Dark Cure: A Covid Thriller (Dark Plague Book 1)

by Bradley West

  Sal, all thumbs, needed several attempts to compose and send his response. “I need more time to raise the money. Tomorrow night better.”

  The reply was instantaneous. “As you wish. We have the baby in a box with airholes.”

  Sal gritted his teeth. “Tonight at 20:00 at Niven Park.” He waited ten seconds and closed the phone. “The kidnappers want one-point-three million dollars tonight in return for Tyson. I need to make some phone calls, but I can raise the cash in time. They want Greg to deliver it. They won’t hurt Tyson. I have something they want, and it’s not just the money. They want the rest of the drug that cured you last week. I can handle this.”

  As a distraught Stephanie tried to process her father’s declaration, Barb burst through the door and Stephanie found new tears in her sister’s embrace. Sal took the opportunity to escape to the master bedroom, shut the door and start dialing. First up was the money. The call to his stockbrokers took a half-hour before he finalized the details of a pickup at a branch in Marin. Schwab warned him that their insurance wouldn’t cover him once he left their offices.

  The second call to Wells Fargo confirmed that the two-million-dollar home equity loan would be credited to his account before the end of the day. If he wanted cash, it would be Monday before he could collect.

  chapter six

  BAD COMPANY

  Friday, July 10: San Rafael, California, morning

  Greg had arrived home while Sal was making his calls. The three adults stared accusingly as Sal walked back into the living room.

  “Hold your questions, please. I’m working to recover Tyson and I haven’t made my most important call. Steph, as best you can, what did they look like?”

  Steph still looked a wreck, and her voice held an edge. “White with British accents. Muscular and in their thirties. One had black hair and one had light brown hair. The one with the gun was shorter, but still tall, about six feet. They were wearing surgical masks, brown UPS uniforms and baseball hats pulled down. The gunman stayed with me in the kitchen and said that thing about how you would know what it was about. He said not to call the police or the baby dies. Then the first man came out carrying Tyson. He was rough and woke him up. When Tyson started to cry, he put his hand over his mouth. He could have suffocated my baby!” Stephanie began to weep. Barb consoled her while Greg stayed rooted.

  “Then what? Try to remember.”

  “The one with the gun took my phone and they left. I wriggled the chair over to the tool drawer. I used a box cutter to cut the plastic bands on my wrists. Then I called Greg on the landline.”

  Greg found his voice. “That’s enough. I’m calling the FBI.”

  “We aren’t calling anyone until we have Tyson back,” Sal said. “The demand for money is just a diversion. They want the second dose of the drug I gave to the ICU doctor the night Steph coded.”

  “And who are these fucking animals?” Barb asked.

  “My former boss, Fraser Burns.”

  “Call the FBI, tell them what you just said and have them arrest Burns,” Barb said.

  “That could get Tyson killed,” Greg said. “Let’s give it until tonight to recover Tyson. After that, we make a call.”

  “Thank you.” Sal’s voice had a catch in it. He cleared his throat and continued. “Barb, please ask Jaime to be here at four o’clock with a gun. I have to pick up the ransom money and I don’t want to get robbed at the stockbroker’s office. Excuse me as I have one more urgent call.”

  * * * * *

  Jaime double-checked the contents of the canvas duffel bag: the MR556A1, a semi-automatic rifle similar to the M27 he carried in Syria, three thirty-round magazines, a Beretta M9 with four fifteen-round mags, half-fingered shooter’s gloves, his low-light amber sunglasses, riggers tape, tie-ties, and a boonie hat. He flashed back to the end of his last tour in western Iraq where the Marines were attached to the Special Operations Command outside Erbil. Combat Applications Group or Delta Force was the tip of the spear, with the Marines in support. He’d had the chance to observe and serve alongside the best. What would Delta do? CAG didn’t take unnecessary risks. Back went the boonie hat, swapped out for a ballistic helmet. He added a variable power scope for the MR556A1 to allow him to work at longer ranges. Finally, he fondled the sheath of his old KA-BAR knife, the Corps’ best friend since WWII. There was ISIS blood still on that haft: good juju.

  As he stepped out of the garage into the sunlight, his reverie broke and he was back in the moment. He deposited the weapons in the backseat, save for the M9. That went into his quick draw holster. California had some of the strictest concealed carry laws in the country unless you knew the Marin County sheriff from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Hall, and he happened to be a leatherneck, too.

  He pulled his battered F150 into traffic and headed toward Stephanie and Greg’s. It was an unfamiliar route: She was almost a hermit with her bad immune system and an advanced pregnancy. Greg was a queer duck as well. He worked all the time and looked like a librarian. Of course, none of that mattered given the circumstances. He already knew the types of men who would kidnap babies from his time in the Middle East: compassionless killers you didn’t bargain with.

  * * * * *

  Back in the bedroom, Sal dialed Carla. “I need that antiviral adjuvant back. Tyson’s been kidnapped by my ex-boss, and they’ve demanded a ransom. I know the real price is the new drug, plus the USB drive with Nancy’s papers.”

  “Uncle Sal, slow down. Tyson’s been kidnapped?”

  “This morning at gunpoint out of Steph’s home in San Rafael. Thank heavens she wasn’t injured, just tied up. I’m here now.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “No police. I’d wager my life that Burns is behind this. He called me after our lunch and I told him I didn’t have anything, which technically was true since I’d given it to you. He threatened to file charges, and I accused him of starting the headquarters fire. I landed too close to home and he hit back. Can I drive over to Livermore this afternoon and pick up the last dose?”

  “There’s nothing on the thumb drive that documents the adjuvant’s formulation, at least nothing unencrypted. Did you know there are three password-protected Excel documents on it?”

  “I didn’t look at anything before I handed it over and you have the sole copy. What about Nancy’s second vial? Do you still have it?”

  “Right after our lunch, I set up a trial with six bat coronaviruses that included Covid-19 and Covid-20 and used roughly half the material. The rest is safe.”

  “How long before you know the results?”

  “I planned to call you later today. Yesterday I did a quick look under the microscope, then decided to wait another day to be certain.”

  “Oh, hell. It didn’t work. Damn, I thought that—”

  “Uncle Sal, Nancy’s 896MX killed every coronavirus including Covid-20. We have to try to reverse engineer the leftover drug to figure out how to produce it. Let me substitute something else to give to Burns. We have a couple anti-coronavirals with promise that I can smuggle out of the lab. They work some, but nothing like Dr. Jacob’s formulation.”

  “I can’t take that risk. We’re talking about Tyson’s life. Unless we can decode those Excel files, the only certain way we recover Tyson is for you to return what I gave you.”

  “Okay, stay cool. How much is the ransom?”

  “They want one-point-three million in cash. The handover tonight is at a park outside Kentfield that’s off US101. When Greg hands over the money, they’ll say that the new trade is Tyson for the files and the drug.”

  “At a minimum, your old boss will want his three hundred-thousand-dollar fee reimbursed.”

  “Where did you come up with that number?” Sal asked.

  “You said Burns paid a million dollars for the company’s research. The ransom’s set at one-point-three million: The difference is the kidnappers’ fee and if it’s that high, he’s hired professionals. If anything goes wrong, you ca
n forget about the money and probably Tyson, too.”

  “Jesus,” Sal breathed.

  “My advice is that you offer three hundred thousand plus the R&D. I have an idea. There’s a security company that guards my workplace. I’ll explain what happened and ask the head man if he’ll help. Either way, I’ll drive over this afternoon with the rest of Nancy’s dosage and the thumb drive, plus a dummy of each to give you options.”

  “Sounds good on both counts.”

  “Let me check and see what Travis says and I’ll text you. I’ll be there by five.”

  “Don’t come here. Let’s meet somewhere in the Bon Air parking lot. I’ll be in Barb’s car—the same one as from Wednesday. Call me when you’ve crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and I’ll tell you exactly where I’ll be.”

  * * * * *

  As Sal walked back into the living room, an animated conversation paused, and four expectant faces looked to him. Jaime had arrived and stood at parade rest with eyes that darted around the room in a constant threat assessment.

  “I spoke with Carla,” Sal said. “She’ll be here around five. That’ll give us time to plan the handover.”

  “What do you suggest, Dad? Do we tell Mom?” Barb’s cheeks were flushed. Sure enough, there was a bottle open and glasses poured. “Steph thinks we should, but we worry she might panic.”

  “Let’s keep things simple. Your mother has a shopping list that Eisenhower could have used for D-Day. Leave her to run around town, and we’ll tell her tonight. I have to sign papers at the broker and the bank. Will everyone be okay here? Jaime, can you come with me when I pick up the money later today?”

  “Sure thing. I came prepared.” Jaime patted the holster under his shirt.

  “I’ll stay here with Steph and Barb and let you know if the kidnappers call,” Greg said. His hand shook as he refilled his glass.

  The whole family is now hitting the bottle. Sal hurried toward the door.

  * * * * *

  Two men pulled off their headsets while a third man monitored the conversation in the condo’s living room. “That was interesting,” Rolf Muller, former CIA scorpion, said to his client.

  “Interesting?” Burns fumed. “I didn’t learn a bloody thing except someone named Jaime is armed and will be with Maggio. Can’t you tap his cell to let us hear both sides of his calls?”

  Muller shook his head. “Do you realize how much work goes into a snatch done on one day’s notice? Do you know how hard my team worked to assemble this surveillance van in one day and then plant the mics in the apartment while abducting the target at the same time? A little more gratitude if you please.”

  Burns considered his options and decided to back off. “Sorry. What did you make of that last phone call?”

  “The drug works or else Maggio wouldn’t have referred to it as ‘Nancy’s cure’ and Carla wouldn’t be bringing only half of it back. She’s also setting us up to receive a dummy dosage.”

  “You’re right, I missed both of those. What do you make of his talk about shorting us on the ransom money? If he expects to free his grandson for just three hundred thousand, he’s delusional.”

  “Hold on a second,” Muller said. “You won’t return the kid tonight even if he hands over the drug and all the money, not until you know the cure works. If he shorts you one million tonight, you have an even better reason to hang onto little Tyson.”

  “But Maggio wants to break our deal unilaterally. I don’t like that.”

  “Each of you plans to break the deal because you’re both liars. Get over it.”

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t worked out yet that the grandson stays with me until I have proof that the drug kills the virus.”

  “Carla might already have the proof,” Muller said. “It also sounds like she works at the Livermore Labs complex. They have some of the highest security in the country. No way we can break in. But she could be a useful asset if you need someone to help synthesize the ingredients. Consider whether she should be a target, too.”

  “Will that cost me more money?”

  “A lot more money. Do you realize what kind of shitstorm would follow if it came out that a Livermore Labs scientist with coronavirus expertise was abducted? On second thought, forget about her. We couldn’t take the heat that would bring.”

  “Let’s keep our options open,” Burns said.

  “Let’s focus on what we know and what we can control. You heard that Jaime Gonzalez is involved. I sent you his file yesterday: He’s a former Marine Corps sergeant with two Iraq tours in Special Operations. He advised the Kurds when they re-took Mosul in late 2017 and supported Delta Force in northern Syria. We don’t know what weapons he can access. My advice is we take pre-emptive action and avoid Gonzalez altogether.”

  “How do we do that?” Burns asked.

  “We plan a welcome party in the Bon Air shopping center parking lot just after five.”

  * * * * *

  Travis Ryder looked up from his phone and sighed. He was bored out of his mind, which was nothing new. This is what it had come to? Pushing forty and barely scraping by with a rent-a-cop shop in Livermore, California? Divorced and separated from his children during a time of plague? He wondered for the fiftieth time if he should fly them up here to ride out the pandemic, but his ex would just laugh at him. She had a better job—if she could stay healthy—now that the damned governor of Texas had re-opened the state’s hair salons. Besides, they had nothing in common other than the kids.

  His phone buzzed. It was his favorite bioterror scientist, Carla Maggio, five-foot-eight of auburn hair, curves, swerves and a superfine mind that reminded him of an old CIA analyst he admired. If he could pry her away from her rich live-in, that would revitalize his life. He dropped his voice a register as he answered, “Ride Out Security, Travis speaking.”

  “I need your help. My cousin’s newborn son was kidnapped this morning in San Rafael. It’s complicated, so we can’t call the cops yet. The exchange is scheduled for tonight and the kidnappers are likely hired professionals. Can you come along? My uncle can pay you.”

  The former SEAL’s feet were off his desk and his mind in high gear. “I’ll clear my calendar. If we ride together, you can brief me on the drive. I’ll recruit two of my off-duty men to follow me. It’ll cost your uncle five hundred dollars a head for them, and a dinner out with his favorite niece for my time.”

  “You can talk numbers with Uncle Sal when you meet, but I’m sure that’s fine. As for dinner, if we recover Tyson tonight, I’ll treat you to a steak dinner that will blow your mind. Can I come by your office at three?”

  “I’ll be here,” Travis said and hung up. Well, well, well. What a difference a phone call makes. His top two shooters were off today, but for five hundred bucks each he was confident he could tempt Arkar and Maung, former Burma commandos and equally bored souls, to take a drive across the Golden Gate.

  * * * * *

  Lindy knew that baby care required a different skillset, but so far, so good. After the delivery earlier today, she had two gallons of breast milk in the fridge. Based on how the little fellow fed, she’d need more soon. He seemed small for a newborn, maybe because he was two weeks premature. Dealing with poopy diapers was a temporary challenge. Once Fraser had the money and the drug, they’d relocate, and she’d bring in a full-time nanny to look after . . . after . . . whatever she decided to call him. It sure as hell wouldn’t be Tyson: that was a chicken’s name. But with no family of her own, her father and grandfathers’ names were unknown. She’d come up with something . . . ah hah! Clancy, after Tom Clancy. She’d never read of one of those thousand-page bore-fests, but one of his three-pound hardbacks at present propped open the kitchen door to channel ocean breezes.

  A car pulled in and the engine shut off. What the hell?

  Fraser stepped into the kitchen. He looked serious. “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Clancy’s asleep. Since you dropped him off, he’s fed twice and filled a diaper.
He is so happy here.”

  Clancy? WTF? He stifled an urge to curse. “Don’t become too attached. The plan is still to hand him back if they provide the money and the drug.”

  “You’re too soft. Let’s keep it all and make them suffer.”

  “We’ve been through this. I’m already under suspicion for arson and the police will be a problem once they discover that the grandson of someone I’m threatening to sue has been abducted. We have to be home tonight—both of us—so we have alibis throughout the exchange. One of the mercenaries is coming at six o’clock. Leave the baby with him and drive home. I’ll be there ahead of you. Tomorrow and Sunday, we won’t be able to come anywhere near this place. Maybe Monday you can drop by. Tyson will be well—”

  “His name’s Clancy, not Tyson, and I’ll be damned if you or anyone else will keep me away from my son.”

  chapter seven

  SKID MARKS

  Friday, July 10: Mill Valley, Larkspur Landing, I-580 West, Stinson Beach California, afternoon

  Pat Maggio’s week had been a mix of hell and heaven. Stephanie’s recovery and Tyson’s birth were a blessing, but Sal’s insistence that they move to Canada to live with the Snow Mexicans would be the end of her comfortable lifestyle. Where would she find a gym in northern British Columbia full of attractive people and potential hookups? Closer to home, the absence of housekeepers weighed on her, and she didn’t know the first thing about how to farm or raise livestock. This homesteading fantasy had become all too real since Steph’s illness and Barb hadn’t helped matters when she jumped onto Sal’s doomsday bandwagon, claiming that climate damage had caused the pandemic and worse diseases were sure to follow. With Covid-20 allegedly in Oakland, maybe they were right, and this was end of times, but she wasn’t convinced.