by D C Alden
Coffman shook her head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Bob.’
Blake looked disappointed. ‘Really? They never approached you?’
‘They did not,’ she admitted, suppressing a stab of jealousy. She let the denial hang in the air as Blake shifted in his seat. He’d gone all in, and now he was waiting for Coffman to flip her cards. She decided to let him sweat a little longer.
‘So, when they asked you and Matt to join their conspiracy, what was your answer?’
Blake didn’t blink. ‘We said yes.’
‘Why?’ Coffman asked, knowing she would’ve said the same.
‘Scranton gave us the data. The timescales are a little off, but there’s no doubt that global population is increasing faster than expected. Factor in climate change and rising sea levels, not to mention increased nuclear, biological and chemical weapons proliferation across the Third World, and a few years down the line we’ll be staring into the abyss. We’re talking about unprecedented population migrations, collapsing economies, social unrest, resource wars — ’
‘All that chaos and uncertainty translates into bigger defence budgets,’ Coffman pointed out. ‘That’s good business for Kroll, no?’
‘What’s good for Kroll are localised conflicts, like Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria. Continental wars with unstable nuclear powers are bad for everyone.’
‘That’s a bunch of baloney,’ Schultz snapped. ‘No one can predict the future.’
Blake stared back at the white-haired admiral. ‘You got grandkids, right Charlie? You wanna gamble with their lives? ’
‘Humanity will adapt,’ Schultz countered.
‘And if we don’t? Or can’t?’
Schultz switched focus to Coffman. ‘Don’t tell me you’re buying this, Amy.’
Coffman ignored him and addressed her Chief of Staff. ‘What do you think, Erik?’
She watched him swallow a mouthful of bourbon before he spoke. ‘I think we should hear Bob out before we rush to judgement.’
‘Agreed.’ Coffman turned back to the industrialist. ‘So the world is slowly spiralling out of control. I take it you have a plan, Bob?’
Blake got to his feet, retrieved a fresh bottle of bourbon and returned to the couch. No one objected as he refilled everyone’s glass.
’Not a plan,’ he began, ‘but what Matt and I want to give you, Madam President, are options. You now have an unstoppable weapon at your disposal, one that’s deployable in any number of undetectable ways. A strategic solution, to stop the world from going to shit.’ Blake shrugged. ‘Or I can call Matt and shut the whole operation down, right now. Just say the word, ma’am.’
Coffman liked options, and Presidents could never have enough of them. ‘Let’s not be too hasty, Bob. Why don’t we explore this a little further?’
Blake spread his hands. ‘Happy to, ma’am.’
‘If this thing were released, what’s to stop the rest of us from turning into bloodthirsty maniacs?’
‘A vaccine, fully tested and one hundred percent effective. Our pharmaceutical facility in Kansas has been working round the clock to produce enough for the general population.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘I have a batches for all of you. And your loved ones,’ he added, glancing at Schultz.
‘What about the eco-terrorists?’ Schultz asked. ‘What’s the story there?’
‘Marion and Philip recruited two cells,’ Blake told him, ‘one in the UK, one in Berlin, all of them with criminal records and all connected to fringe environmental groups. Aside from the witness you mentioned, the UK team are all dead. The Berlin team number around thirty, and they’re all holed up in a warehouse in Vienna right now, waiting for you to cave into their demands. And that’s your terror cell right there, ma’am. They’re yours to drop the hammer on. I would recommend none of them live to tell the tale.’
‘And then what?’ Coffman asked him.
‘That’s your decision.’ Blake loosened his collar and leaned back on the couch. ‘H-1 can cripple any city on the planet within hours, or a whole country in days. The possibilities are endless.’
Coffman suddenly realised where the conversation was headed. ‘Including depopulation, right Bob?’
Blake smiled. ‘Exactly, Madam President. Which brings me to the reason for this meeting…’
The Sikorsky S-92 helicopter picked them up from the practice ground of the Overlake Golf and Country Club and flew them seven and a half miles to Boeing Field, where Air Force One was waiting. In this case the presidential jet was a Dassault Falcon 8X which would deliver the presidential party back to Andrews AFB in just over four hours, time enough for Coffman to process her conversation with Bob.
As the aircraft lifted into the night sky and turned east towards the Montana border, she caught Erik looking at her from across the luxuriously-appointed cabin. He wore a worried frown, his tanned temple creased, his jaw tense. Coffman knew that look well. It was the same one he’d worn during the Baghdad operation and for about a month afterwards. She thought she’d seen the last of those looks. Like her, Erik had been looking forward to an easing of tensions, for her presidency to sail into calmer waters. Instead, thanks to Bob, it had become more complex, and far riskier. But Coffman also saw the opportunity that Bob has presented to them. Clearly it didn’t trouble her as much as it did Erik.
She glanced at Charlie, sitting in his chair with a drink and a magazine, like he was going on vacation. Charlie certainly had a ruthless streak, but did it match her own? And how far was he prepared to go? She’d find out soon enough.
As the Falcon levelled out at fifty thousand feet, Coffman decided to head for her private cabin and get some rest. There was much to do in the days ahead, and if events unfolded as they’d discussed, the lives lost in Baghdad would pale into insignificance.
That was fine with Amy Coffman. After all, she had the blood of thousands on her hands already.
A couple of billion more didn’t matter that much at all.
The Cabin in the Woods
Ray Wilson waited in a quiet corner booth of the Black Bear Diner and watched the passing traffic out on Route 19.
The converted railroad car was located just outside Bryson City, North Carolina, and Ray’s booth offered a perfect view of the gravel parking lot and the highway beyond. Your guy’s a no-show, his inner voice told him again. Ray ignored it, and decided to wait a little longer.
There were at least a dozen cars and trucks scattered across the lot when he’d first arrived. Now there were two, and one of those was Ray’s rental, a black Chevy Impala. He presumed the other belonged to the owners, a fifty-something couple cashing up the days’ takings at the end of the counter. Ray checked his watch again; the diner was closing in ten minutes. When it did, it would mark the fourth hour of his vigil.
He flew in to Asheville regional airport that afternoon and drove south for seventy miles along the Smoky Mountains Expressway to Bryson City, a quiet little town of less than two thousand citizens. He’d found the diner easily enough and enjoyed a late lunch of surprisingly tasty hotdogs and freshly made coleslaw, his eyes flicking between the parking lot and the entrance door, whenever its musical chimes announced a new arrival.
Those hotdogs were now a distant memory. The sun had dipped behind the foothills of the Smoky Mountains and the closed sign had been flipped for some time. The only people left inside were Ray and the owners. She was a big lady with a ready smile and a slash of red lipstick. Her husband was more guarded, a small, wiry guy in stained chef’s whites who glanced at Ray with suspicious eyes every thirty seconds. The kind of guy who probably had a short-barrelled weapon in easy reach beneath the counter.
When Ray had risen that morning he’d felt energised by his impending road trip and what it might bring, but as the hours ticked by he was reminded of past experiences, of wasted days and unreliable sources. Today was turning out to be one of those days.
He’s a no-show.
Ray watched the waitress waddling towards his
booth. She wrote up his check and slapped it on the table.
‘Closing in two minutes, hon. You need a refill for the road?’
Ray smiled. ‘I’m all good, thanks.’ He got to his feet and flipped open his wallet, peeling off a couple of bills and leaving them on the table. ‘Appreciate the hospitality.’
The waitress scooped up the notes and acknowledged the generous tip. She glanced over her shoulder and took a half step closer to Ray. ‘Whoever stood you up, she’s a fool. Good looking man like you don’t need to be waiting in diners.’
She gave Ray a wink and sashayed back to the counter. Ray smiled and shook his head. Last time he checked he was a pale, balding, middle-aged man who could afford to lose at least twenty pounds. Still, he was flattered.
He stepped outside into the fresh air. The sun had set, and the clear blue sky was darkening by the minute. Overhead, the first stars glittered and dark, wooded hills stretched away in every direction. Ray had a choice to make; take a room at the local hotel and come back tomorrow or drive straight to Asheville and catch a flight to DC. Going home felt preferable. He was too old to play the waiting game.
He hit the unlock button on his car key and orange blinkers flashed in the gloom. He pulled off his raincoat and climbed into the Chevy. He started the engine and reached up to adjust the rear view mirror —
‘Jesus Christ!’
‘Be quiet and listen,’ hissed the bearded, paint-streaked face in the mirror. ‘Did you tell anyone you were coming here? Anyone at all?’
Ray shook his head. ‘Not a soul.’
‘If you’re setting me up, you’ll die first, do I make myself clear?’
Ray felt it then, the tip of something cold and sharp against the skin on the back of his neck. ‘Crystal.’
‘Give me your phone and get out.’
Ray obeyed. The man climbed out too. He wore dark, military-style clothing and a baseball cap pulled low over his brow.
‘Put your hands on top of the car and don’t move.’
Ray complied and the man frisked him thoroughly. He even checked Ray’s raincoat on the front seat. Then the world went dark as a hood was pulled over his head.
‘Wait a minute — ’
‘Don’t talk.’
Ray felt his wrists bound with plastic ties and he was forced to lie down on the back seat. The engine purred into life, and a jazz tune played on the radio. A sudden, terrible thought crossed Ray’s mind.
‘Wait, you’re Sergeant Kenny Chase, right?’
‘No, I’m Ted fucking Bundy, now keep your mouth shut.’
Ray felt the Chevy bump up onto Route 19 and turn left.
‘Where are we going?’
‘No talking. Last chance.’
They drove for twenty minutes or so, and Chase had made several turns, both left and right, and at one point had even reversed a short distance before spinning the car around and heading off in another direction. Jazz music filled the car. Disorientation techniques, Ray guessed, and they were working. He had no clue where they were.
After a while the car slowed and turned. They left the asphalt and continued along a rougher surface, bumping along a well-worn track or something. Ray felt his body pressed against the back seat and realised they were heading up a steep incline that seemed to twist and turn for some time. Ray was on the verge of asking for a restroom break when the car levelled out and rolled to a stop. His abductor shut off the engine and the jazz quartet was replaced by an ominous silence.
Ray’s heart beat loud in his ears. He could hear the man breathing slowly, steadily. He imagined him sitting behind the wheel, contemplating how best to deal with his victim and dispose of his body. He’s not a serial killer, Ray tried to convince himself. It’s Chase, and he’s being careful, that’s all. He’s on the run, paranoid, probably more scared that you.
He heard the man get out. The rear door opened and Ray felt a rush of cold air as strong hands dragged him out of the Chevy. He stood Ray up, spun him around and held him against the car. He heard a snip, and then the plastic ties fell away from his wrists.
‘You can take off the hood.’
Ray did as he was told, and found himself face-to-face with Sergeant Kenny Chase, erstwhile member of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment, Delta. At least, Ray assumed it was Chase because the man had yet to identify himself. Kelly’s file didn’t contain a photograph but it did mention that Chase was a native of Tennessee. Ray was no expert, but the man who’d kidnapped him certainly had a twang.
‘You’re Kenny, right?’
The man nodded, and Ray took a deep, grateful breath. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw he was standing on a thinly-wooded plateau high above a rocky valley. Behind Chase was a single-story log cabin set back beneath the trees, and a pale ribbon of track twisted across the plateau and down into darkness. Night had fallen, he was far from human habitation, and he was being held prisoner by a man whose business was killing. Is this exciting enough for you, Ray?
Chase threw Ray’s raincoat at him and pointed towards the cabin with his knife. ‘Inside.’
The building looked pretty rustic; a low-pitched timber roof, a wide porch, thick log walls and shuttered windows. Stepping inside, it was larger than Ray imagined and lit by a couple of storm lamps. There were rugs on the stone floor, two battered couches, a bookcase and a basic kitchen. Beyond that was a corridor cloaked in darkness. Bedrooms, Ray assumed.
‘Take a seat.’
Ray obeyed as Chase took off his jacket and cap and tended to a dying fire in the wood burner. The Delta soldier was a big guy, with messy red hair and a beard to match. He wore dark green camouflage trousers and a black t-shirt, and it was clear that he’d spent most of his adult life performing strenuous exercise. Ripped, that was the term used in popular culture. He also noticed the knife was back on Chase’s belt. It was black and ugly, and Ray figured Chase was as skilled in its use as any surgeon.
The Delta man crossed to the small open kitchen. He never spoke as he made coffee, didn’t ask Ray if he needed cream or sugar. Instead he handed him a milky brew and sat on the opposite couch.
‘Be under no illusion, if you attempt to fuck with me in any way, I’ll kill you, understand?’
Ray nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He took a sip of coffee, desperate to change the subject. ‘Is this your place?’
The former Delta operator shook his head. ‘I broke in. Lot of empty vacation cabins in these hills.’
That didn’t make Ray feel any better. ‘I was sorry to hear about Kelly,’ he said, eager to get the conversation started.
‘She was a brave lady.’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘The internet. She’d written a piece on Baghdad so I reached out, hinted that I knew something. She said I’d done the right thing. That I couldn’t trust you guys.’
Here it comes, another sermon about the evils of the mainstream media. Ray had been cornered many times by friends and acquaintances, and occasionally strangers, all eager to explain to him he was working for a corrupt industry that had issues with the truth.
‘Trust in the media has certainly eroded, I’ll grant you that. The problem is, the resulting void is filled by unsubstantiated rumours and wild conspiracy masquerading as news.’
Chase snorted. ‘Bullshit. You mainstream guys hate losing control of the message, that’s why you’re scared of people like Kelly.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘Sure you don’t. There’s what, five or six giant corporations that own every media outlet in the country? That’s pretty much a monopoly, right? You’re telling me they don’t have agendas or try to influence public opinion? The whole thing’s a fucking scam, man.’
‘With respect, that’s a very simplistic view. The truth is much more nuanced.’
‘The truth can get you killed,’ Chase countered.
Ray let it slide. A political debate was counterproductive. ‘I was hoping we could talk about Kelly. Why someone woul
d want to kill her.’
Chase took a sip of coffee and leaned back on the couch. ‘I killed her,’ he said.
Ray’s blood ran cold. His heart beat rapidly, and he thought about making a run for it. His chances were zero, he knew that. Chase was twenty years younger, an elite soldier. He’d be dead before he reached the door. Ray swallowed hard as he imagined bolting across the room, fumbling for the lock, as Chase caught him and stabbed him several times, skewering his organs —
‘You okay?’
Chase was staring at him from the other couch. Ray shook the image from his mind. ‘Sorry, you were saying?’
‘I got Kelly killed. I told her what I knew, pressured her to investigate the story. She started fact-checking, making calls, sniffing around the swamp. She suspected she was being followed, that her phone was tapped — ’
‘Wait, I need to make notes.’ Ray pulled a notebook from his raincoat. He settled into the couch, clicked his pen, scribbled the date and time on a fresh page. Then his eyes settled on Chase.
‘Before we begin, I need to say something.’
‘Go ahead.’
Ray cleared his throat. ‘It was Kelly’s wish that I follow up her story in the event that something happened to her. It’s a responsibility I never wanted. She was a good kid, and I have no doubt she would’ve made her mark in journalism. She was all about truth and honesty, Sergeant Chase, and I expect the same from you. No theories, no rumours. Just the facts.’
Chase glared at him from the opposite couch. ‘It’s Kenny. And you’ll get the truth. The question is, what you gonna do with it?’
‘That depends on what you tell me.’
Ray flipped to a page of questions he’d compiled over the last couple of days. It was a long list, but Ray wasn’t going anywhere. Now that his nerves had settled he felt that familiar rush of excitement. Kelly’s source was sat in front of him, a man intimate with the world of black ops and government deniability. ‘Kelly left copious notes, but I’d really like to hear the whole story, from the horse’s mouth so to speak.’