by Lin Larson
The men turned to the wall, and Sam stood up. “Eon,” Sam said, “remove their guns before I kill them accidentally.”
Eon pilfered the deadly metal pieces and waited. Sam gave no other directives. “Now what, boss?”
“Now what? Ah!” Sam paused. He had to do something with them. “Hit them over the heads.”
The two captive, bookend-like soldiers exchanged glances.
“Don’t do that, keep your eyes on the wall!” Eon turned to Sam. “Hit them how?” he asked under his breath.
“Sort of like this!” Sam borrowed the gun from Eon and rammed one now doubting guard over the head. The fellow crumpled to the floor.
“Oh, I like that!” Eon repossessed the gun and incapacitated the second man.
“Very good, check their pulses.” Sam said. “They are so young,”
“Yeah,” said Eon nervously, “but still big guys. However, they have medium size feet. And they live.”
“Yeah, they’re dreaming of a nice place and time.” Sam looked at his watch. “We don’t have much time. Stuff them in the shaft.”
“Shouldn’t we gag and tie them?” Eon questioned.
“There’s no time, quickly!” Sam tugged on one, but he couldn’t do it. Eon bounced over and did most of the lifting until it was done.
“The code?” Sam pointed to the door, as he returned the grate to his place.
Eon punched the numbers with precision this time. They swung the huge door open and entered. Suddenly voices echoed down the corridor, as Sam threw himself against the door. He whirled about in despair, as Eon doused the lights.
“Where the hell do we hide?” Sam whispered in confusion.
“The food room- over there!” Eon dragged Sam through the blackness toward the side room. Sam could hear the click of the computerized door release at the same moment that he felt Eon yank him inside the haven and pull the curtain.
News media scurried noisily about, negotiating positions for the broadcast as Sam and Eon jockeyed amongst the shelves. They had only seconds before the President made his royal entrance with his entourage. Sam and Eon were a captive audience, and they had never been so frightened in their lives.
Lights were plugged in and cameras and microphones quickly set up.
Silas Jensen introduced the President to the press, who exploded with questions.
The President interrupted the uproar. “Gentlemen and Ladies, please… I will explain. I am guiding you through this presidential bunker, or some call this room by its softer title, shelter, for a reason. You have all made fun of me in the past. You have said that I was not smart enough to make executive decisions and that my wife and advisors did them for me. You have maligned me as only a charming figurehead. I am here to prove you wrong!”
Silence hung over the packed room like a shroud.
“I have increased my intelligence to 160 at my last testing,” President Quint continued haughtily. “I am a genius and far surpass you imbeciles of the press. Now that I am more capable than you, I have made a decision for this country. I will lead you all into a new era, one of power and strength. I shall clean the world, and it shall bow down to me and our country. I have thousands of friends that have increased their abilities, just as I have. They will be my ministers.” The President smiled with even white teeth in his square jaw. His shock of dyed hair shone in the artificial yellow glow of the room and press lights.
This press was spellbound, as were Sam and Eon. The microphones from each network and newsmen and women were not hustling for position but were seemingly frozen. The President continued to stand with his smile plastered on his perfect features, and then calmly pushed a number of buttons on the computer.
“You,” Quint nodded in condescension, “may be watching what I’ve just done. This control board is the ultimate in military efficiency. With only the touch of my fingers, I can override all “fail-safes” in this missile silo. I just did so. I have released two nuclear missiles for our great country. We shall bring the world to us and we shall rule all.”
Carl Crane from NBC broke the stunned silence. “Where are they going?”
The President grinned maniacally. “One, my son, is going to bloom over Moscow and the other over Washington D.C. We will rid our countries of the plague of those of mere average intellect that control them. Our super intelligent people are ready to take over control. In some cities they have already acted. We will then continue to do this around the world. I will continue to be your President, but it will eventually be, of the world. FBI Agent Silas Jensen will provide the drugs for us and any who want to become superior. In the end, however, the inferior will die. It will be a brand new world. My people and I rule now. “Children, it’s time to rejoice.” Quint stretched forth his hands in supplication to the press, “you are broadcasting live, are you not?”
“Shania Johnson, from CBS, Sir?”
“Yes?” Quint simpered.
“Mr. President, you’re crazy!”
Quint’s eyes flashed. “Don’t you ever call me that” I control you. I could have you all shot. This facility is mine. My people have taken mastery of the cities. We have tranquilizers in the water supplies. We have infiltrated the army bases. We are now taking over the nation’s capital in a decisive manner. A nuclear bomb.” Quint giggled.” You will follow me as before, but now you will be proud. I am in ultimate control.”
An older newsman headed for the door. “We don’t need another Hitler. I’m getting out of here,” he blustered nervously.
“No, you won’t, Old Man!” Quint shrieked gleefully. “No one will leave here, until I say so. I say what you do. I am your President. I say, not you. I could squash you all, but I am nice. I’ll let you live. I can change my mind, however. I choose…me, me, me!”
Without warning, the President screamed. News people spun frantically to understand why. They returned to the source of the cries, their President. They gaped in horror as Quint clawed at his face and tore out shreds of skin. The President staggered towards the people; the people drew back in repulsion. He was self-destructing before their eyes, and all they could do was watch and recoil.
Then as fast as seizure came, it ceased. Quint stared into the cameras at the faceless men and women and children. His once graceful hands held out a sheet of skin in one hand and a bunch of his hair in the other. They watched the skin and hair slid through his dry bent fingers. Quint quietly said, “I am very smart. I am a genius. You must do what I say.”
Suddenly he blinked and stared out in confusion. His pale mutilated face and body twisted in agony. He cried out in anguish as he aged and twisted before their eyes, “I hurt. Help Me!”
The President of the United States fell to the floor. Camera Man Santiago slowly moved up and bent down. He felt his pulse. “He’s dead.” He said.
#
The death paralyzed the room except for the two men who crouched in the supply room. Sam and Eon emerged together with guns drawn and leveled them on the stunned crowd.
“Men and Women of the Press,” Sam shouted.
The group turned. A woman screamed out,” Oh, my God, they’re going to kill us all!”
“No,” Sam said in a low clear voice, which seemed to mesmerize the group, as much as the violent moments from the minutes before. They were held in the gaze of the tall, dark-hair man with the once handsome face which was now bruised and swollen. Blood had begun to seep through his shoulder and leg wounds and only served to make the scene all the more unreal.
“Guards,” Sam continued. “Put down your weapons. You,” Sam pointed to a soldier. “You are standing by the leader of this mad conspiracy. He is Silas Jensen of the FBI. He introduced our President here. Restrain him, if you yourself want to continue living. Do not release him, ever.”
The young soldier stared in confusion at Jensen, his leader. Jensen slowly started to move his hand into his jacket. Thomas Chin, a newsman, slid quickly beside him and intercepted his hand.
“Jensen,” Ch
in yanked back the hand. “I’m Chin, I was a Marine in Iraq. I know how to deal with an enemy. Donaldson, Chin’s black cameraman flew into action and pinned Jensen’s other hand behind his back and grabbed the gun from his pocket. “Mr. Jensen,” Chin continued. “Donaldson, who holds your gun, is my camera man, but he was with me in Iraq. He is skilled in physical offense and defense. He will break your neck, if you move.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Sam. “Are the camera’s still rolling?”
“You bet, the rest of you are filming, right?” Donaldson answered. The others chimed in with accent, “Ya. You bet. Filming. All shooting.”
Sam’s heart was beating wildly, but he wanted every minute on tape. He just hoped that it was all getting out.
Shania Johnson spoke again. She looked around as all the camera people nodded. “Yes, Sir.” She crossed to Donaldson’s camera and began operating it. Nancy Lopez, from another major network waved her hand. “We are all filming, and it is going out all over the world.”
Sam felt tremendous relief. “Press and citizens of our country and the world, I’d like to tell you a story about what has happened to the President and many good people throughout our country. We need to see that the conspiracy ends now. Obviously the participants will die, just like our President here. It will be horrifying for them too. Some went into it innocently, some were forced.”
“I am Sam Stone, a book writer who has been pursued by Silas Jensen, the man you hold, and other subversives in power, because I wanted to stop the conspiracy, medical experiments on many victims, many murders, and mass addiction to the dangerous Acceleration drug. I was constantly pursued by Jensen and saw him kill too many times to count. You have just witnessed an example of his followers, our President. He believed in power at all cost. The evil manipulator, Silas Jensen, that you hold, was an elite pimp to the President’s addiction to a deadly drug. Let me explain further.”
The media held their microphones and cameras closer to Stone. They wanted to hear and see every word of the truth. Sam told his story.
“Now, fellow Americans, my friend Eon here has sabotaged the nuclear missiles. I believed that they were not truly released. So it is up to you to take out this story and fight back against the addicted conspirators. Eon and I have done all that we can do.” Sam then lowered his machine gun, dropped it to the floor, and collapsed. Eon Gustafson knelt down beside him.
Sam did not see the flurry that was to ensue, but Eon did. He would tell Sam all about it, when he was better, probably tomorrow… maybe.
CHAPTER 40
“I did what?” Sam said as he started to sit up rapidly in the hospital bed. Caught by the constricting tubing attached to his arm and twinging pain in his shoulder, Sam fell back. “I fainted! I’ve never fainted in my life. I’ve passed out but never fainted. What is all this stuff in my arm?”
“I can tell that you are going to be a cantankerous patient,” the grey-haired little nurse grumbled. “Famous people always are.”
“Eh, what am I famous for?” Sam asked cautiously.
“You must have hit your head; you don’t even know what you did?” she exclaimed hoarsely, as she started to examine Sam’s head for injury.
“No, no, please.” Sam batted her hand impatiently. “You mean famous for my writing novels, see I remember.”
“I don’t know about your writing any books; I only read the good book, newspapers, and tv. I mean you’re all over the news,” she said.
“Am I in trouble, like are there police guards at the door?” Sam asked worriedly.
“Don’t be silly. You’re a hero, but that doesn’t mean you get any special treatment from me. Now turn over for your shot.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have the arm?” Sam said sweetly.
“No!” she barked.
“All right, I was just asking.” Sam turned and suffered the indignity. He pulled his body back carefully, mindful of pain that shot down his leg.
“Do I have any visitors? May I ask also how I’m doing and when I can leave?” Sam asked uneasily.
“Too many questions. Yes, visitors. No, the doctor will see you when he can. Do you need pain medication?”
“No,” Sam propped himself up on the pillows.
“Good.” She turned and crashed into Eon Gustafson at the door. “Why don’t you watch where you walk, young man? It is not visiting hours, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Eon displayed his most sexy smile.
“You think you can charm me? Knock off that grin. You men are all alike, only want one thing.” The nurse threw shut the door ceremoniously.
“Jeez, you are going to love it here.” Eon teased.
“Oh, she means well, I think.” Sam shifted in the bed. “So, I missed the climax. What happened after my manly swoon?”
“Nothing. We all yawned and trotted off to bed with each other.” Eon said mock seriousness. “No, are you crazy? It was chaos. There was direct satellite feed, so the whole broadcast got out immediately. Jensen was in custody for a while, but somehow he broke away and disappeared. His soldiers got scared, when they realized that they were losing and gave up their guns. The press was great. They went on the air to plead with people to fight the conspirators and assure them that what they saw in the bunker was real. They said that the President was indeed dead.”
“Jensen’s gone then,” Sam pondered.
“Wait, there’s more.” Eon sat on the bed. Sam cringed at the movement.
“Sorry,” said Eon. Anyway, the siege in Washington was short-lived. The Vice President mobilized the remaining forces. People on the drugs got scared when they saw what happened to Quint. They’ve been flooding the hospitals for help. Families and friends are turning people into authorities for psychotic behavior. They even brought those that are eccentric naturally. It’s backfiring. It’s McCarthy-ism again. That’s all happened in twenty-four hours!”
“I’ve been out that long!” Sam said in amazement. “Funny!”
“Yes, you have, but not funny. It’s been wild.” said Eon.
“What of the suppliers of the drugs?” Sam asked.
Eon shifted his position on the edge of the bed.
“Stay put, will you?” Sam yelped as he gritted his teeth at the stabbing pain in his leg.
“Sorry, Mighty hero. They haven’t located the factories yet, but they will. Eon said as he forced himself to stay inert.
“Cut out the hero bit. What of the number on the bottle?” asked Sam.
“It’s been disconnected, and there’s been a cover-up on leads,” Eon said.
Sam jerked. “Eon, it’s not finished!” Sam pulled out the I.V. tubing from his arm and started to get out of the bed.
“Sam, you can’t leave!”
“I can’t stay. Don’t you understand? As long as Jensen is loose, it can’t end. His plan rose from the ashes before, he’ll do it again.” Sam staggered to the closet and pulled out his clothes. He examined the blood stained General’s outfit and slumped in a chair. “I can’t wear these clothes.” Sam threw them on the floor by his bare feet.
“Let someone else take over now. You’ve done enough,” Eon said gravely.
“Not if Jensen’s still alive. The man won’t quit, I know it.” Sam said. “Can you get me fresh clothes, like now.”
“Okay, Sam.” Eon shook his head, but I personally approve of your staying put. The Lone Ranger’s smart. But your Tonto has come prepared. Excuse me.” He walked past Sam to the closet and reached for a paper bag. He dropped it, in delight, into Sam’s lap. “Ask and you shall receive! Did somebody important once say that? Like God.”
Sam smiled and pulled out the new clothes, a black T-shirt and jeans. “Good,” he said, “I like to be comfortable. And who are the Lone Ranger and Tonto?” Sam rose unsteadily and began changing into the clothes. It was painful moving about, but he was getting used to it.
“Ah,” said Eon. “You noticed I bought you a black shirt instead of heroic white. I knew you wanted t
o not be noticed by the mob of photographers in the lobby of the hospital. Now as for the Lone Ranger and Tonto. You need to watch more old television shows, especially about heroes. The Lone Ranger was an ex- Texas Ranger, like a cop on horseback. Tonto was an American Indian sidekick, also on horseback. Together they were heroes and saved lives. Man, you need me, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Sam laughed. “Thanks, and hey, you got any money?”
“Ah, Ben sent you funds. It’s in the bottom of the bag. We thought of everything. There’s a pocket knife too. So you can cut down a tree, if you get bored. We wanted you totally prepared,” Eon replied as he flopped back on the bed and stretched out. “So where do we start looking for Jensen?”
“We? No. Not you, me. You’ve done enough. I’m just relieved you didn’t get killed.” Sam said as he padded in his bare feet to the closet and pulled out the general’s loafers. “These don’t go with the jeans, but they’re not a bad fit.”
“Maybe you’ll start a new trend,” Eon said cheerfully. He felt rested and relieved at what they had accomplished, but he wasn’t sure that Sam should go after Jensen again. He barely survived the last confrontation.
Sam was ready. Eon Gustafson followed his friend into the hallway. He wondered if he would ever see Sam Stone again.
They shook hands. It had meant to be a quick handshake, but they’d been through too much together. Eon grabbed Sam in a huge bear hug. “You take care of yourself, Stone. Give Jensen hell.”
“You bet, I’ll try. Eon, thanks again. I couldn’t have made it without you.”
“You sure you don’t want me along to the end, for insurance?”
“No, this has become personal. I want to finish this alone,” Sam said.
“Where will you look for Svengali Jensen?” Eon asked.
“I’m going back to his house. Maybe I’ll pick up a trail there.”
Sam turned and looked up into the expressionless faces of two men in plain suits. “Excuse me. Who are you, Gentlemen?”
“We are Baker and Gutierrez, special forces envoy from President Kowalski. Who is Mr. Stone?”
