Apocalypse

by Paul Lalonde

  Chapter 1

  SUSAN HILDEBRANDT KNEW THEY WERE MONEY the moment they entered the Cardwell Towers leasing office. The man was tall, lean, muscular; his immaculately styled black hair was laced with gray and his Armani suit was obviously custom tailored. His supple shoes were made from unborn calf, his shirtsleeves glittered with gold and diamond cuff links and a limited-edition Rolex was worth more cash than her Cadillac. The woman, on the other hand, carried a combination overnight bag/briefcase that was neither expensive nor particularly distinctive, the type of item one could buy for less than a hundred dollars in any luggage shop.

  Yet, the woman’s clothes were a striking blend of the most respected couturiers in the world: a blouse from Paris, a skirt from Rome, and a long scarf, handmade by a famed London designer whose work sold for nothing less than five hundred pounds. Her shoes bore the mark of Lugano, a small shop on the Upper East Side of Manhattan where some of the most exotic leathers in the world were used to custom fit a world-class clientele.

  Not that Susan could afford such items herself. Her purchases still were made at Saks and then only during sales. But it was part of her job to keep current with the places at which the tiny percentage of truly wealthy people shopped. She needed to be able to spot the differences between the merely rich and those who might want to live in Chicago’s flagship apartment building owned by the notorious Spencer Cardwell.

  “We realize you’re almost ready to close,” said the woman with a posh New England boarding school accent. “But we have to leave for Europe tomorrow and we did so want to see your suites before we left. We’re spending so much time in Chicago, it seems foolish to be stranded in a hotel suite.”

  “No problem,” replied Susan. “We’re here to meet your needs. I’d be happy to show you what is available.” She had been working since early that morning, catching up on her paperwork. Her feet were tired, her back ached, and she had been hoping to meet Frank at that new French restaurant everyone was talking about. But Frank would just have to understand. She was sure she had a live one.

  “We only need a one-bedroom if the rest of the apartment is large enough to entertain,” remarked the man. He spoke with a crisp accent that might have originated from any one of several different European countries.

  “I have just the place,” said Susan. “Thirty-fourth floor with a spectacular view of the lake. It’s one-bedroom, but the formal dining and living rooms are almost 2,500 square feet by themselves.” She did not mention price. If they had to ask, they couldn’t afford it. And these people obviously did not have to ask.

  “That sounds perfect,” replied the woman. “We’d like to take a look at it if that’s not too much trouble.”

  For an instant Susan thought of calling the restaurant and leaving word for Frank, but thought better of it. If these two were serious, the last thing she wanted was for them to feel rushed.

  They spent an hour in the apartment and another forty-five minutes touring the building with its three restaurants, private health club, full-service dry cleaners, and even a private library of both books and videos. A full-time concierge staff, she informed them, handled any and all needs, and the security system was airtight.

  “Mr. Cardwell wanted the building to be a self-contained community,” she explained. “An oasis in the city for those who appreciate the very best.” And who have more money than brains, she thought ruefully to herself. She knew several of the tenants were heirs to vast fortunes that they were doing their best to whittle down to nothing. A few were connected with various governments in exile, living on looted treasuries, and there were a few unindicted corporate CEOs under investigation. Of course, the tenants also included self-made, completely honest executives and entrepreneurs who simply enjoyed a lavish lifestyle. She had no idea to which category this couple belonged, nor did she care. They were contemplating spending more than two million dollars, and that was more than enough of a reference for Susan.

  “I’d like to take another look at the suite,” said the man. “If it’s not too late, that is.”

  Susan checked her watch, 7:15 P.M. on a Sunday evening. Frank was liable to be gone by the time they finished. Even with her stomach rumbling and her body aching, she smiled and said, “I think taking another look is an excellent idea.”

  Susan next showed the woman a wing of the suite that could be adapted for a home office, specially wired for multiple telephone lines, cable access, and a variety of communication devices. “Many of the tenants need elaborate computer and teleconferencing systems to effectively handle their global businesses,” she explained. “I think you’ll find that whatever your needs, the building is equipped for . . .”

  She stopped suddenly as she felt the barrel of a gun pressed to her back. There had been no change in the couple’s manner, no shift in the tone of their voices. One moment they were inspecting the premises, the next they were threatening her life.

  “If this is a robbery, I think you have it backward,” said Susan, her voice trembling with fear. “I’m lucky if I can afford El fare. I should be robbing you.”

  “This is no robbery,” replied the woman, moving away from Susan. She was unarmed, but from the way she instinctively balanced herself, as if ready to move swiftly in any direction, Susan suspected she was a martial arts expert. “We just need access to this building for a couple of hours, and you’ve been kind enough to show us how to achieve that.”

  “I don’t understand . . . ,” Susan stammered.

  “You don’t need to,” replied the woman. When she saw that Susan was resisting, she opened her bag and put on a thin pair of leather gloves. Susan suddenly realized that the man was wearing an identical pair and recalled that neither of them had touched anything during the tour. They let Susan open doors for them, handling everything.

  “We’re going to need you to stay in this suite,” said the man. “We don’t want to be interrupted until we’re finished.”

  Susan was silent, wary, and more than a little frightened.

  “If you cooperate, you will be left unharmed,” added the woman. “If you cause trouble, we will kill you. Is that clear?”

  “Whatever you say,” was Susan’s nervous reply. Her mouth was dry and she felt as though she might faint. It was like being out of control with no way to fight back. Nothing about this couple made sense to her.

  The bag about which she had been so curious contained several lengths of rope along with some canisters, tools, and electronic equipment. They tied her up securely, the ropes so taut she could not move without the cords biting into her wrists and ankles. Her shoulders ached from the strain. The woman had looped her expensive scarf twice around Susan’s face, tying it between her teeth, then wrapping it again over her mouth to firmly gag her.

  Susan had to fight panic in order to keep breathing. Unless she stayed calm, inhaling and exhaling carefully through her nose, she would choke from the cloth in her mouth. She dared not scream for help. All she could do was endure her fear until someone found her. There was no other alternative.

  Moving swiftly through the building to the maintenance area, the couple aroused no suspicion from the handful of tenants and building staff they encountered. They more than looked the part.

  Rigging one of the canisters to the blower of the air-conditioning system took the better part of an hour for the expert terrorist team. It was energy efficient, well sealed, and constantly circulating clean air. The building was effectively circulating the deadly bacteria, leaving no suite uninfected. It would take three days for the tenants to become seriously ill, at least another day for tests to be run on those who talked to their doctors, but by the time the plague could be positively identified, some of the richest and most influential men and women in the world would be long dead.

  It was a scenario already successfully enacted in several other countries. The incidents had been well executed, and those who had paid the ransoms had been warned not to alert the news media. Their silence could be counted on,
and this new mission also would take place without a problem.

  When the man had finished wiring the air ducts, the woman used a cell phone to call the Middle East. She spoke briefly in Arabic, then turned off the phone and helped finish the job. On the way out the front lobby, they informed the security guard that the leasing agent was having some problems and had asked them to alert him to go up with a key and a blanket. The request puzzled the man, but not the hundred-dollar tip he was handed.

  Twenty-four hours later, in response to a series of messages sent simultaneously by Internet, fax, and courier, Spencer Cardwell and the city of Chicago authorized the wire transfer of fifty million dollars to a Middle Eastern bank known for its ties with Hamas. When the transfer was confirmed, information concerning the exact nature of the plague virus, as well as the appropriate antibiotic protocol for the cure, would be provided.

  The suspicious movements were detected first by satellite as subtle shifts along Korea’s 38th parallel, the most heavily fortified border in the world.

  For months there had been mounting rumors about possible war. The North Korean government had failed once again to halt the extensive famine devastating the country. Rumblings among the military increased political unrest and spontaneous uprisings against the government in the countryside.

  It had been known for some time that North Korea was quietly making alliances with terrorist groups in Germany, Japan, and the Middle East. Some of these groups were connected with governments such as Libya and operated freely and openly. Others were intent on destabilizing their host nations in the hope of bringing down opposing governments. But the ultimate goal was the same—to dramatically change the political face of Europe, Asia, and the Middle East, isolate the United States, turning it into a second-rate power, and then attack from both within and without.

  A war in Korea would force the United States to reinforce South Korea when its forces would be stretched to their limits in the Middle East and other hot spots. War would bring Chinese troops to the Korean Peninsula just when the United States assumed old hostilities with the Communist regime had been defused through increased economic ties. Military, financial, and economic interests would eventually bring Japan into conflict as well as several of her trading partners. Additionally, other countries, including members of the European Union whose energy needs forged unexpected alliances in Jordan, Kuwait, Iran, Egypt, and elsewhere, would suddenly find themselves at political odds over the conflict.

  Meanwhile, hit squads and “moles” trained in urban sabotage were being identified in the United States and among its allies. Men and women who had immigrated, taken jobs, married, and raised children, were seemingly assimilated into their new national identities. Yet, unknown to all but a handful of trusted contacts, they had positioned themselves to unleash biological weapons, sabotage government buildings, and disrupt transportation and communication centers. The movement toward armed confrontation between North and South Korea was the trigger that would unleash terrorist acts across the Western world.

  Despite urgent intelligence warnings about the unfolding crisis, United States officials at first hoped that North Korea would exchange food and other humanitarian assistance for peace. A United Nations task force assessed the needs of the people, and approached member countries with requests for grain, medical supplies, and other essential relief. Private agencies, quietly active for years, were encouraged to step up their efforts. It was then that the UN decided none of the supplies it had gathered would be released until the North Korean government renounced the warlike stance it had taken for more than two generations. It was blackmail, pure and simple, but the UN also saw it as a means to an end.

  The anticipated change, however, occurred very differently from what was originally expected. Rather than peace, North Korean leaders seemed determined to unite the people in war. Long suspected of having tactical nuclear missiles, the North was also known to have biological weapons that had been in readiness for years. Both the North and South had elite troops facing off at the border, with the North possessing a far superior army to launch a surprise attack. Thousands would die on the first day of such an assault, enough for the North to gain quick victory.

  The no-man’s-land between the opposing forces was thick with mines and other deadly traps and there was an atmosphere of constant saber rattling, especially when the North held joint military exercises with the widely deployed Chinese troops. But saber rattling was something quite different from what the satellites were now detecting. The situation along the 38th parallel was a major tactical shift, though its meaning was far from clear. Intelligence officers had intercepted rumors of shifting global alliances. Both Iraq and Iran had sent emissaries to Korea, officially for discussions related to oil and other resources that affected the North’s economy. Unofficially, there were constant references to the old Arab maxim: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  If North Korea was going to launch an assault, it would likely come from three distinctly different zones. Yet the nature of the defensive troops already in place suggested something quite different. They would either have to wait for a first strike or initiate the violence that everyone had for so long feared.

  An equally unsettling development came when several Middle Eastern leaders met secretly to consider a multi-front alliance, launching an assault against Israel while their new allies within North Korea made a simultaneous attack to the south. American and United Nations troops would be spread so thin their defeat was virtually guaranteed.

  Chapter 2

  EDNA WILLIAMS’S NEIGHBORHOOD was never visited by the tourist buses that cruised the theater district of Broadway, the newly refurbished Times Square, the Upper East Side museums, or the waterfront with its glorious view of the Statue of Liberty and Roosevelt Island. Near what had once been called Hell’s Kitchen, in the Lower East Side’s garment district, a stop-off point for junkies, gang members, and graffiti “artists,” it was hardly Manhattan’s pride and joy. The streets were a war zone. A war for human souls; a war in which too many young people had already fallen victim.

  In the fifteen years Edna Williams had lived in her small one-bedroom, third-floor walk-up, she had witnessed countless murders, overdosed junkies, prostitutes abused by their pimps. Anyone who could had moved away and the rest lived alone and lonely like Edna. College students who disdained the dormitory life; workers sharing space while trying to rise above minimum wage; and an assortment of illegal aliens, street people, and misfits completed the scene.

  Helen Hannah, Edna’s granddaughter, had hated the idea of her grandmother taking the apartment, even when the area had still been classed only as “disreputable.” She calmed her fears by telling herself that Grandmother Edna was a vibrant, active woman who had single-handedly raised not only her own four children, but grandchildren as well. Helen’s aunts and uncle had long ago made lives for themselves far away, marriage and family taking them to Seattle, Montreal, and London. Only her mother had stayed behind, marrying a rising young attorney and moving into an airy, three-bedroom apartment in the East 80s. They had lived a good life, at least until that fateful day they left their children in the care of Edna, got on a plane, and flew to London to visit Aunt Charlotte.

  No one could ever tell Helen what happened to her parents’ plane. A bomb, mechanical failure, a stolen missile fired by a terrorist—all were theories that had been offered. Nothing was proven. Nothing was ruled out. All that was certain was that 237 people had perished, leaving behind loved ones who had struggled to understand.

  Edna Williams stayed in her daughter and son-in-law’s apartment, using the airline’s settlement money to raise and educate her grandchildren. They attended parochial schools, eastern colleges, and eventually started careers; Helen becoming a high-profile news reporter, then anchor for the local station—WNN Television. What she hadn’t realized until her grandmother moved was that Edna had no real resources of her own. The settlement had been substantial, and there had bee
n insurance from her son-in-law’s law firm, but it was all designated for the children. She made certain they had everything they needed to become a success, only allowing herself the luxury of a television and a VCR to watch the videotapes her pastor recommended to his congregation.

  Helen had tried to help her financially as a way of saying thanks, not knowing if any other family members did the same. They all had very different lives and she knew her grandmother would have treated them all the same, no matter what they did or didn’t do.

  What she couldn’t know was that her grandmother rarely used the money Helen gave her for herself. Shiata, for example, was a prostitute Edna had watched nightly from the street corner near her building. Befriending the young woman, barely out of her teens, she bought her coffee, talked with her, and shared child-raising tips when she discovered the girl had a little boy to support. Occasionally she convinced Shiata to join her at church, never telling anyone what the woman did to survive, never doing anything more than sharing God’s love.

  Edna finally convinced the girl to leave her broken life, finding her a small attic apartment in the home of a church member and helping her get by while earning a high school equivalency degree and becoming a cosmetologist. Shiata had eventually earned enough to begin paying for courses at City College, working toward a degree as a social worker.

  Edna never talked about the girl or told anyone what she was doing. Occasionally, Helen would find Shiata’s little boy at her grandmother’s on those days when his mother rushed directly from the beauty shop to one of her classes. She talked briefly with Shiata when the two women happened to meet in the building. But as far as Helen knew, she was simply one of her grandmother’s friends from church and that was all she needed to know. The past was over, Edna Williams told Shiata. Jesus never condemned what you were. He just helped you to move on.