The Exterminators

by Bill Fitzhugh

  This seemed to be the philosophy at all of the studios. There were already seventeen killer bug projects in active development around town.

  “So, Leon,” Vicki said. “Lauren has told me all about your script. And I can’t tell you how excited everyone is about the project; the buzz is incredible. I understand Brad is absolutely crazy about the noir angle.” She looked to Lauren. “What did you tell me he said?”

  Lauren launched into a fantastic fable. She quoted Brad praising the screenwriter’s refusal to compromise his vision, how the script had integrity and elegance and an economy of dialogue on par with Mamet. She wrapped up with a whopper about Brad proclaiming that the story had more depth of character and stunning realism than anything he’d ever read.

  Leon was so taken by the glorification of the script and his writing skills that he forgot that he’d written only about eighty pages, half of which was clichéd beyond repair, while the other half was a jumble of page-length speeches taking ham-handed exposition to a new level. But he saw no advantage in bringing this up, so he just gave a modest smile and said, “Who am I to argue with Brad Pitt?”

  Vicki laughed at that and seemed poised to ask a question about the sequel possibilities. And all the while she kept studying Leon’s face. She seemed completely taken by some idea she hadn’t yet expressed. There was a long silence before she said, “I’m sorry to change the subject, but do you have another meeting within the hour?”

  “Nothing we can’t change,” Lauren said. “Why?”

  “Would you indulge me? I would never forgive myself if I didn’t take Leon down for a little screen test.”

  Chapter Sixty-five

  The story got out despite the best efforts of municipal authorities. Concerned that news of two species of deadly insects swarming over Los Angeles might have a negative impact on the local economy, the heads of the Department of Tourism and the Chamber of Commerce brought to bear all the pressure they could on the media outlets, trying to get them to kill the story, or at least soften it, but as the head of the Tourism Council was overheard saying, “Keeping this out of the news was like trying to keep the panties on Paris Hilton.”

  The story broke like the Seventh Street Canal Levee, flooding the world like the Ninth Ward. The cell phone image of the assassin bug was seen by nearly two billion people in the first twenty-four hours. Newspaper circulation spiked and the only thing rising faster than television ratings of the news channels were the ad rates.

  There wasn’t much to go on, but what there was was fabulous if you were in the news business. Over three hundred dead, all of them connected one way or another with show business. And more were being killed every day as the bugs spread further into the crevices of the Hollywood Hills.

  The fact that there were more questions than answers only improved the story. There were few things in the news business juicier than pure speculation. How many bugs were there to begin with? How many are still out there? Where did they come from? Where are they now? What can be done to stop them? Were terrorists involved? Is there a conspiracy to cover up the truth, whatever it is? The Big Story: Target Hollywood. Stay tuned for exclusive coverage and shocking new developments.

  Down in Orange County, the conservative stronghold just south of Los Angeles, two members of the Board of Supervisors took the opportunity during a press conference to suggest that the plague of deadly insects was proof that God was fed up with Hollywood’s constant promotion of abortion and the homosexual lifestyle.

  Some of the media’s fair-and-balanced crowd opted to play the terrorism card, as it seemed to have the most traction with their audience, no matter what the underlying story. Others tailored their reports to the more spiritual of the demographic, seizing on the phrases “almost Biblical” and “like a plague of locusts.” The CGI departments were working on graphics packages to help frame the story. Ominous flames and symbolic imagery along with a doom-laden soundtrack and the words, “Apocalypse Now!”

  The well-organized faithful at Rapture Readiness had started a nationwide email campaign reaching out to all who believed, urging them to come from all corners of the nation, to meet in Los Angeles to celebrate the end.

  Though no one saw it coming, this ultimately would ease concerns about a slowing tourist trade. First came the swarm of worldwide media, descending upon Los Angeles in such fevered numbers as to make coverage of the O.J., Simpson, Michael Jackson, and Robert Blake trials seem like a slow day in traffic court. After that, Christians of every Protestant variety began arriving by the church busload. Everything from Pentecostals, Anabaptists, and Calvinists to Charismatics, Premillenialists, and Two-Seed-in-the-Spirit Predestinarian Baptists.

  As hotel occupancy rates raced past 90 percent, the tourism and commerce folks began to see the whole thing as more of a blessing than a curse. This silver lining to an otherwise gray cloud, prompting airlines, hotels, and rental car agencies to begin marketing and promotion campaigns appealing to the end-time demographic. Hallelujah and take a coupon! End-time rates and travel packages! All tastefully done of course.

  A survivor from one of the parties had smuggled the carcass of a spined ambush assassin past the cops and, after some torrid negotiations, had sold it to one of the cable news channels. Entomologists were universal in their pronouncement that it was a species never before seen. But that’s all they could say. They didn’t know about the transgenics or the venom.

  That was a bomb Traci Taylor would get to drop.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Bob and Klaus were summoned to Treadwell’s office with an early-morning call. As they left for the DARPA labs, Mary and Agent Parker, posing as a Mr. and Mrs. Smith, went to put a deposit on a four-bedroom in Tarzana. Katy went along as the petulant daughter; Father Paul passed as the aging and slightly demented uncle.

  The first thing Bob and Klaus noticed when they walked into Treadwell’s office were the three large American flags standing behind his desk, creating a furled backdrop of red-white-and-blue-stars-and-stripes-I’m-more-patriotic-than-you’ll-ever-be. Treadwell offered no explanation and they didn’t ask. He just steepled his fingers and said, “As I’m sure you know, there are rumors that some sort of exotic insects were responsible for many of the deaths after the award show.”

  Bob and Klaus exchanged a look of “Rumors?”

  “I’ve seen the photo,” Bob said. “It looks like more than rumors.”

  “Yes, that cell phone image, I’ve seen that.” Treadwell shook his head. “It’s troubling, very troubling. It looks an awful lot like Transgenic One, doesn’t it?”

  Klaus said, “I would say it is a Transgenic One.”

  “Yes, but…” His shoulders hunched in feigned confusion for a moment. “But how is that possible? Their containers are secure. We’ve had no break-ins. It just doesn’t make any sense.” He tapped the top of his desk a few times with his index finger, then held his hands out for an answer. “I mean, how would you explain it?”

  Bob and Klaus had assumed this would be Treadwell’s opening gambit, and they agreed it was best to play along with it, first acting surprised at the accusation, then pledging complete cooperation with whatever Treadwell had in mind. Bob went for vaguely incredulous when he said, “What are you suggesting?”

  “Well, they’re your bugs,” Treadwell said. “You’re the only ones with access and an understanding of how they work. But for the life of me I can’t imagine any motive.”

  Bob put a hand to his chest. “You think we had something to do with this?”

  Treadwell narrowed his eyes. “You understand I have to ask.”

  “Absolutely,” Klaus said. “It is just part of your job.”

  “Thank you. It’s nothing personal,” Treadwell assured them. He was just going through the required motions. “I’m sure you had nothing to do with it. Still, we’ll have to announce we�
�re conducting a thorough investigation.”

  “Of course,” Bob said. “We’ll take a polygraph if you’d like.”

  Treadwell acted as if the suggestion insulted him. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he said. “The investigation’s mainly CYA. I’m likely to get some heat from Congressional oversight people. Nothing unusual. I’ll assure them you’ve both taken and passed the test, that you’re cooperating fully, et cetera.”

  Bob leaned forward, all the sincerity and concern of a good team player. “We’ll do whatever you need us to. We’re behind you a hundred percent.”

  Nodding, with a big smile, Treadwell said, “I’m glad to hear you say that. Really, I know I can trust you. If those jackals in the press get wind of this, we’ll have to show a united front, deny everything, and stick to the talking points.”

  “Just give us the script,” Bob said.

  “Atta boy.”

  “You know, I was just thinking,” Bob continued. “However it happened, the bugs are out there. Perhaps we should do something to stop them before they spread too far.”

  The idea hadn’t crossed Treadwell’s mind before now. He gave it a moment’s thought before saying, “You think that’s possible?”

  “I have no idea,” Bob said. “But it seems like something we ought to consider.”

  Treadwell sat back, warming to the idea. “Come riding in like the calvary, to save the day?”

  “I think you mean cavalry,” Bob said. “But yeah.”

  “That’s good,” Treadwell said. “I like it.” He pointed at Bob while looking at Klaus. “That’s what I love about his guy. Always thinking: what if?” He tapped the side of his head. “I’ll write a press release that says we’re working on something to help stop these things. It’s a good PR move, shows we’re part of the solution, not the problem. Makes us that much harder to attack in case the press stumbles across something that leads them to our door. Meanwhile, if you’re approached by anyone asking questions about your work?”

  Bob pointed at him and said, “Deny everything.”

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  At six o’clock sharp, the urgent and orchestral Eyewitness Action News theme blasted from televisions across Southern California. The logo swirled onto the screens as the announcer intoned, “Here, with an Eyewitness Action News Special Report, is Traci Taylor.”

  The logo dissolved to a medium shot of Traci standing in the midst of a vast sea of flowers, candles, teddy bears, and handwritten notes—the shrine to the celebrities killed by the bugs. Traci walked slowly toward the camera with her no-nonsense gaze as she said, “It was a story-line straight out of a horror film, only this time it wasn’t made by Hollywood, it happened to Hollywood. Over three hundred killed by two new species of deadly insects. The question on everyone’s mind: Where did they come from? The answer is both complicated and terrifying.”

  Cut to Traci standing on a sidewalk on the southern edge of Van Nuys airport, facing away from the camera. In the background, she watched a Gulfstream 400 touch down on the runway before she turned to face the camera and said, “The story begins with a man by the name of Lloyd Thursby, a part-time actor and full-time driver for a company called Atypical Resources. According to his agent, Norm Robinson, Lloyd disappeared several weeks ago while making a delivery here, at the Van Nuys Airport. Lloyd’s car was found at his apartment. The delivery truck was returned to the company. He was not admitted to any area hospital. So what happened to Lloyd Thursby? The answer may shock you.”

  Cut to a location in the Hollywood Hills. Traci, standing at the end of a familiar driveway. She said, “A few days after Lloyd Thursby went missing, I was here reporting on the mysterious deaths of director Peter Innish and actress Ashley Novak. Police say the cause of their deaths is unknown and still under investigation. But according to high-level sources at the coroner’s office, while the cause is known, it remains hard to believe.”

  The camera pulled back to a medium shot of Traci holding a video cassette. “Like many celebrities before him, Peter Innish secretly filmed his bedroom activities. This video was taken the night he and Ashley Novak were killed. We must warn you, this is graphic footage. Children should not be allowed to watch.”

  Cut to the video of the lovers collapsing in bed after sex. Using a Telestrator, Traci highlighted the transgenic assassins as she narrated, “Here we see something crawling up the bedspread. This is the first known footage of the so-called assassin bugs. Watch as they surround Innish and Novak. Ashley is the first to feel something.”

  As the sound was somewhat muffled, their words were captioned on the screen:

  “Oooo, that tickles.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Ouch! That hurt!”

  “What the…Jesus!”

  “Ohmigod, get ’em off!”

  As the couple began to thrash in the bed, the image froze, then squeezed into the upper left corner of the screen, revealing Traci Taylor sitting behind the anchor desk on the Eyewitness Action News set. “After obtaining this video, I showed it to Professor Zac Harmon, an entomologist at the University of California, Riverside. He told me these things appeared to be a new or mutant species of predacious insect known as assassin bugs. But Professor Harmon was unable to explain what prompted them to attack humans, let alone how they were able to kill. While the first question remains unanswered, my source at the coroner’s office says they were able to kill because these insects apparently did the impossible. They delivered the venom of a spider that lives only on the eastern coast of Australia. The Sydney funnelweb.”

  The insert shot changed to an overhead close-up of what looked like a black tarantula.

  “So how is it that an insect can transmit spider venom? For that, we turn to the world of biotechnology and transgenics.”

  Aided by some graphics, Traci gave an overview of the science and how it allows the transfer of traits from jellyfish to mice and from moths to apple trees. They cut back to Traci at the anchor desk with Professor Harmon’s photo over her shoulder.

  “When I asked about this, Professor Harmon acknowledged it was theoretically possible to transfer traits from arachnids to insects. In fact he told me about a project on which he had consulted involving both assassin bugs and the Sydney funnelweb spider. The project, he said, was run by the Defense Advanced Research Project Agency, a branch of the Department of Defense that maintains facilities—among other places—in a hangar at the Van Nuys Airport where Lloyd Thursby was last seen.”

  Even without watching, you could tell Traci’s eyebrows had arched.

  Cut to a medium shot of the entrance to the University of California, Riverside. “After the attacks at the Academy Awards parties, I went back to see Professor Harmon.”

  Cut to footage of the sheet-draped gurney being wheeled out of Boyce Hall as Traci’s voice-over continues, “Only to find him the most recent victim of a suspicious death, the result, we’re told, of alleged carelessness with the venomous spiders he has worked with for a decade without a single mishap. Ironic coincidence? Our investigation has uncovered shocking connections between all of these events, connections that suggest this was more than mere happenstance.”

  Cut to Traci walking through the parking area of a nondescript office park. She stopped in front of a building with the words Atypical Resources on the door.

  “The connections begin with Atypical Resources, the company Lloyd Thursby worked for before his mysterious disappearance. A company spokesperson would say only that they were in the business of satisfying unusual requirements for military research and testing operations. But is that all they do? A search of public records shows that Atypical Resources is also a holding company for two other businesses in completely unrelated fields.”

  Cut to insert shots of legal documents with the pertinent language highlighted. “Among the companies Atypical Res
ources has acquired in recent years is Distinguished Selections, a niche marketing firm specializing in branding opportunities in the entertainment industry and best known for assembling the so-called swag bags for events like the Academy Awards. Another recent acquisition is Hollywood EvenTents, the company that provided the tents for the A-list after-parties where the bugs attacked. In our search of public records we uncovered several other intriguing, and troubling, facts. First: the CEO of all three of these companies is a man named Charles Browning. Second: a surprising address where copies of all corporate correspondence were mailed. The third fact, we’ll get to in a moment.”

  Cut to a split screen showing (1) the bland front of Atypical Resources, (2) The Rodeo Drive entrance of Distinguished Selections, and (3) the light industrial exterior of Hollywood EvenTents. “First we spoke to the people who run the day-to-day operations at these companies. None of them had heard of Mr. Browning. So we pursued our next lead, an address in the sprawling suburbs north of Los Angeles where copies of all corporate filings were sent.”

  Cut to a long shot of what looks like a small college campus. “This is the United Family of Calvary Church, one of the new breed of so-called megachurches. It is also where Charles Browning works as full-time legal council. When we contacted his office regarding an interview for this story, we were told Mr. Browning would have no comment.”

  Cut to the home page of the United Family of Calvary Church website.

  “So, what sort of congregation is the United Family of Calvary Church? While their website reveals plenty about the amenities offered to church members—a fitness center, a Christian values shopping mall with food court—it reveals very little about the tenets of their faith. So I spoke to Dr. Karen Watson, a professor of comparative theology at USC.”