Kharon

by Wayne Marinovich

  'Who is that blonde woman with the professor, Gibbs?' Smithy asked.

  'What woman?' he said.

  Time stopped, as did Gibbs’s breathing. Smith grabbed his shoulder, trying to speak.

  'Christina,' he whispered and burst into a run.

  Christina turned, and he saw her beautiful face, tear-stained and gaunt. She met his gaze, and a huge smile crept across her face, and then she cried out in relief. 'Gibbs!'

  Their bodies met in the middle of the road with a thud. In a tight embrace, they savoured the moment as they swayed from side to side. Christina sobbed as he kissed her neck and he felt her warm tears on his cheek. The world lifted from Gibbs’s shoulders.

  As they held on to each other, he said. ‘I’ve got you now.’

  She nodded and tightened her embrace. Gibbs felt the embrace of others around them as the small family reunion took place. Warmth flowed through him.

  Shredder coughed and cleared his throat, walking towards them.

  'Sorry to hurry you people along but there is the small matter of a bomb that will go off in about four minutes. We are still well within the blast radius.'

  Gibbs blinked the tears of joy from his eyes.

  'Come on, everyone. Let's get clear of this hell hole,' Gibbs said as they broke away from one another. He kept his arm around Christina, who looked up at him, smiling and crying at the same time.

  ‘I am sorry that I let Butler get away with our son,’ Gibbs said, swallowing hard. ‘I should have got here quicker.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know that you did everything that you could to find both of us. We are together now.’

  'Let’s go and get Stuart,' he said.

  • • •

  The back of the truck swayed as they made their way along the old I494 back towards the Minneapolis Airport. The smell of grease and old canvas swirled around them as they sat looking at one another.

  'Are you sure that Francis took him?' Christina asked her mom, who sat next to her on the wooden bench, her arm around her daughter. Two benches ran along either side of the truck which was usually used to transport troops.

  Pehr looked at Gibbs and then back at her. 'Yes, he seems intent on holding him for ransom.'

  'There is more to it than that. I had an argument with Butler back at his ranch where he told me he intends to raise Stuart as his own, once he has got rid of us,' Christina said and wiped her eyes on her sleeves.

  Gibbs sat brooding on the opposite bench in the back of the truck, rubbing his large hands together. Anger rose within him again. 'We will get him back, Christina. We just need a break to get one step ahead of Butler. I can promise you this will not end on his terms.'

  Christina walked to the back of the truck and sat next to Gibbs. 'I know we will get him back.'

  Gibbs took her hands. 'Butler seems to be just one step ahead of us all the bloody time. I am convinced that someone high up in the NAG or NEG knows about all of our movements and is tipping him off to our exact whereabouts.'

  'Or, we are being led around like pawns in some elaborate game,' she said, looking at her husband.

  'Why do you say that?'

  'I had a long chat with Alex Brun when he was still alive, and he said that Butler has been hell-bent on getting revenge on us for years. He just wanted to get us all to the US.'

  'I know that he is one sick puppy but to go to all this trouble, just to play a game of revenge with us seems a bit much,' Gibbs said.

  'Revenge is just a part of it,' Pehr said. 'It is also blind greed. He is set to make a lot of money once Kharon starts spreading around Europe.'

  'It's already spreading rapidly,' Gibbs said. 'That is one of the reasons why I am here. The NEG want me to apprehend him and make sure that he gets caught, and we can ascertain the magnitude of it all. Andrei is also on his way over to ensure that we can take him back alive to stand trial. I told him that I couldn’t guarantee he would make it back in one piece.'

  'I know what I would prefer,' Christina said.

  Chapter 32

  I95, New York, NY, USA- 2033

  'Lord Butler,' the soft voice said.

  The cold and the stiffness of a few hours of sitting up front in the truck with Woolf had set in, and he rubbed the scars on his stump to try to alleviate the dull ache. A fresh breeze from an open window chilled his body, and he pulled his long black overcoat closed.

  'What is it, Woolf?'

  'Your satphone has rung a few times so I thought that it might be important.'

  'Is that NAG truck still following us? We must be nearing the apartments.'

  'Yes it is, sir,' Woolf said, and moved the truck across to the other lane to avoid a pile of burnt cars that had been piled up in the street. Slowing down, he steered the truck onto the pavement to miss a pile of tyres and barrels. Two young boys had a tyre and were rolling it back up the road. With a slight raise of their heads, the vacant stares back at Woolf made him think of him and his brother.

  'We are starting to hit the edges of the Floodzone, so I have called ahead to the apartments. They are preparing for your arrival. Roger has already arrived and has made contact with warlord Porterbrook, who should be there when we arrive.'

  Lord Butler sat up in the uncomfortable seat, shifting his concealed weapons aside. 'Thanks, Woolf. What would I do without you?'

  He grabbed the satphone and dialled a number from memory. 'Hello, Bob, how are things there?’

  'Hello, Gibbs. Still following Butler's truck as ordered,' Bob replied.

  Lord Butler was silent for a while.

  'What? How did this happen, Bob?' Lord Butler said. ‘Lady Luck is shining on us today. Keep pretending I am Gibbs. We are entering the Floodzone and will be stopping shortly. I assume that you are with Gibbs's men in the truck, so I need you to get away from them. How many are there?'

  'Yes, sir. Five minutes.'

  'Five men?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'So it shouldn't be too difficult to get rid of them. I'll leave it up to you how you do that. Just make sure that you are not followed to the apartment.'

  'Yes, boss,' Bob replied.

  'And Bob? Don't disappoint me,' he said and hung up.

  'Woolf, remind me that we need to show Mr Dweck the depths of our appreciation for everything that he has done when he arrives.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Are you taking the W 100th Street way in? Don't forget that we struggled on the gradient with the slime and silt last time,' Lord Butler said.

  'This truck will make it, sir. It is better designed than the old van we used last time.’

  Fifteen minutes later the heavy truck turned into 100th Street and slowly made its way up the gentle incline. Flood silt, algae, and briny slime, lined the street and pavement, causing the wheels to spin. The foul-smelling slime extended up the walls to a height of three metres. Woolf threw the steering wheel to the left and right as he tried to get traction.

  It was low tide in the Floodzone, and a few scavengers were plying their trade, dragging cloth-covered sleds full of junk along the slippery streets of Manhattan.

  'Look at these pathetic creatures,' Lord Butler said, and slipped his Beretta out of his belt. 'Cockroaches, all of them, merely existing in this filth. Little do they know that they will soon be dead or shipped out to labour on our farms.'

  'They will not be missed, sir,' Woolf said, and slowed the truck down as a man whose clothes were caked in dry mud and slime, dragged an old trolley across the road, staring back at them.

  Two large bricks smashed onto the pavement on Lord Butler's side of the truck, and he shrieked, falling away from the open truck window and cowering down on the seat next to him.

  'Bastards!' he screamed and picked up his Beretta from his lap. Leaning out of the window he fired two shots up at the faceless building. His temper flared as he scanned the red brick building.

  'How dare they disrespect me,’ he said. ‘Stop the truck, Woolf.'

  'They could have snipers up there,
sir.'

  'Stop the bloody truck!'

  His henchman stopped the vehicle and ripped his own Beretta out the shoulder holster. Both men opened their truck doors and slowly stepped out onto the rubber running boards, covering the surrounding buildings with their weapons.

  Lord Butler flicked glances from window to window of the faceless apartment block. Further along the road was a skyway, hewn from metal and wood debris, which had been erected to span the normally flooded road. There was nobody on it. He looked back at the building on their right and began scanning the windows again.

  'Come on out,' he whispered to himself. 'Let the curiosity get the better of you, you worthless shit.'

  A few of the glass windows had been completely shattered and were boarded up with flattened cardboard boxes and planks of wood. Two open windows grabbed his attention.

  'They are gone, Lord Butler,' Woolf whispered, over the roof of the cab.

  Lord Butler held a finger up in silence.

  A soiled white sheet flapped in one of the open windows. He saw a hand grab the fabric and pull it back inside. Raising the Beretta, he fired six rounds at the hand, which retracted rapidly. Wooden material splintered off the window frame, covering the occupants inside. Loud laughter came from the street behind them, and Lord Butler swung the pistol around to see three young scavengers disappear down a small brick alley.

  'Reverse quickly, Woolf. Let's get the little sewer rats,' he shouted and fired a round into the alley. The sound of the blast echoed through the silent streets.

  'Lord Butler, they will be gone by now, and we will spend hours scouring the buildings for them. We need to get to the apartment. Remember the plan?' Woolf said.

  The darkness raged through his veins as he looked across at the blond man, barely hearing or recognising him. The darkness wanted blood.

  'Francis, we need to get going!' Woolf shouted.

  Lord Butler blinked and lowered the pistol, which was somehow pointed at Woolf across the cab roof. The darkness disappeared, flushed by his love for the blond man.

  'Thank you, Woolf. You are of course correct. The plan is far more important.'

  • • •

  An acrid smell flooded Lord Butler’s nostrils as he walked up the second flight of stairs. The sound of Stuart Gibbs chattering away with Woolf behind them echoed up the internal concrete fire escape.

  'Woolf, someone has been pissing in the stairwell again. Please make the rounds of the apartment tenants and instil in them the need to behave like civilised humans. They are all men and women of means so should be able to hire some decent staff.'

  'Yes, sir. I'll chat with them. I've heard that a few families have moved out, and their apartments are standing empty. That probably means that scavengers have been looking around.’

  'I don't care, Woolf,' Lord Butler said as he got to a green painted door on the fifth-floor landing. ‘I not only own this bloody building, but it is my home from now on. Make sure they understand that I will throw them out on their spoilt lilywhite backsides unless they get their staff under control.’

  Lord Butler walked into a small atrium that had two white doors leading from the left and right walls. Above them was a glass skylight showing off the blue afternoon sky. Walking towards the right-hand door, he opened it and stepped into a white tiled hallway. He sighed and took a deep breath as familiarity and security crept through him. Walking along a short corridor, out of the black and white floor-tiled entrance hall, he followed the sound of voices and turned right into the first doorway then stepped into the large lounge. The rectangular room had two beige couches facing each other in the centre of the room, with the furthest wall being floor-to-ceiling glass. Set in the middle of the wall of glass was a door that went out onto a long balcony. Corporal Roger Brookestock, who was seated facing the door, jumped to his feet and straightened his khaki uniform.

  'Good morning, Lord Butler,' he said. 'Warlord Porterbrook was just telling me stories of how you two met at Oxford.'

  'Ha! I am sure that he has been exaggerating as he is prone to do while tucking into my best bloody Scotch.'

  A short, portly man with thick grey hair, turned around in his seat on the nearest couch and let out a raucous low-pitched laugh.

  'That’s right, Roger, my boy. I could tell you many more stories from way back when he still fancied himself a prime chaser of academic skirt.'

  'Oh do shut up, you rambunctious womanising drunk,' Lord Butler said, and walked around between the two couches.

  'Give me a hand up, you promiscuous old queen,' he said, extending his hand as he tried to swing forward to get up out of the low seat.

  'Jesus, William. That stomach of yours gets larger every time I see you. Are the multitudes of young women you keep not giving you enough exercise?'

  'Bless them, they do try, Francis, but alas, the local girls are not as open-minded as the British lasses. A little too prudish for my tastes.'

  'Well, I have a new shipment of stock arriving in a few days, so I will have Woolf bring you a few to sample,' he said and looked at Woolf who was standing at the door. 'Take Roger and Stuart to the kitchen so they can get acquainted. I need to talk business with the infamous Warlord of New York.'

  Woolf bowed and closed the door as they left.'

  'So, all banter aside then,' William said. ‘How are you keeping, Francis?’

  'I have a stump for an arm, have lost half of my teeth and half my bodyweight. My lust for the good things in life has diminished, and my love of life is non-existent.'

  'Oh, come on. I have seen the many young men who follow you around adoringly.'

  'That’s a load of bollocks, my old friend. Once they followed me because they loved me, now they follow me because they fear me.'

  William shifted his balance from one foot to the other, tucking his shirt in beneath his massive beer belly.

  'And as you build your empire, how is that a bad thing?'

  'It gets a little lonely at times. Always being in my own head. The demons seem to be worse of late.'

  'I don't believe what I am hearing.'

  'What? I am allowed to have feelings and emotions sometimes, you know.'

  'Yes, but don't go around being all moody about it. So you had a terrible childhood and were abused by your father. Who wasn't abused by someone back then? That tough upbringing has made you what you are today. One of the planet's most powerful men.'

  William took a swig of his whiskey.

  'Are you quite done kissing my arse?' Lord Butler asked, a broad smile on his face.

  'Nearly. Please stop all the whining about being lonely too. There is only so much heartache a man can take between whiskies. So, pour me another, will you?'

  Lord Butler laughed a hearty laugh and walked over to the drinks cabinet. He poured a stiff measure for his last remaining friend.

  'Anyway, moving on,' Lord Butler said. 'I have done it, William. I have the virus and the vaccine.'

  'Congratulations, my friend. So it's time to get rich again?'

  'It is indeed. But before we go into the last major phase of the Kharon Project, I have one last battle to fight.’

  William Porterbrook swallowed hard.

  'And I need to call in that favour you promised me, old friend,' Lord Butler said and rubbed his stump. 'That favour from all those years ago.'

  • • •

  A cold draft blew through the vast, empty Minneapolis airport. Glass was a valuable commodity in the new dystopian world, and most of the lower level windows had been removed by scavengers. Gibbs stood up from one of the small plastic chairs that were scattered about on the blue carpet and stretched out like a lazy cat. Sleeping men were scattered around on the worn carpet in the middle of the floor. Walking to the front of the departure hall, he reached for the satphone in his pocket which was vibrating.

  'Where the hell have you guys been?' Gibbs said. 'I have been trying to contact you and Bob for the past few hours.' He walked towards the large front panels of reinfor
ced Perspex that overlooked the terminal apron. 'What do you mean, you’ve been abandoned?'

  'Where is Stuart? 'Christina asked, walking over to him.

  Shredder followed her. 'What's happening, boss?'

  Gibbs held his hand up to silence everyone. He continued listening for a few minutes.

  'I will have a look at the map, and we can pick you up on our way through. Hang in there, boys, and I will let you know when we leave.'

  Gibbs hung up and rested his forearms on the empty window frame, staring out across the vast concrete expanse of the runway. The distant tarmac of the disused runway shimmered like a scene from an old Western movie. Empty plane hangars, workshops, and a fire station stood decaying on the other side of the runway, hinting to a busier time. The vacant surrounding areas made his failure even more distressing. He turned to see most of his men, Christina, and her parents all standing in front of him.

  'Well, what is it, Gibbs?' Christina asked. 'Don’t bloody keep us in suspense here.'

  'It was Bob Dweck who’s has been tipping off Butler. The bastard has also been drip-feeding Butler's plans back to us, thereby making sure that we danced to the little man's tunes.’

  'Fuck!' Smithy yelled, kicking out at a nearby chair.

  'What about Stuart?' Christina asked.

  Gibbs placed his hand on her shoulder. 'I had told Bob to pull back a little so that they didn't spook Butler into doing anything stupid. Bob must have got other instructions from Butler and pulled a gun on the driver, forcing him off the road. He left the five men somewhere on the I80 where it joins the I95 on the way into Upper Manhattan.'

  'Is everyone all right?' Shredder asked.

  'Yes. It seems like he was going to kill them, but had a jolt of conscience and left them there in the end.'

  Pehr stepped forward. 'What are we going to do now?'

  'Everybody pack up your things. We will head out to pick up these men. In the meantime, I'll contact Andrei to get more stores and ammunition delivered to Newark for us. We need to find another contact to try to find where the bastards have taken Stuart.’