose, was with the dropping of that bombshell, it was the best excuse ever for ending the press conference and going straight to work. The Press Secretary took over and handed out standard platitudes while Auggie, Rafe and I walked out of the room with Madam President.

  "What the hell is happening?" the President demanded as Auggie walked so fast I had to trot to keep up.

  "Corinne has more information than I do, but that's about to change," Auggie snapped. "Somebody get the Secretary of the Air Force on the phone. We have to plan an air strike."

  "Some—if not all—the Civilian Security Services personnel we have in Afghanistan just went batshit crazy and attacked villages, killing everybody," I said. "That's the gist of it, and until James can get me photographs, that's really all I can give you."

  "Then you have anything you want, Corporal," Madam President nodded at James while Auggie and Rafe broke into a run.

  That's how I ended up in a room full of computers while James ran record after record of the Civilian Security Services employees in Afghanistan. I ticked them off as on or off the list as we went through photograph after photograph.

  James made two lists while we went through the records—one titled yes and one titled no. Three-quarters of the way through more than thirty-five hundred records, I developed a nosebleed and a headache. I kept going. Madam President paced behind us while I updated information as I studied photographs and held bloody tissues to my nose.

  "They're driving to this village," I pointed out the fourth target on a map someone else had pulled up on a second computer.

  "Get that information to Colonel Hunter," the President shouted at her Deputy Ch
ief of Staff. He was on a phone nearby, relaying information to wherever Auggie had gone with Rafe.

  The Deputy Chief delivered the message. "He asks if you want to send drones," he held a hand over the receiver and asked.

  "I want whatever it will take to stop these bastards," the President said. "I want an air strike on that convoy as quickly as possible. Send both, since we have no idea what kind of weapons they have."

  "Yes, Madam President. Colonel Hunter, use whatever force is necessary to kill the rogues before they reach the next target. Send in manned and unmanned aircraft."

  "Do not fire on any villages," the President added.

  "Did you get that?" the Deputy Chief asked. "Good. Yes. Immediately. Madam President, he says he'll have bodies airlifted out when they're done," the Deputy Chief hung up the phone.

  "Good. Thank you. Corinne, if you and James will come with me to the Oval Office? Andrew, ask Colonel Hunter and his guard to meet us there when everything is in motion."

  "Yes, Madam President."

  * * *

  "Corinne, what can you tell me?" the President sat heavily on her desk chair and leaned her elbows on the desk.

  "I couldn't get a clear count on fatalities," I said, slumping onto a guest chair. "I gave the village names to James, so he can tell you approximate populations. I believe the number of deaths they handed to the journalist are very conservative."

  "Do we still have him in custody?" the President turned to one of her Secret Service agents. I recognized him as someone who'd ridden to the Vice President's funeral with us.

  "We do, but he's protecting his source."

  "Of course he is," the President muttered. She had a headache, just as I did, but her nose wasn't bleeding; mine was.

  "Can I get a cold, wet cloth?" I asked, pulling the red-soaked tissue away from my nose.

  The agent opened the door and shouted for someone to bring tissues and a cold, wet cloth. Leo, Rafe and Auggie walked in before the cloth arrived.

  "Corinne?" Leo scooted James over on the sofa we occupied, then pulled my hand and the bloody tissue away from my nose.

  "I have a headache," I mumbled.

  "I don't doubt it," Leo muttered.

  "Here's the cold cloth," the agent handed it to Leo.

  "Lean forward a little," Leo said before placing the cold cloth on the bridge of my nose and pinching gently. "Breathe through your mouth if you have to," he said. "The pinching and the cold should help the blood clot," he explained.

  In less than five minutes, the bleeding had stopped. "Thank you," I mumbled. "Can I have some water, now?"

  Leo Shaw grinned and nodded. "Want something for your headache, too?"

  "Ibuprofen?"

  "We'll see."

  * * *

  An hour later, we received information that the convoy had been bombed and the cleanup crew dispatched to retrieve bodies, vehicles and weapons. Auggie had to stay with the President to field incoming questions and deal with the press. Rafe stayed with them. Leo, James and I were driven back to our ugly, temporary building.

  "No more for you tonight," Leo said as I asked James for information on the ones who owned the Civilian Security Services; I knew they had to be responsible for the killings in Afghanistan. "James and I can handle that through regular channels," Leo continued. "You're going to bed."

  After a dose of ibuprofen, I climbed into bed and attempted to sleep. That didn't take long—Leo told the nurse who brought the ibuprofen that it was only that. As it turns out, it held a sleep aid, too. I intended to have a talk with Dr. Leo Shaw—once I was fully conscious and not so sleepy I couldn't move.

  * * *

  Ilya

  The only images televised were taken from far away with Telephoto lenses or from the air, also with Telephoto lenses. The air, too, about a football stadium in Georgia was being tested for remains of the drug.

  Journalists were abuzz with the poison's second use—the same poison that reportedly killed two thousand or more in Montana. The government in that southeastern U.S. state had convened and officials from Homeland Security and other agencies were arriving quickly to discuss necessary actions and investigations.

  Authorities were forced to examine the scene in hazmat suits—the drug had been loosed as mist by an innocent-looking small plane, dragging a congratulatory sign behind it. The concoction had been invisibly sprayed as families and graduates sat in a rapidly warming stadium with very little breeze to provide relief from the heat.

  What I could see from televised images showed bodies slumped in their seats or scattered across the turf of the field. It looked as if a multicolored wheat field had been harvested by a giant sweep of a scythe.

  Deaths occurred outside the stadium, too—it couldn't be avoided since the mist had been released in the air. That meant the college campus was on lockdown, and bodies lay on grassy lawns where they'd fallen, once the mist was inhaled.

  The drug was being used as a form of chemical warfare, and that was unacceptable.

  * * *

  Notes—Colonel Hunter

  I wanted to tell Shaw that anyone might have made the same mistake, especially a physician, when one of his patients needed rest. The truth was, if Corinne had been awake and allowed to study photographs of Dante Dolsen and three others connected to Civilian Security Services, she might have told us what else they'd planned.

  Instead, we had no idea and were in the process of getting four wealthy businessmen extradited from Canada when we learned what else was on their agenda.

  An outdoor college graduation ceremony was gassed with a mist version of the drug and more than ten thousand died, in and outside the stadium. A handful of others had been affected and changed, the same as in Colfer, Montana. Just as before, other departments took the lead on that, and I'd only received perfunctory calls from the President so far, although I had a meeting scheduled with her later.

  The country was going nuts, Afghanistan was ready to declare war after the killings there and several other Middle Eastern countries were siding with them. Ugly demonstrations were occurring across the Middle East, while effigies of the President alongside American flags were being burned in the streets. My meeting with Madam President would cover initial responses to the debacle in the Middle East.

  I drank a cup of coffee in the cafeteria while watching the news with Rafe and James. None of the media coverage was good and the population, understandably, was panicked. We needed more information, and we needed it soon. Just like the attack at the Louvre—it looked as if Americans were involved in these acts of terrorism.

  "We need to be able to point a finger at these assholes," I muttered, slapping my cup onto the table.

  "I'll see if I can get Corinne up," Rafe nodded to me.

  Neither he, James nor I had gotten any sleep; we'd been up all night, following the events in Afghanistan. Madam President had spoken with authorities in the country, who were understandably incensed that nearly fifteen hundred of their citizens had been killed by Americans under contract with the U.S. government.

  "Get coffee in her, then see what we can do about this mess," I nodded. It didn't matter that the Americans who'd done the killing were rogues operating outside the law and at someone else's command. The mere fact that we'd sent them into Afghanistan to begin with bloodied our hands as well.

  We also needed information as to why the ones behind Civilian Security Services chose to kill in Montana and Georgia. That information had to be provided to the media, who were making wild speculation on how and why the government failed to protect them.

  Dante Dolsen was the primary owner, with more than half ownership of Civilian Security Services. He was also an American, just as the other three were, but all four lived in Canada.

  All four protested our emergency request to the Canadian government to extradite them and sought a judicial review of the Minister's surrender order. They had enough money to convince anyone that they were uninvolved with the events in Afghanistan. Th
ey hadn't been linked yet to the U.S. attacks.

  An official call to the IRS indicated that a large portion of Civilian Security Services' investments were likely held in Canadian or other foreign banks, and they'd been avoiding proper taxation for years. Recent legislation had been passed in an attempt to close that loophole, but the problem lay in forcing financial institutions from other countries to obey U.S. tax laws.

  "James," I said. "Have those photographs ready for Corinne, since Rafe is going to get her up. We only need five minutes of her time if she's still groggy. Make sure every television in this fucking facility is turned off, too, while you're at it."

  "Yes, sir."

  * * *

  Corinne

  "My love, wake now. We need you." Ilya's voice woke me. Groggy didn't begin to describe how I felt—Leo had given more than enough of a sleep aid to an exhausted person to keep them sleeping round the clock.

  "Honey, no," I mumbled. "Sleep."

  "I know," he rubbed my back gently. "You have to get up. Colonel Hunter needs your help. Everyone needs your help." His lips were warm against my temple as he kissed me.

  "Feel awful," I said.

  "I know. Headache gone?" Fingers brushed hair away from my face.

  "No."

  "We'll find something for it. Come with me, my darling. Ten minutes of your time is all we require."

  That's how I ended up shuffling beside Rafe down a long hallway, wearing a bathrobe and shambling along like a drunken gazelle. Rafe kept a hand on my arm so I wouldn't wander into walls as we walked.

  "Coffee?" Rafe said as he and I walked into Auggie's office.

  "Here." James' voice—I couldn't see him since my eyes attempted to close once I stopped moving.

  "Drink this," a paper cup was shoved into my hands. If I'd been awake, I'd have savored the warmth of it. Instead, I drank, the hot brew almost scalding my tongue as I swallowed.

  "Here, Cori," I heard a wheeled office chair as it rolled backward. Hands pushed me onto it and I sat. "We really need you to look at these pictures," Auggie said. I swallowed another mouthful of coffee and forced my eyes open.

  Four photographs were displayed on a computer screen, so I fought to bring them into focus.