Calgleef expected such a reaction and took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “No sir, please hear me out.”
Calgleef told the CEO and owner of Thorn Bio-Tech of his planned deception with the vaccine.
“And in the end, the final analysis will show that any bacteria in the virus is benign. Therefore, the vaccine couldn’t have contributed to the flu and suspicion will fall right back to Dr. Moya.”
“Brilliant, Calgleef. Fucking brilliant. I could kiss you right now!”
Aren’t I a bit old for you? Calgleef wanted to say, but bit his tongue.
“So, you’re okay with that, sir?”
“Yes, yes of course. And Calgleef?”
“Yes, Mr. Thorncroft?”
“It’s good to have you back and enthusiastic. I don’t finding comfort from a bottle is all that helpful. Anyway, Cheerio.” Thorncroft hung up the phone.
Calgleef took a mouthful of coffee, looked at his phone and asked, “How in the hell did he know that?”
He brushed it aside. It no longer mattered, he had work to do. First, he had to find out if the vaccines taken from the hospital were still at the lab in Des Moines. With so many calling the shots, it would be impossible to tell if the order was followed to the letter.
Calgleef would wait a few minutes. Give Thorncroft the time to inform Mr. Jones of the developments, which would then grant the CDC unfettered access to the vaccine, he presumed. Jones might protest at first, but with the result being the removal of any accusations, he would concede—however reluctantly.
That’s if Jones was really on the same side.
But that was another issue Calgleef couldn’t afford to worry about.
Grace Delaney was right. If they were to have any chance of scuttling this scheme, they had to do it now while it was still in relative infancy. And the best way to do that was to take it all the way to the White House.
While waiting, Calgleef switched on the TV—he wanted to see for himself the news Thorncroft had mentioned. The news channel had the question “Was America’s hope the killer in disguise?” in large text across the screen as a reporter explained that certain “sources” informed him that live strains of the Baltic flu were present in the vaccines brought to the United States to prevent the virus from taking hold.
“Of course, you’re not going to mention who the sources are, are you?” Calgleef spoke to the reporter’s TV image.
Whoever they were, Calgleef knew, they were on the money. The information leak had begun. Like all safely guarded secrets, they all get out. Perhaps not all the information and not always right, but enough to create an unwanted interest. As always, it starts with a trickle, then becomes a flood. And always it was up to the public to determine whether it was true or not. The intelligence agencies no longer bothered to trying to keep a lid on the leaks. Why, when all you do is risk giving greater credence to the theory?
The better way to deal with it was to simply go along—albeit secretly. Add disinformation to the already-leaked information through supposed “former agents” willing to spill the beans and make the “disinfo” so totally unbelievable it will, by association, reduce all leaked documents no matter the veracity of them to the mountain of conspiracy theories on the Internet. Muddy the waters. Simple, cheap, and effective.
There were now more people and departments in the know with various tidbits of information regarding the situation in Des Moines. Each piece of the puzzle wasn’t enough to get a full picture, but more than enough to get an idea of the gravity or to even suppose one.
When the current reporter finished, the news anchor repeated the overnight headlines. Further details on the night of horror at Polk County Jail, the murderous rampages at health clinics and hospitals across Des Moines, and untold numbers of incidents at private residences that police could not—dared not—attend.
Calgleef literally understood the concerns of the pharmaceutical head.
Now I see why that bastard was so eager for me to disprove link between his product and the virus.
Calgleef kept his thoughts to himself, still conscious of Thorncroft’s knowledge of his drinking.
As he continued to watch the news, his sat phone rang. It was Mr. Jones.
“Mr. Jones, I was just—”
“You think you can do this?” Jones asked directly.
“I’m the director, I’m pretty sure I can.”
“Why not just fabricate a report?”
The question didn’t completely take the CDC Director by surprise—he did, however, think the operative had more going for him.
“Because the more convincing you make your case, the better you’re chance of selling it will be. I would have thought you of all people would have known that.” It probably was a mistake to taunt the NSA agent but Calgleef couldn’t hold back.
I’m gonna have your balls, Jones! The thought brought a smile to the CDC director’s face.
It was the right answer to give, and silenced the intelligence officer.
“I can have the vaccines picked up and on a special flight to your headquarters in Atlanta in a few hours. An NSA shuttle which I’ll also leave at your disposal.” Jones added, “I was told that you might need to get to Washington in a hurry?”
“Yes, you might say that.” Calgleef chuckled after answering his contact, keeping up the pretense.
It just got better, he realized after ending the call with Jones. Not only did he have all parties agreeing to test the real vaccine from Riverside Hospital, but to present the findings directly to Washington, and now an NSA shuttle at his beck and call. The travel problem had been solved.
He wanted to call Delaney and inform her, but the nagging thought of Thorncroft knowing about his drinking—alone in his office—haunted him.
“Well, if my phones are bugged, I guess I’m the one who’s being played right now.” He shrugged.
He would wait, maybe leave the office for lunch. And while out, he could make a call from a random payphone.
His next move was a call down to the lab and to his best researchers. He had to inform them of what to expect and take the necessary precautions. This virus had been elevated to a national Biohazard Level 4 class, and this would mean no direct contact. Biohazard suits with breathing apparatuses. Tests would be conducted in a sealed laboratory underground—for added safety. The vaccines would be transported in hermetically sealed containers and placed inside non-breakable traveling crates. The only danger during the flight would be a plane crash and explosion—not unheard of, but unlikely. Should the traveling crates break open, an explosive charge would ignite, which would (hopefully) destroy the bacteria in the resultant fire. Calgleef would have the test results routed directly to his computer.
“It was,” he said to his researcher, “sensitive, highly secure, and eyes-only material.”
He didn’t really lie at all and it was as good an explanation as any for why no one else would be permitted to see the results.
Time to inform Grace Delaney and her companions. The more this went on, the more respect he had for her and wished he had listened to her earlier on.
“Or even if I just talked it over with Ethel. It wouldn’t have got this far.”
He grabbed his dark-blue suit jacket and as he put it on, didn’t believe his last words. If a conspiracy this big had been planned, then it wouldn’t have come to a halt because the director of the CDC declined to be a part of it.
They would have gotten to his number two, or perhaps someone at FEMA—if they hadn’t already—a car accident to remove him and in steps his replacement with no such scruples.
Yes, he knew, declining to get involved wouldn’t have mattered.
Just resulted in an earlier death.
With the sun now well up in the mid-morning sky, National Guardsman and police on the barricades began to feel more at ease. The tension of the night and the reports of what had taken place at some clinics and the Polk County Jail had them very much on edge. Many of the National G
uard were young—late teens or early twenties. Their experience with life-threatening situations was nonexistent, and when you gave them fully automatic weapons, the nervousness shown by these young soldiers instantly transferred to others.
Some of the older personnel present didn’t know whether they were more scared of catching the flu or getting shot in the back.
Large transport choppers thundered overhead. All of them sequestered from the Army or the Marines for the food drops into the city.
“Do you think they’ll want food already, Sarge?” Corporal McEvoy asked as he watched four UH-60 Black Hawks pass overhead.
“They shouldn’t, but probably best to get supplies in now when they’re not in high demand rather than later when they are.”
“Sarge, Sarge look!” a soldier on watch duty at the barrier called.
“Oh, Jesus!” Sergeant De Franco cursed, then spat his wad of chewing tobacco on the asphalt road.
All the National Guardsmen in their Operational Camouflage Pattern uniforms complete with jackets and helmets stood as one to watch a great throng of desperate people approach the barriers. Like an antiwar protest from the sixties, but this crowd was strangely silent and all had their heads bowed—something that no one had picked up on. De Franco ripped his helmet off and stormed off in the direction of the nearby Humvee that acted as their command and communications for this barricade. He called division command, which meant FEMA—and that pissed off the veteran former Marine and now Iowa National Guard sergeant no end.
“Answering to fucking civilians!” he grunted before grabbing the receiver from a soldier.
“Do whatever it takes, Sergeant, but do not let anyone get through these barriers. No one, do you hear me?”
The sergeant understood. He had no clue as to the identity of the pencil pushing civilian he just spoke with was, nor did he care. He had his orders.
“Daniels, get on the blow horn and tell those people to turn back. The supplies will be dropped near the city center, not the barriers. Tell them!”
Private Daniels grabbed hold of the red and white loudspeaker—as opposed to the usual army green—and repeatedly told them to turn back, but they just kept coming.
“Man your posts!” De Franco shouted. He knew they weren’t stopping and that meant he and his men would have to...
“Lock and load, people, lock and load.” De Franco shouted, an edge now in his voice.
“Sarge, they’re not armed or any—”
“Are you refusing an order, soldier?” The Sergeant charged at the reluctant guardsman.
“No sir!”
“We have our orders and anyone who refuses to follow them will be held on insubordination charges. Do I make myself clear?”
Metallic clacking sounds were heard down the length of the red and white interlocking traffic barriers as soldiers of the Iowa National Guard put live rounds into their M4s. They were ready for battle—but had yet to find out who the enemy was.
“The side street on your right.” De Franco pointed to the street about fifty yards away. “If they reach that line, open fire. That’s an order!”
Some of the younger men looked at each other in shocked disbelief, while other equally young soldiers flexed their fingers over the pistol grip of their carbine.
Eager for action, eager to die.
There were at least a thousand in the crowd that approached the barrier, perhaps two. They could hear the orders and the weapons being readied, but it didn’t deter them. The soldiers had the one thing they wanted.
Blood.
A volley of shots rang out as the crowd of marchers reached the designated boundary-line. Many at the head of the crowd stumbled, turned, or fell when high-speed projectiles tore into them. The heads of others exploded into a splatter of red before falling to the ground in a twisting, swirling manner where they would thrash out their last remaining seconds.
This propelled the marchers into action.
A high pitched, unlike any ever heard, shriek went up from the middle of the protesters, echoing through the otherwise-deserted streets.
“God, what the fuck was that?” a soldier at the barrier asked no one in particular.
The marchers not hit by the salvo of carbine fire now raised their heads. The blood-filled eyes and pasty white skin was now on full display to the National Guard at the barrier.
“Shit, it’s true, it’s fuckin’ true. They do look like zombies from that TV show!” Corporal McEvoy stood and declared.
The infected charged.
Invigorated by the smell of healthy bodies full of warm blood, they sprinted like Olympian athletes toward their prey.
“Fuck this!” McEvoy turned and ran in the opposite direction, immediately encouraging others to do the same.
“Get back, get back to your posts!” Sergeant De Franco screamed. “Get back or I’ll shoot!”
The desertion of troops from their post and the sergeant’s demands had everyone at the barrier momentarily concerned with that outcome and not the hordes of infected descending on them.
“SARGE, SARGE SA-A-A—” A cry went up, but stopped as the protesters jumped over the barriers in a single leap and pounced on the guardsmen who were facing the other way.
“Holy mother of—” De Franco began firing his M4 wildly at the carnage before him. Some rounds hit marchers, others hit his own soldiers, and the rest missed completely.
When his magazine was empty, De Franco threw his carbine to the ground and turned to run, just like McEvoy and the others.
He was a good fifty yards behind the first deserters and with a standing start…
De Franco was set upon by a large group who began tearing at his uniform, biting large chunks of flesh from the exposed areas of his body and consuming the precious red liquid within. Most of the infected settled down to dine on the short platoon at the barrier. Others took after McEvoy and the few with him, who only made it another fifty or so yards before the horde took them down.
It wasn’t the only barrier breached throughout the city, but it was the only one where no one survived. Other barriers beat a hasty retreat, which presented the infected with a clear path to the suburbs and the homes of more warm-blooded people. Several barriers were manned with Humvees with heavy-caliber machine guns, capable of fighting off the advancing throng and bringing up reinforcements.
Most damaging of all—for Thorncroft and his plans to re-start the vaccination program—were eyewitnesses who immediately called the newsrooms of various TV stations. A gag order was in place now and that wasn’t the concern, but some other witnesses emailed alternative news sites on the Web, even sending graphic pictures taken from cell phones.
This information and the accompanying pictures were up and seen all over the world within thirty minutes.
Once more, the shit had hit the fan in Des Moines.
17
Seventeen
Calgleef was back in his office when he received a call informing him the vaccines had arrived safe and sound and had been taken to the underground laboratory. The nonstop Bombardier Learjet 70 took just on two hours to reach Georgia’s largest city.
“Good, thank you for the update. I’ll call the lab right now,” he said, then hung up the phone.
As planned, he’d ventured out of the office for lunch and made a phone call to Grace Delaney from a random payphone. He was quick: just enough time to tell her where they were at and that Thorncroft was onboard—even seemed pleased with his initiative. He hurried back to the office, however, convinced more than ever that Thorncroft or Jones or someone had him under surveillance.
He told his most trusted man at the lab to do an analysis on the vaccine for any live bacteria, larger than normal percentages of any of the elements, or any other anomalies.
“We have to get this done fast, as I’m sure you understand,” Calgleef said to his technician, “and send the results directly to me. No one else, not even you. Got it?”
As Director of the CDC, he didn’
t have to explain why the results should only be passed on to him—it wasn’t all that unusual of a request.
Now all Calgleef had to do was wait. He understood why Delaney demanded that he go to Washington in person. She was right, how was anyone to know who might be in on it? It was too big a risk that the information could be intercepted and his subterfuge uncovered.
His head still not the best, Calgleef thought he would take a nap on the couch while the tests were conducted.
In Lovington, barely two miles north of Des Moines, a large crowd began to gather outside of Family Unity Hospital. This was different from the crowds that had attacked barrier positions in other parts of town—these people weren’t infected.
But they were just as hostile.
People screamed and jeered as they neared the front doors of the visitor area. Most had just gleaned information from the Internet that the very vaccine supposedly to help stave off infection was in fact spreading the virus. What’s more, they were armed?
Lovington lay outside the quarantine perimeter—there would be no police or Guard coming for them.
The crowd of five thousand-plus stormed the hospital unimpeded, and after a few tense moments, shot several members of the small security force, then demanded to be taken to where the vaccines were—particularly the Baltic flu vaccine. The angry mob took to destroying the vials on the spot, not understanding that—if these vials contained the virus, the mob only assisted in the dissemination of the pestilence.
Other hospitals and clinics suffered the same fate, as citizens of Des Moines fought back in anger. Most weren’t aware or hadn’t connected the dots yet, but if they had had, their anger probably would have been better directed at the federal government.
The average people had been pissed on again from a great height by the those supposedly there to serve and protect them.
The phone rang on the side table near the couch and woke Calgleef with a start. He placed all his phones close by for this very reason, but the weight on his mind, his exhaustion, and his sore head sent him off to dream-world faster and deeper than he thought possible.
Pestilence Boxed Set [Books 1 & 2] Page 24
