“I know exactly how it sounds, major, and I stand by my words,” Alders stated.
“Why?”
“Because of this,” the agent said, opening up the folder in front of him and sliding a pair of pictures across the table to the two military personnel. “These are pictures of one Bethany Edwards,” he explained. “The first is of her body in the front hall of her home. No forced entry. No apparent violence, beyond the obvious trauma to her head. The second picture is one of the autopsy photos. As you can see, her skull has been emptied.”
“Standard procedure in an autopsy, sir,” Bolson began, but Alders cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Her brain was removed at her home, not on the medical examiner’s table,” he said icily, sliding a third picture over to them. “This photo was taken at her home before her body was moved and, if you look closely, you can see through the empty eye socket to the back of her skull. She is already missing her brain.”
“What are…,” Martz began, but again, Alders cut them off.
“Her brain was taken by whoever or whatever killed her,” he said flatly. “The deed was done at her home, with no surgical tools or instruments of violence. There was very little blood at the murder scene and no brain matter. Her brain and most of her blood was simply gone.”
“I admit that this is a very strange murder scene, sir, but what does this have to do with your report?”
Alders smiled sourly and retrieved another picture from his folder. This one bothered him even more and he quickly slid it across to Bolson. “This is what’s left of my dog,” he said quietly. “It was mutilated and killed in my home just last night.”
Bolson stared at the picture, immediately understanding the cause of the agent’s distress. But he failed to see the connection and when he looked up, his face showed only his confusion.
A fifth picture came across the table, one that Alders purposefully avoided looking at. “I had an emergency autopsy done on Max this morning because I needed to know,” he explained, reaching out and tapping the picture of the shaved and shriveled body of what had once been a beautiful canine and wonderful friend. “Max’s legs were severed from the body. They appeared to be garroted somehow. However, his body exhibits the same type of puncture wounds in his head that Bethany Edwards had. More importantly, his brain is missing, as well, along with most of his bodily fluids. Just like Bethany Edwards.”
“So you’re dealing with a copycat murderer and one with a unique way of killing his victims,” Bolson said. “I still don’t see the connection.”
“Tom,” Martz said, laying a hand on his arm, her eyes on Alders. “I think Agent Alders is trying to tell us that he believes the Horde is responsible for these deaths.”
Alders leaned back and placed a finger to his nose with a nod. “Give that soldier a promotion,” he said softly.
“Whatever makes you think this is what’s going on?” Bolson asked, keeping his voice calm although inwardly he was nearly shivering. The agent’s explanation went a lot further than just the man’s thoughts. Alders had proof. And that proof lent a lot of credence to his own fears about what might have happened with the Horde. At the moment, they were fears that he knew he was better off leaving buried. But to hear them given life from someone else, he found that he had no choice but to begin giving them serious thought. That was beyond frightening to him.
“I think your virus hitched a ride out of cyberspace,” Alders answered his question. “I think when Jon Sherrard returned from his little foray into the last frontier, he didn’t come home alone.”
“Are you implying that the Horde project is inside this Jon Sherrard?” Bolson asked, trying to force the disbelief into his voice, but failing. He found himself believing the agent more and more.
“No,” Alders answered slowly, knowing the soldier was intent on not believing what he was saying. No matter. That would only make the end of their conversation all that much more shocking. “I’m saying your virus is part of Jon Sherrard. And through Mister Sherrard, your virus has murdered a human and a dog. My dog.”
“Agent Alders,” Martz spoke up, not so easily convinced by the story, even if she had given it considerable thought. “Forgive me for saying, but this is crazy. You know how this sounds, right? This is straight from the SyFy channel or the X-Files.”
“Lieutenant,” Alders said. “Let me ask you a question. Indulge me for another minute, if you would.”
Martz nodded and held up a finger when it looked like Bolson was going to interrupt. “Please continue,” she said simply, wanting to let the man talk.
“Your virus, this Horde,” Alders began. “I’m guessing it’s a pretty kick ass piece of software, right?”
“You could say that,” Martz agreed.
“And this Horde of yours…it would be able to run through the files of a single laptop or desktop computer in no time flat, correct?”
“If it had indeed infected a system, then yes,” she answered. “The Horde has incredible processing power, more than even we have been able to comprehend.”
“Could it get past a top-level government encrypted password?”
“Well, that would be more challenging,” she answered, “but given time, it could likely accomplish that.”
“How much time?”
“That’s hard to say,” she shrugged. “Maybe a few hours to crack the security? Bear in mind, I’m only hypothesizing. There are a lot of variables that could affect that timeframe.”
“Fair enough,” Alders nodded. “But what if the Horde had already infected the hard disk? What if it had direct access to the data on the drive?”
“Then the password wouldn’t matter,” Martz said. “Access would already be guaranteed.”
“Okay, then I have one more question,” Alders said, leaning forward once more. “What if a human/Horde hybrid existed and somehow plugged itself directly into the hard disk of an encrypted desktop computer?”
“Sir, with all due respect, do you hear yourself?” Bolson finally broke in.
“I hear myself quite clearly, major. But there is one more fact that I haven’t shared with you yet,” Alders said, ignoring the soldier’s disbelief. “During the break-in at my house last night, my computer was accessed. Every file was reviewed – every document, system file, and executable. They were all accessed at the same time, all within just a few seconds of each other.” He paused and, when he knew he had their full attention, he dropped the first bombshell. “There were no prints on the equipment, nor on the desk. However, there were three clear prints lifted from the top of my desk chair where this person pulled it out to sit down.”
“Jon Sherrard’s,” Martz guessed.
Alders nodded.
“So Mister Sherrard broke into your house and accessed your computer,” Bolson said. “He had the foresight to clean his prints from the equipment, but forgot the chair. This doesn’t prove any of what you’re claiming.”
Alders opened his file and slide his final picture across the table. It was a picture of his desktop tower. Holes had been punched into the side of it, eerily reminiscent of the same holes that existed in the skulls and bodies of both Bethany and Max. While the two military personnel looked at the picture, their eyes revealing their feelings, Alders reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the final piece of evidence, the second bombshell. It was encased in a small glass specimen tube and he reached over and placed it on top of the picture, drawing their gaze.
“This was found inside my computer,” he said quietly, as they looked closer at it. “Unknown biological, roughly two inches long, barbed tip, apparently torn from…well, something,” he explained as Bolson reached out and tentatively picked it up. “DNA test came back just before you arrived. I had it matched up to a sample on file at the hospital from a recent patient of theirs.”
“Sherrard?” Bolson asked in shock, feeling his world begin to crash in on itself, but desperately trying to maintain his sanity.
Alders nodded
. “And a whole lot more, soldier,” he finished quietly.
Chapter 21
Red Lion Hotel, Helena, Montana: Jon Sherrard walked down the hotel hallway, counting off the door numbers. Doctor Chavez had a suite, and he found it located at the far end of the hall. He hesitated for a moment before the door, considering everything he knew and what he was willing to divulge to the CDC rep. He knew the man would probably have a lot of questions for him; he had many himself and he didn’t even know how to ask them without sounding like a lunatic.
Finally, swallowing nervously, he knocked. A moment later, the door was unlocked and swung open and Sherrard found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.
“Ah, Mister Sherrard,” the man holding the weapon said, a heavy South American accent in his voice. “I see you got my message. Come in, come in,” he finished, stepping back to allow Sherrard to enter.
Sherrard wasn’t scared; just shocked. He knew immediately that he’d been set up, but seeing as he didn’t have much choice at the moment, he stepped into the room. His host moved to the side and let him pass, shutting the door behind him. Sherrard noticed that the weapon never once wavered from his head. He also saw that the handgun had a long silencer screwed into the barrel. This was not going to go well for him at all.
“So, I guess addressing you as Doctor Chavez is probably pointless,” he said evenly as he walked into the room.
“You presume correctly,” the man said, indicating a chair in the corner of the room. “Please, have a seat, Mister Sherrard.”
“Sure you don’t want me on the bed?” Sherrard replied drily. “Easier to clean up if you just wrap my body in the bed sheets.”
“You have a sense of humor,” the South American said with a wide smile. “I like that.”
Sherrard simply grunted and fell into the chair. The man pulled up another chair and sat it across from him. He then sat down himself, one leg casually crossed over the other, and laid the gun on the bed beside him. Sherrard didn’t kid himself. He knew it was bait to see what he would do, but he knew he would never have a chance if he went for the gun. Better to let things play out and at least see what the stranger wanted from him. However, the first question the man asked set him back on his heels a bit.
“How are you feeling, Mister Sherrard?” the South American asked.
“How am I feeling? Fine, I suppose,” he replied, trying to remain low key. To himself, he added, for someone that just got bitten by a wolf and healed up so quickly and completely that he doesn’t even have a scar. I wonder if I can heal a bullet wound the same way?
“Good, good,” the man said, making small talk. “I suppose it was an amazing journey you were on. I wondered how quickly one would bounce back from that.”
“I…beg your pardon?” Sherrard was off-center now, confused at the direction the conversation was going in.
“Your journey,” the man said again, his voice relaxed and easy. “You know, the one where you entered cyberspace and did a demonstration for Systemtech before disaster struck and you were cast adrift in cyberspace?”
Sherrard’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?” he asked tentatively. “Who are you?”
“You may call me Marquis,” the man said, answering the second question first. “As to your first question, I know a great deal about what happened to you. I represent a group of investors that are very interested in your company’s technology and they have followed your exploits quite closely.”
Sherrard stared hard at the man as the understanding suddenly came to him. “It was you,” he said, biting back his sudden anger. “You killed Perry!”
At that, the South American laughed. “Ah, yes, our fine Mister Edwards,” he said with a smile that held no warmth. “Such a foolish man he turned out to be. But as to your accusation, no, I did not kill him. Turns out that I never got the opportunity. Certainly you know that to be true.”
Sherrard did know that. Perry had died demonstrating the equipment to enemies of the state and he also knew that the buyers were likely those that employed the killer that sat across from him. “So what do you want from me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. He had worked it out in his head fairly quickly. If the feds thought he was working with Perry, then it stood to reason that this foreign interest likely thought the same thing, and that made this meeting extremely dangerous to him. That also meant that no one had the tech yet and both sides would be looking in his direction. The situation, he realized, was getting worse by the minute.
“I think you know what I want,” the man answered calmly. “But I am curious if you will turn out to be as foolish as your friend, Mister Edwards.”
“Sorry, I don’t follow,” Sherrard answered.
“Obviously, my employers are seeking to complete the deal they began with Mister Edwards.”
“Perry’s dead,” Sherrard reminded him.
“But you are not,” the South American countered, a hard glint in his eyes. “Whether that continues, remains to be seen.”
“On what?”
“On whether you cooperate with me or not.”
“Look, I’m sitting here,” Sherrard snapped. “I’m answering your questions. I just don’t know what you want from me. I wasn’t part of Perry’s deal. I didn’t know a thing about it until I came out of my coma and they told me he was dead.”
“Interesting tale,” the man said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Then I suppose you had a different reason to kill Perry’s wife, Bethany.”
“What are you talking about?” Sherrard fumed. “I don’t know anything about Bethany’s death!”
“Now I know you’re lying to me, Mister Sherrard,” Marquis Chavandar said coldly, reaching over and picking up his gun. “I don’t like liars and I won’t tolerate another one told to me. Do I make myself clear?”
“I’m not lying,” Sherrard said, sticking to his story. “I don’t know who killed Bethany. I was home in bed when it happened.”
Chavandar raised his weapon and pointed it at Sherrard’s forehead. “Last chance,” he said softly.
“What do you want me to say?!” Sherrard nearly shouted. “I swear, I don’t know what happened to her. Why would you even think I had something to do with her death?”
“Because I saw you leave their home after her murder,” the assassin replied, narrowing his eyes and staring harder at Sherrard.
“You…what?” Sherrard stammered, clearly shocked at the revelation. “No. You couldn’t have.”
“I was watching their house,” Chavandar went on. “I saw you leave. I entered immediately after and found Miss Edwards where you left her. You either killed her or know who did.”
“Wait…no, I swear,” Sherrard went on, shaking his head. He felt sick inside. He knew he hadn’t killed Bethany, but why would this man lie to him about seeing him there? What could he possibly gain from it? “I swear, it wasn’t me,” he finished.
“You seriously don’t believe you did this, do you.” It was more of a statement than anything.
“No, I didn’t. You have to believe me. I don’t know why you would think I murdered her, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. Perry and Bethany were my friends. I may have been pissed off when I found out what Perry did, but I never would have hurt Bethany. Never.”
Chavandar leaned back in his chair and eyed the man critically. He had participated in many interrogations over his career. He knew when a man was lying and when he was telling the truth, and especially when he was simply saying anything to save his life. What he knew was that Sherrard had killed Bethany Edwards, or was present when she was killed. But he also was convinced that Sherrard truly believed he was innocent. Playing a hunch, he decided to try a different track.
“Mister Sherrard,” he said easily, “tell me about your visit to your doctor.”
“My…what?” Jon asked, clearly off balance again at the topic change.
“Your visit to Doctor Douglas,” Chavandar went on knowingly. “I have read through hi
s report and you are due for outpatient surgery tomorrow, are you not? What are they looking for?”
“I…well, I…I don’t know,” Sherrard tried to answer. “Some kind of parasite, I guess. Why?”
“Do you believe you are infected with something?”
“How should I know?” he answered defensively. “Doc saw something on the X-ray and wants it biopsied so he can see what it is.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“I don’t have a clue,” he shrugged.
“Could you have brought it back with you from your travels?”
“My what?”
“Your journey into cyberspace,” the South American explained. “From the reports I have read, you encountered something alien. It frightened you and you attempted to hide. You made a break for it, first chance you had, and had the luck on your side that your co-worker was present to intercept your call for help.”
“Wait. How do you know all this?”
“I have considerable resources to get the information I need to complete an assignment,” was the answer. “I have read everything there is to know about what happened to you and everything that has been reported since. Your life, to me, is an open book.
“Do you know what else I think, Mister Sherrard?” Marquis Chavandar continued casually, purposefully lining up his gun barrel with Sherrard’s forehead. “I think you’re telling me the truth.”
“You do?” Sherrard was surprised at the admission.
“I do,” Chavandar answered. “But I’m afraid that won’t save you. As a matter of fact, I believe that makes you completely expendable now.”
Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1) Page 13