The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “Get up,” Carlton said.

  “Stop it,” Lendra yelled.

  Carlton reached down with his left hand and grabbed Jeremiah’s camo-fatigues, pulling him off the bed. Holding Jeremiah with his left hand, he let fly with his right. Again, Jeremiah timed the blow, moving his head to the side so that the force of the punch was minimized. Carlton shifted position in front of the bed, his legs slightly apart, making him vulnerable. But Jeremiah, held up by Carlton, could gain no purchase. With his hands locked together and tethered to the wall, he couldn’t even take a swing.

  Carlton punched him twice more. Twice more, Jeremiah managed to lessen the impact of the blows. But Carlton began to adapt, driving his punches deeper, hitting Jeremiah again and again. Each blow landed with brutal power.

  Fighting to stay conscious, his head feeling like a punching bag, Jeremiah swung his legs up and kicked out, pushing Carlton away. When Carlton let go of him, Jeremiah fell to the bed. His back sent jolts of pain through his body, but a rush of adrenaline surged through him as Carlton closed again. This time, Carlton avoided Jeremiah’s face. His fists pummeled Jeremiah’s stomach, each heavy blow sapping Jeremiah’s energy. Jeremiah focused on Carlton’s movements and positioning, looking for an edge.

  He took punch after punch, twisting his body to avoid the worst of them. Then he sagged suddenly, letting Carlton hit him without resistance. As Carlton shifted his legs for an uppercut to the jaw, Jeremiah brought his right leg up with all the force he could muster. His foot landed squarely between Carlton’s legs, dropping Carlton in a shriek of agony, his hands clutching himself and his head banging against the floor, breaking his sunglasses and cutting him beside his left eye.

  The EO guard watched without interfering, but never took his Las-rifle off Jeremiah.

  Gasping for breath, Carlton finally managed to croak, “Kill him.”

  “No!” Lendra threw herself on Jeremiah, covering him as best she could with her body. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, her face pressed against his, her eyes scrunched shut in anticipation of pain. Jeremiah could see almost nothing but her head, though the EO guard appeared to be moving to his left for a better shot. Instinctively, Jeremiah moved, swinging Lendra to his right to keep her body as a shield.

  Finally, the guard reached out with his left hand and pulled Lendra free, as if she weighed no more than a child. Dropping her on the floor, he aimed his Las-rifle at Jeremiah’s head. Jeremiah stared into the helmet. This was it. He felt no sorrow at the prospect. Many regrets, but no sorrow. He wondered if Devereaux was right and this was all the world there was. Or was there an afterlife? Would he see Joshua there with Catherine?

  Would Sister Ezekiel say a prayer for him? Would Eli even care that he was gone? Or would he just find someone else to do his dirty work, someone else he could modify into a stronger, faster killing machine? And what about Lendra? Would she miss him? Was her effort to protect him anything more than a simple compassionate reflex?

  The soldier should have fired by now. But he never pulled the trigger. Instead, Major Payne strode through the door and helped Carlton to his feet. He must have been monitoring the soldier and countermanded the order to fire.

  “I want him dead,” Carlton’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

  “Not yet,” Major Payne said. “Not until we find Jack.” He grabbed Lendra’s arm, pulling her to her feet.

  Carlton’s breathing came in ragged gasps. He glared at Major Payne before shifting his gaze to Jeremiah. “You’d better be careful, Jones. Anything happens to me and you’ll see a holocaust like never before.”

  Then Major Payne hustled Lendra and Carlton out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Colonel Truman approached Gray Weiss, who now sat in a chair by the side of the lobby, face pinched in pain, shoulders hunched, skin pallid gray, with dark marks of exhaustion under his eyes.

  “What’s happening out there?” Weiss said, motioning him to sit. “Are your people prisoners too?”

  “I don’t quite know, sir.” Truman took the chair next to Weiss. “They’re not letting my soldiers leave the parking lot. They’re claiming it’s not safe beyond that point. They’re also restricting the media and the homeless men to the immediate area. But we can move freely about the shelter and they haven’t taken away our weapons.”

  “I’ve made a royal mess of things,” Weiss said. He looked across the lobby at the two Elite Ops troopers guarding the entrance. One faced out, the other in. “I just wanted to stop terrorism, rescue America, and all I required was for Carlton to act honorably.”

  Truman bent forward, speaking in a low voice. “He can’t think he’ll succeed. Even if he controls every Elite Ops trooper, there are less than two hundred nationwide. The combined strength of the Armed Forces will—”

  “Defeat them? I wouldn’t count on that, Colonel. The way Carlton and I had it figured, most of the military would sit out this uprising, wait to commit their units until they understood the potential consequences. By the time they decided to throw their support behind one side or the other, it would be too late. I would be firmly entrenched in office and my policies would have brought back a strong central government, restoration of civil order, a revitalized military.”

  “Why would you partner with a man like him?” Truman asked.

  “We were effective together once, Colonel, when we were in the CIA. He was a good operative. Now, with the Elite Ops to back him, he might succeed in overthrowing the government.”

  “Carlton’s just the head of a security company. How can he take over the country?”

  “There’s an old saying, Colonel. ‘All it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’ That’s what Carlton is counting on.”

  “And what you were counting on too, sir. Don’t forget that.”

  “I’m not likely to forget it. But my intentions were always honorable. I simply wanted to replace a dysfunctional democracy with an oligarchy that could ensure our survival. Our existing government clearly doesn’t work anymore.”

  “And this is better?”

  “I didn’t anticipate it would turn out like this, Colonel. I didn’t realize that Carlton is nothing but a power seeker—a megalomaniac.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better, sir?”

  “Why did you stick by me?”

  Truman shrugged. “I hadn’t decided to, actually. After we killed Raddock Boyd…”

  “That was an accident, Colonel.”

  “I contemplated calling General Horowitz but I waited too long. Now the Elite Ops’ communications blackout prevents that. I’m surprised they’re letting the media record stories for later.”

  “Those stories will never be filed.”

  Truman looked at Weiss, realized immediately what the Attorney General was saying, and shivered as a chill traveled down his spine. “You think the Elite Ops will murder them?”

  “You saw what they did out there. This coup has to be quick and relatively bloodless. Carlton has to take control before the President discovers she’s lost power. He’ll want to buy as much time as he can. And the best way to do that is to make sure there are no leaks—no witnesses.”

  “What about my soldiers? Are they at risk?”

  “I may be wrong,” Weiss said. “I hope I am. But I know the way he thinks. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he ordered the Elite Ops to kill everyone. At a minimum, he’ll detain everybody until he’s safely back in Washington.”

  “Surely the Elite Ops won’t all back Carlton? Some of them must be rational.”

  “They’ll do as they’re ordered. Carlton told me he knew how to control…”

  The sound of a body being slammed against the wall came from the hallway, followed by a cry of pain. Truman looked up and saw a homeless man skidding across the floor. Behind him Carlton emerged from the hall, limping heavi
ly, Major Payne at his side. Carlton’s sunglasses sat slightly askew on his nose and a fresh cut at the side of his eye bled a little. As he neared, he reached up and touched it with his finger. After a quick glance, he wiped the finger on his trousers. Despite his wan pallor, he wore a determined look. Had Jeremiah done that to Carlton? Truman wished he’d seen it.

  “Two hours, Major,” Carlton said. “I want to be out of here in two hours.”

  “We need more time to locate the other pseudos.”

  “Most of your men can stay. But I require your presence in Washington with me. Once the situation has stabilized, you can return to finish the mop-up duties.”

  “If there are any pseudos left alive.” Major Payne sounded disappointed.

  “There may be a stray pseudo for you to track down. You can even order your men to take a few of them alive. I’m sure they’re wonderful sport.” Carlton paused, looked down at Weiss. “Now, then, Gray Velvet. What to do about you?”

  “You planning to kill me, RC?”

  Carlton’s smile stopped almost before it began. “I could get away with it, but no. You and Devereaux are far too valuable to waste.”

  “And how do you plan to use us? As admirers of your coup?”

  “That’s not too far off, actually. You see, Gray, in our experimentation with the Elite Ops, we’ve discovered a lot about the human brain. We can manipulate electrical signals to get a person to do what we want him to.”

  Weiss laughed bitterly. “You’re going to brainwash us?”

  Carlton displayed his fleeting smile again. “Such an old-fashioned term for such an advanced science. We alter your neural pathways, stimulate certain regions of the brain while repressing others. When I’m finished with you, you will truly believe that what I’ve done is in the best interests of the country. And you will say so for the world to hear.” Carlton held up a hand to preempt any response. “Don’t worry. Forewarned is not forearmed. You won’t be able to resist. We’ve had a perfect success rate. You’ll still be you. Nothing will have really changed except that when I trot you out to the cameras, you’ll say what I want you to say—that for national security reasons we must suspend the protections of the Constitution. Temporarily. The President will agree with you. She will regretfully conclude that, in these troubled times, we need the Elite Ops to run the country until the terrorists have been stamped out.”

  Truman jumped to his feet. “You’re insane!”

  Major Payne put out an armored hand and easily pushed him back to his seat.

  Carlton spoke softly, contemptuously, “You, Colonel, I don’t need at all. I would suggest you rein in that temper.”

  “I’m afraid you underestimate the public,” Weiss said.

  “Oh, but I don’t. After I empty Devereaux’s brain of all its secrets, I’ll turn him loose on the intellectuals. You’ll convince the conservatives that this necessary suspension is only temporary, and the President will do the same for the liberals. And if the public doesn’t buy it, what can they do about it? Die before the power of the Elite Ops? Or one of the bioweapons Devereaux designed?” Carlton smiled. “Yeah, we’re going to build those weapons if he hasn’t done so already. We’ll be able to hold the world hostage. Once order has been re-established, elections will return—for most offices. It’s largely your plan, Gray. I’ve merely refined it. Don’t go anywhere now.”

  Chuckling to himself, Carlton limped away, Major Payne at his heels.

  Truman wanted not to believe it. It sounded ludicrous. “We have to do something, sir,” he said to Weiss. “We can’t just let him fly out of here with you and Devereaux.”

  “I’d like to stop him, Colonel. But I don’t know how.”

  “Perhaps we could use Jones.”

  Weiss looked around, noticed that no one was paying much attention to them. “What did you have in mind?”

  Truman hunched forward, lowered his voice still further. “We both know my men are no match for the Elite Ops. But perhaps, together with Jones, if we could somehow spring him and return his particle beam cannon, we could defeat them.”

  “Jeremiah?” Weiss shook his head. “Even if he’d be willing to help us, how do you propose we do that?”

  “I don’t know yet, sir. Obviously, we need a distraction large enough to draw the attention of the Elite Ops. But short of attacking them, which would almost certainly be suicide, I can’t think of a way to get the job done.”

  Weiss pursed his lips. “I know a little about how Carlton conditioned the Elite Ops. And provided he hasn’t given any kill orders yet, so long as your soldiers don’t use their weapons—strictly hand-to-hand combat—the Elite Ops shouldn’t respond with lethal force. At the very least, they won’t be expecting a diversion like that. You might also check with Lendra—see if she’ll aid us in recovering the converter to Jeremiah’s weapon.”

  Truman nodded. “Assuming she knows where it is. I’ll speak to her…and Sister Ezekiel too. She may be able to help as well.”

  Weiss slapped his closed fist into his palm. “If we can get Carlton out of the picture, I’m sure the Elite Ops would be controllable. But we’ve got to move quickly. You heard Carlton. We’ve got less than two hours.”

  * * *

  Truman located Sister Ezekiel with the albino, Henry, and a couple dozen ailing homeless men in the chapel. Everyone was avoiding the infirmary because of the soldiers quarantined there. The medics had confirmed that the three soldiers had in fact contracted the Susquehanna Virus.

  Sister Ezekiel said, “How are your infected soldiers doing?”

  “Private Xiong could go at any moment. Corporal Douphmaly and Specialist Hanaka are hanging on.”

  “And how are you holding up, Colonel?”

  “My nerves are on edge, my patience gone. Of course, the Elite Ops have that effect. They emit a sonic wave—that high whine you hear coming from their nuclear power packs. It jangles the brain. Grating.”

  Sister Ezekiel actually smiled. “So it’s not just me? That’s a relief. I thought I was falling apart under the stress.”

  “No. Add in their nerve gas and it’s a wonder any of us can think straight.”

  “What can I do for you, Colonel?”

  “I need a private word.”

  Sister Ezekiel turned to Henry and said, “I’ll be back in a moment.” Truman led her out to the hall, where two homeless men sat with their backs against one wall, blankets up to their chins despite the heat, staring at nothing, blank expressions on their dirty, gaunt faces. Truman passed them by, continuing on to the kitchen, where he found Lendra standing by one of the large sinks, rubbing her arms as if to keep warm. It must be the fear that makes everyone cold, Truman thought.

  He beckoned Lendra over and immediately got to the point. “We have to somehow free Devereaux,” he whispered, “before Carlton leaves. We can’t let Carlton have him. He’ll unleash Devereaux’s bioweapons on the world.”

  Sister Ezekiel put up her hand. “How? How can your soldiers fight those Elite Ops? They’re like machines.”

  “It’s going to be difficult, Sister. We may all die in the attempt. But better to go down fighting than sit around waiting for death.”

  “You believe our lives are in danger?”

  “Yes, Sister. I do. Carlton is a dangerous man—much more so than Weiss. I think he’ll have us killed when he leaves, to ensure secrecy in his attempt to overthrow the government. His troopers murdered thirty-two fugitives last night.”

  Sister Ezekiel’s jaw dropped and her face, already pale, lightened further.

  Lendra said, “It’s true, Sister. I’ve been able to monitor local communications traffic with my interface. And I agree with Colonel Truman that Carlton is a threat.” She looked at him. “What do you want us to do?”

  Truman said, “To have any chance at all, we need to get the converter to Jeremiah’s particle b
eam cannon. Do you know where it is?”

  Lendra said, “I can get it. But you need Jeremiah too. He’s the only one who can handle the weapon. Your men would never be able to get off more than a single shot. And they probably wouldn’t hit what they were aiming at.”

  “What do you know about particle beam cannons?”

  “Their heavy recoil requires tremendous strength, a steady hand and superb reflexes.”

  Truman stared at her. He knew enough about particle beam cannons to know she was telling the truth, but he wondered how she knew so much about a classified weapon. Perhaps Jones had told her. Or perhaps she was a field agent after all. “Don’t worry,” he said, “Jeremiah’s an integral part of the plan. We obviously need his help. I just have to figure out a way to free him.”

  Lendra grabbed the glass bulb of her necklace between thumb and forefinger. Rubbing it, she nodded deliberately. “Sister Ezekiel and I will take care of that. You just keep the Elite Ops busy until Jeremiah gets loose.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Accompanied by Ahmad Rashidi, Sister Ezekiel approached her office. Major Payne blocked the doorway, an imposing presence, his shield glowing faintly. Behind him, Devereaux sat on a chair in front of the desk. Carlton reclined on the sofa, his legs spread apart, feet on the coffee table. The quartz paperweight Rock Man—no, Devereaux—had given her lay on the corner of the desk, shining in the light.

  She prayed. Courage, Lord—give me courage. “Excuse me,” she said.

  Major Payne didn’t move. Carlton looked up but said nothing.

  “Look,” Sister Ezekiel said, “I’ve got a shelter to run. I know your jobs are important, but people are relying on me. This is my office. Between you two and Mr. Weiss, I’ve had barely five minutes in here the past couple of days. Now, come on, you big lug. Out of my way.”

  She put her hands through Major Payne’s shield, feeling an electric tingle as she did so, and pushed against his armor. The major backed up a step, allowing her to pass. Ahmad squeezed in behind her.