The Extinction Agenda

by Michael Laurence

  Shoot him, Mason.

  The ground dropped out from underneath him.

  He closed his eyes.

  Take the shot, damn it!

  Mason took a deep breath and turned to face his former partner.

  70

  “You don’t look happy to see me,” Kane said. “I’d hoped that after all this time I’d at least get a smile.”

  “You betrayed us,” Mason said. “You led us into a trap. People died, Kane. Good people.”

  “People die every day. Not all of them get a hero’s burial.”

  “You sure as hell shouldn’t have.”

  “Then you obviously don’t understand the situation. There are more than seven billion people on this planet, and at the current rate of growth, we’ll see eight billion in our lifetime. The next generation will see ten, maybe eleven. Now consider the fact that less than a century ago there were only two billion. Our resources are finite. We simply cannot sustain that many people for any length of time. And think about who’s doing all the breeding. Uneducated and impoverished women in Africa are bringing nearly five children each into conditions unsuitable for more than insect life. These are children destined to starve to death or, if they’re lucky, survive long enough to fight bloody wars over land rife with disease. These lesser-developed countries pose the greatest threat to our national security. They’ll soon have no choice but to either expand or perish.

  “Look at India. Its population will rival China’s within the next fifteen years and its cities still have raw sewage running in the streets. What happens if its warlords organize the impoverished population and take up arms like the drug cartels did in Mexico? Indochina. Indonesia. Women in Chad and Mali and Niger are averaging—averaging—six to eight children each. They’re driving down the quality of life with sheer numbers. Humanity is a virus that’s breeding unchecked and within the coming decades will deplete all of our available natural resources. The Third World will drain its stores of fresh water within the next twenty years, and we, as a species, will exhaust our global supply in less than fifty. We’ll run out of arable land before that. Our children’s children will starve. Wars will erupt. Not wars of ideology, but wars for survival. And who will have the superior numbers? Diseases will mutate. Diseases we will neither be able to anticipate nor control, for which we may or may not be able to develop vaccines. We must cull the herd before we reach the point of global crisis.”

  “Don’t forget all of the profit to be made from controlling those natural resources and producing those cures.”

  “There’s no money in the cure, because it has already been distributed.”

  The Hoyl must have seen the surprise register on Mason’s face.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “People have been receiving the inoculation for nearly a decade. In stages. Five doses in total, all of which are needed to develop an immunity. Think about the panics over the swine and avian flus. SARS. The media repeatedly worked everyone into a frenzy and had them clamoring for the vaccines. We could have injected people with anything we wanted, but instead, we gave them the promise of a future, whether they knew it or not. Well … some of them, anyway. We made the flu shots mandatory for all military and government personnel, all health-care workers and infrastructure support professionals. The people we will need to preserve peace and run the country, to staff our hospitals and educational systems. To maintain the continuity of our power and water supplies. Our leadership and morale. All of the necessities for a fully functional and advanced society. An enlightened society unburdened by its own cumbersome and unproductive numbers.”

  “A master race,” Mason said.

  “Think of it as you will.”

  “It’s more than that,” Kane said. “This is survival. Darwinian evolution for the twenty-first century. During the last fifty years, the U.S. population alone has risen seventy-two percent, roughly half of the world average, and yet the incidence of violent crime—we’re talking murder, rape, robbery, assault—has increased by seven hundred percent. Seven hundred percent. That’s ten times the rate of population growth. And this is America, Mason. The most civilized nation on the planet. A hundred years ago, we weren’t discussing gangs or drugs or serial killers. We didn’t have to worry about mass murder in our schools or the rising rate of illiteracy. Our country—and to an even greater degree, our world—has become a cesspool, and it will only get worse until we do something about it.”

  “And genocide’s the answer? By your own logic, wouldn’t that make someone who indiscriminately kills millions worse than all of the others?”

  “Millions?” the Hoyl said. Mason could hear the smile in his voice. “Try billions.”

  “The Spanish flu was remarkably effective,” Kane said, “but we couldn’t control it. We weren’t able to anticipate the virus mutating during the act of transmission, and especially not during the process of decomposition. We didn’t foresee the challenges of disposing of the sheer number of remains. But we’ve learned a lot in the intervening years, during which technology advanced so rapidly that there were no longer limits to what we could engineer in labs. We created viruses capable of wiping out the entire planetary population a dozen times over, but it wasn’t the scientific knowledge that proved most valuable. No, the most important thing we learned wasn’t that we needed to create a more deadly disease or manufacture a better means of spreading it. We learned that mankind, by nature, is a selfish and stupid animal. Do you know what the ultimate key to the success of our agenda turned out to be?”

  “Fear,” Mason said.

  “Exactly. Fear. If they’re suitably afraid, people will line up for you to inject anything you want into their bloodstreams. They’ll relinquish any freedoms. Submit to any rule. They’ll welcome the military in their streets and Homeland Security into their homes. They’ll pay any price, do whatever they’re asked, allow themselves to be manipulated at every turn.”

  “And when people all around the world mysteriously start dropping dead,” the Hoyl said, “we’ll be their saviors. We’ll offer them hope. The chance to survive. They’ll do whatever we want. They will help usher in a golden age of humanity.”

  “You make it sound so noble,” Mason said. “But you’re buying into your own propaganda. You’re not creating a master race; you’re creating a race of slaves beholden to a select few. The few with all of the money and the power. A new world order ruled by madmen who would exterminate their entire species to corner the world’s wealth, even if it means ruling over the ashes.”

  “Would you prefer society to continue its descent into oblivion? For the world to become a sewer? For laws to crumble and diseases to breed and wars to rage until the entire planet goes up in flames?”

  “Sounds like that’d be right up your alley.”

  “You would turn your back on the opportunity to be a part of a new era of peace and prosperity? You would prefer our children fear for their lives in their schools, for them to be surrounded by drugs and the butchers who purvey them, to die in the streets like dogs?”

  Mason opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Nothing smart to say to that?” Kane asked.

  “Who gives you the right to determine who lives and who dies?” Mason said.

  “When did the survival of our species become a negative outcome This is not a debate, Mason. This is going to happen. It’s already happening. Humanity will survive and the world will endure.”

  Kane raised his pistol until the barrel pointed directly between Mason’s eyes.

  “You were my partner,” Mason said. “More than that. You were my friend. I trusted you. Believed in you. Wanted to be like you. I mourned you. And how did you repay me? By having my wife killed. By taking the one thing from me that mattered.”

  “Angie’s death was regrettable, but unavoidable. I loved her, too, you know. We were simply in a window of vulnerability and couldn’t afford the exposure.”

  “You needed to perfect the decomposition aspect of the v
irus first.”

  “We were missing one key component. Victor’s bacteria were dying off prematurely when exposed to oxygen. We needed a separate methanogenic bacterium that would produce the necessary anoxic environment for our bacteria to survive long enough to consume the remains of their host. And it had to be able to attach to the viral envelope without killing or altering the virus itself.”

  “That was what you were buying in the building by the old airport, wasn’t it? That was the piece I couldn’t make fit. You cut a deal for that one bacterium.”

  “And we had to know if it worked. I mean, what better way to test the methanogenic properties of a species than by turning it into the fuel for a bomb? Methane’s only violently combustible over a narrow concentration range, so when you pulled open the plastic and flooded the tent with oxygen, it lowered the concentration of the methane gas to roughly ten percent, and boom!”

  “You nearly killed your own man.”

  “Trapp was smart enough to survive. As were you. Not bad, considering neither of you were supposed to be there.”

  “You should have killed me right then and there and left Angie out of it.”

  “She was tenacious, Mason. She would have figured it out eventually. But you can’t lay all of the blame at our feet. We wouldn’t have even known she was digging around in our business if we hadn’t had help from a … friend.”

  “What do you mean, ‘if we hadn’t had help…’”

  Mason’s words trailed off.

  Why are you doing all of this for me?

  You’re not the only one who has a personal stake in taking these guys down.

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  Let’s just say I don’t take kindly to being manipulated.

  “You mean he didn’t tell you?” The Hoyl shook the chain and droplets of Gunnar’s blood rained down on Mason. Struck his shoulders, his head. “Why, if one of my employers hadn’t tasked Mr. Backstrom here with gaining leverage on the attorney general, he might never have discovered a certain federal prosecutor’s indiscretions, which proved to be of significantly greater importance when he was captured on camera entering a rather unseemly motel with a fugitive with some rather unmistakable facial characteristics, whom I’d been dying to talk to for quite some time. Then along came an IRS investigator, who exposed a large chink in our armor. Her brother was more than eager to see her eliminated. After all, she would have shared his kingdom, such as it was. Her father was more reluctant, however, but everyone can be persuaded, especially when you have an ally like your friend Mr. Backstrom on your payroll. Granted, he didn’t recognize the role he’d played until it was too late, but it wouldn’t be unfair to say that your wife is now a pile of ash in a walnut box because of your friend up there.”

  “No,” Mason whispered.

  “In fact, we owe a great deal of thanks to Mr. Backstrom for the many contributions he’s made along the way. Unfortunately, despite his demonstrable worth, we can’t just let him go. He did turn on us when he discovered the extent to which we’d utilized his services. It is a shame, though. We could have used a mind like his. Maybe we can still scrape it up off the floor.”

  The Hoyl opened his hand. The coil of chain on the ground behind him unraveled and raced up toward the ceiling.

  Gunnar plummeted from the darkness above.

  71

  Mason ran and dove for the chain before it slithered out of his reach. It pulled him up off the ground, but he managed to get a solid grip and regain his balance.

  Gunnar had dropped a good fifteen feet. His body swung wildly. The impact from that height would have shattered his arms and crushed his skull.

  “All you have to do,” the Hoyl whispered directly into Mason’s ear, “is let go.”

  “I’m going to kill you!”

  “All right. Here’s your opportunity.”

  The Hoyl took the gun from Dietrich, walked about five feet away, and set it down on the floor. He returned to the blond woman’s side and again faced Mason.

  “Better make it count. This is the only chance you’re going to get.”

  Mason had maybe three and a half feet of slack. Not enough to allow him to reach his Sigma, nor a fraction of what he needed to release the chain, grab his gun, and get back in time to catch it. Balancing Gunnar’s weight was one thing, but raising him high enough to get the extra length he required was another thing entirely.

  If he let go of the chain, Gunnar would die. No doubt about it. Assuming he wasn’t dead already. If he didn’t let go, he would surely be shot where he stood, and Gunnar would still end up falling to his death.

  Regardless of which choice he made, Gunnar would die.

  One of his oldest friends. The man who was indirectly responsible for his wife’s murder.

  Gunnar’s life, literally, were in Mason’s hands.

  That was exactly what his adversaries wanted. To show him that the right choice wasn’t always the easy one, that it was often a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils.

  Mason looked at his Sigma.

  Then at the Hoyl.

  His gun.

  The man who had killed his wife.

  The Hoyl’s eyes narrowed from the broad smile that formed beneath his mask. Mason recognized the expression.

  Victory.

  Not only did the Hoyl believe he’d won, he believed he’d broken Mason in the process. His only option was to release the chain and go for the gun. Even then, he’d be shot from three different directions before he pulled the trigger.

  He looked down at the chain. Three and a half feet of slack. Forty-some inches. Not enough.

  “I told you to take the shot,” Kane said.

  “Not as easy to make that decision as you thought, is it?” the Hoyl said. “Sometimes people have to die so that others can live.”

  Mason followed the chain upward to the first pulley, mounted to a metal armature on the second floor. Diagonally up into the pool of darkness that hid the ceiling, beneath which Gunnar hung by his ankles from the other end of the chain. Oblivious to the fact that he was about to plummet three stories and land squarely on his head. Were it not for the first pulley, Mason realized, he would have more than enough chain. Of course, he also wouldn’t be able to hold his friend’s weight with one hand. It would probably even pull him off his feet.

  “I’ll help you decide,” the Hoyl said. “I’m going to count to three. And either you let go and take your chances or I’m going to have your former partner shoot you in the lower back. You’ll die, if you’re lucky, but you’ll get to watch your friend die first.”

  “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  The Hoyl’s eyes positively burned with blue flames.

  “One.”

  Mason turned his whole body to better see the man to his right. Used the movement to discreetly wrap the chain around his right leg.

  The security guard was little more than a silhouette standing in front of the bank of lights. He hadn’t even drawn his gun.

  Mason turned in the opposite direction and inconspicuously wound the chain around his left leg.

  The second guard’s posture suggested he thought his side had already won.

  When Mason faced his nemesis again, the chain was tight around his right thigh and left calf. He pointed the toe of his left boot and twirled the chain around his ankle one final time.

  “Two.”

  Mason leveled his gaze at the Hoyl.

  “Look into my eyes,” he said. “They’re going to be the last thing you ever see.”

  “Thr—”

  Mason released the chain and dove for the pistol. Grabbed it. The links bit into the flesh of his legs. The weight of Gunnar’s inert form jerked him in reverse.

  Voices shouting all around him.

  A bullet ricocheted from the ground right in front of his face.

  He flipped over. Slid along the floor on his back. Aimed at the second floor. Fired as fast as he could. His first shot sail
ed wide, but the second and third destroyed the pulley on the second floor.

  The chain tightened and spun him around. Yanked him straight up into the air and suspended him upside down. He crossed his ankles and squeezed his knees. Grabbed the end with his left hand—

  A blur of black across the light.

  Impact against his chest.

  The Hoyl wrapped his arm around Mason’s back. He fired again, but the Hoyl’s body had become entwined with his. Too close to get his gun between them. He grabbed hold of his adversary’s legs and lifted.

  They swung across the room and struck one of the banks of lights with a shower of sparks. Twirled back toward the center. Mere inches above the ground.

  A sharp pain in his left flank. Searing.

  The echo of a gunshot.

  Mason cried out. Lost his grip on the Hoyl’s legs. Struggled to grab them again before the Hoyl could get his feet on the ground and gain leverage, sending them spinning again.

  He parted his knees as far as he could. Flexed at the hips. Got his thighs around the Hoyl’s head. Squeezed.

  A flash of light and debris struck them from seemingly everywhere at once. A thunderous crash. A bank of smoke and dust swallowed them. An explosion of some kind. His ears were still ringing when the chaos of gunfire erupted.

  The cavalry had finally arrived.

  Mason squeezed his knees together, compressing the Hoyl’s head between his thighs. Worked his right arm free. Raised his pistol.

  The Hoyl brought up his knee—hard—into the side of Mason’s neck where it met his shoulder. An electric sensation shot all the way down to his left hand. The pain nearly caused him to lose his grip on the chain.

  They swung across the room again, still spinning.

  The Hoyl attempted the same maneuver again. Mason jerked his head away and took the brunt of the blow to the meat of his shoulder. Raised his Sigma toward the Hoyl’s head.

  Another explosion. A brilliant flash of light. A deafening boom.

  Flames spread up the walls and along the balconies. The room was spinning so fast, it looked like the entire building was on fire.