Webster City

by Peter Menadue

CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sector A sat on the shore of Lake Michigan. A ten-foot-high wall that looped around for eight miles cut it off from the rest of the City. Apart from providing residents with security, the wall stopped non-residents looking enviously at its luxury mansions, well-funded schools, high-end shopping malls and the exclusive Cherrybrook Country Club.

  Entrants had to pass through one of three heavily guarded checkpoints. Davidson had no trouble driving through one of them. A soldier on duty recognized Prentice in the front passenger seat and waved the car past. Prentice waved back.

  Davidson said: "Which way?"

  "Keep going straight until I tell you to turn right." Prentice glanced over his shoulder at Helen Watkins. "Have you been in here before?"

  She looked around, goggle-eyed. "No, it's amazing. I heard it was nice, but not this nice."

  "The rulers of our fair city don't make a big song and dance about how well they live, because that kinda upsets the little people. They're very considerate in that way. You know, we've already passed the home of the Chancellor's favorite mistress."

  "You're kidding? His favorite mistress?"

  "Yep. There are three more scattered about. He likes to keep them well separated."

  "Kids?"

  "About a dozen in total."

  "He's supposed to be a man of the cloth?"

  "He's also a man with basic urges."

  "Wow. There's something I don't understand, though."

  "What?"

  "Why did you turn traitor and risk losing all this?"

  Prentice giggled. "I sometimes wonder that myself. But, for some reason, I've always hated these people - hated them. I guess I've always been an outsider of sorts. Now, tell me, Professor Fisher lives alone, right?"

  "Yes, I think so. His wife died a few years ago. They had no kids."

  "That's what I thought."

  "But it won't be easy to get into his house. He'll have a lot of security."

  "I'm hoping you'll get us inside."

  "Me? How?"

  Prentice explained his plan.

  She nodded. "OK, I think that will work."

  "Good."

  Prentice gave Davidson directions for another ten minutes and then told him to pull over to the side of the road. Davidson stopped in front of a large Spanish-mission mansion with an eight-foot wall running around it. Fortunately, the front gate was ajar.

  Davidson said: "Will he have guards?"

  Prentice said: "I doubt it. But there's only one way to find out."

  They all strolled up the pathway, pistols drawn, and Watkins pressed the door buzzer.

  Thirty seconds later, a voice behind the door said: "Who's out there?"

  Watkins said: "Professor Fisher, this is Helen Watkins, the Deputy Chief Security Officer at the CDC. Doctor Carpenter asked me to deliver an envelope with a message. He said it was urgent."

  "What's the message about?"

  "I don't know. I haven't read it."

  Davidson was preparing to shoot the lock off the door when it swung open. Professor Fisher faced them, gray hair unkempt and wearing a dressing-gown over pajamas. He looked bored until Prentice and Davidson, still wearing their ISB uniforms, stepped in front of him and poked pistols in his face.

  "Don't move," Davidson growled.

  The Professor recoiled as if the pistols stank. "Christ. What is this about?"

  "You live alone, right?"

  "W-w-what are ...?"

  "Shut up. You live alone?"

  "Y-y-yes, of course."

  "Good. Take us to your study."

  "Look ..."

  Davidson had a visceral dislike of Professor Fisher and enjoyed stepping forward, grabbing his ear and grinding the barrel of the pistol into his left eye socket. "Listen, when I tell you to do something, you do it. Otherwise, I'll shoot off body parts until you do."

  Fisher shook like he was naked in a blizzard. "Alright, alright, the study's upstairs."

  Davidson stepped back and trained his pistol at Fisher's gut. "Good, take us there."

  The Professor slowly climbed the stairs, rubbing his eye socket, the intruders behind. They reached a wide landing with four doors. He pushed open the closest one and led them into a large study with a balcony that overlooked a wide lawn with in-ground lighting around the sides. Bookshelves lined two inner walls. The third had a ten-point buck mounted above a side door. The City claimed that it left a small imprint on the environment. But the elite often flew up to Canada on hunting expeditions.

  Davidson slid over to the side door, opened it slightly, peeked through the gap and saw an empty bedroom. He closed the door and looked at Prentice. "Just a bedroom."

  Fisher looked at Prentice with bright eyes while his hands fluttered about like startled birds. "You're the Head of the ISB. Why are you here? What do you want?"

  "We're here to talk about Agent Pandora."

  Fisher shuddered and spoke with a burr. "About what?"

  A menacing smile. "Don't lie. You know what I'm talking about."

  "No, I don't."

  Prentice pointed at a swivel chair. "Sit down."

  "I don't ..."

  Prentice wangled his pistol. "Remember what Major Davidson said about body parts?"

  "OK, OK." Fisher stumbled over to the chair and slumped down, shiny eyes jumping between the three pistols pointing at him.

  Prentice strolled behind Fisher, bent over and spoke into his ear. "In the same way that you are a leading expert in the study of disease, the Major and I are leading experts in the infliction of pain. In that sense, we are all pre-eminent in our fields. So, if you don't tell us what we want to know, you will visit regions of pain you did not know existed. First I will shoot off your fingers, then your toes, then each testicle. Death will seem like a dear old friend. So tell us about Agent Pandora."

  Fisher's eyes swiveled from side to side and he rubbed his nose. "I - I - I don't know what you're talking about."

  Prentice strolled around in front of Fisher. "Yes you do. The Chancellor has three canisters of a super-virus called Agent Pandora. They're the canisters Alexander Webster didn't use when he started the Great Plague. The Chancellor plans to open them after Immunization Week to kill all the Outlaws."

  "You're crazy? I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Bullshit. The Chancellor doesn't have the expertise to open the canisters himself, so he's given you that task, hasn't he? Your job is to murder a million people."

  "That's rubbish."

  "Why won't you talk? Are you afraid of the Chancellor? Don't be. By lunch-time tomorrow, he'll be dead."

  "What do you mean?"

  "In about five hours, the Freedom Alliance will launch a major offensive against this City."

  "H-how do you know that?"

  "It's my job to know. So don't worry about how the Chancellor will react. He won't be alive much longer. Help us and you'll live; refuse and you'll die an agonizing death. Very simple."

  "I still don't know what you're talking about."

  Prentice frowned. "You heard Major Davidson: if you don't tell us what we want to know, he will blow off your body parts, one by one. I dislike the sight of blood. But, since you are a particularly revolting specimen of humanity, I'm prepared to make that sacrifice."

  The Professor's jaw quivered and saliva flecked his chin. A childish whine: "I don't know what you're talking about."

  A shrug. "Then we'd better move along to the next stage of proceedings. Major Davidson, will you do the honors?"

  Davidson moved towards Fisher wearing a dark smile. "Just to be nice, you can decide which finger I shoot off first. You must have one you don't like much - we all do. Which one?"

  Fisher realized Davidson was totally serious and felt he had to justify himself. "I can't tell you where the canisters are located - I can't."

  "You mean you know where they are?"

  "Yes, but I can't tell you where."

  "Why not?"

  "The Outlaws m
ust be destroyed. They are scum, vermin who threaten the City. This City is the ark of humanity. It must be saved at all costs."

  Davidson groaned inside. He'd hoped Fisher was a vicious opportunist. Instead, the guy was a fanatic. Now Davidson had to test the depths of that fanaticism.

  He grabbed Fisher's wrist, dragged him over to the desk and forced his hand down on the leather surface, palm up. While Fisher looked on, horrified, he pushed the barrel of his pistol into the palm of Fisher's hand. "Well, Professor, we've reached the business end of the evening. Ready to talk?"

  Fisher's whole body shook and he shrieked: "No, no, I can't. We must protect the ark of humanity."

  Davidson was about to pull the trigger when a loud voice behind him yelled. "Nobody move."

  Davidson let go of Fisher's hand and spun around. Two men in combat fatigues had entered the room through the second door. They stood under the moose head, aiming their pistols at Davidson. One was Captain Archibald from the Palace Guard. What the hell was he doing here?

  Prentice ignored the instruction, lifted his pistol and fired two shots, which missed. Both intruders swiveled and returned fire. That gave Davidson time to lift his pistol and shoot Archibald in the chest. Archibald went down. His companion rotated back to shoot at Davidson. However, Davidson drilled him in the throat and chest. He flopped over backward and landed on Archibald.

  Davidson heard a noise behind him and turned to see Professor Fisher pull a pistol out of a desk drawer. As Fisher aimed it at Davidson, Watkins shot him twice. Fisher fell backward, putting two bullets in the ceiling.

  Ears ringing and heart thumping, Davidson glanced at Watkins, half-crouched with her pistol still outstretched, eyes huge. "Thanks."

  The two intruders were not even twitching, obviously dead or close to it. Davidson dashed around the desk to Fisher, lying on his back, praying the guy was alive. Blood was pumping out of a large bullet wound in his chest, which rattled and wheezed each time he breathed. His time was very short.

  "Where are the Agent Pandora canisters?" Davidson said desperately.

  Fisher looked up with glazed eyes. A bubble of blood appeared on his lips and he croaked: "The ark of humanity."

  Davidson felt impotent rage. "Where are the canisters?"

  "Preserve the ark of ..."

  "Jesus, where are they?"

  Fisher's eyeballs froze and he stopped breathing.

  "Shit, shit." Davidson staggered to his feet, thinking about the million who would die because they couldn't locate the canisters of Agent Pandora.

  Watkins stooped over the Professor. "He's dead?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry I shot him."

  "Forget it. You had no choice. What happened to the Colonel?"

  "I didn't see."

  A loud groan made them spin around. Prentice lay on his back, holding his left shoulder, blood oozing between his fingers.

  Davidson took a few quick strides and knelt beside him. "How bad?"

  Prentice screwed up his face. "Hurts like hell. I think it went right through, but took some bone and maybe nicked the lung. I couldn't see any point talking to them. Best to kick off the party straight away."

  "You did the right thing."

  "Too bad I'm such a lousy shot."

  Davidson looked up at Watkins. "You know first aid?"

  "Some. I'll find something to use as a bandage."

  "Good."

  She dashed out of the study.

  Prentice groaned again. "Shit. What the hell were they doing here?"

  "One's Captain Archibald from the Palace Guard. We saw him at the Palace. He must have been assigned to guard Fisher until Agent Pandora was released."

  "What happened to Fisher - he dead?"

  "Yes. He grabbed a pistol and Helen shot him."

  "Damn. That's a lousy development."

  Watkins returned, carrying a pillow, a bed sheet and a couple of small towels. She put the pillow under the Colonel's head and tore the bed sheet into several long strips. After pressing the towels against the entry and exit wounds, she strapped them tightly in place. Prentice groaned softly the whole time and the towels were soon soaked with blood. He was obviously badly hit. His life was leaking away.

  While she worked, Davidson checked to make sure that Archibald and his confederate were dead. Archibald was definitely gone. But his companion - a tall blond still holding a Smith & Wesson .357 - groaned slightly. Not wanting to take any risks, Davidson put his pistol against the guy's temple and pulled the trigger. A fine red mist spattered the sleeve of his uniform.

  Watkins looked over at him, alarmed. "You alright?"

  "Yes. Just cleaning up."

  He pulled out the guy's Palace Guard ID. His name was Sergeant Derek Olsen. The fact that the Chancellor assigned a captain and sergeant of the Palace Guard to protect Fisher showed the Chancellor intended to use Fisher to release the Agent Pandora. But the Chancellor could still order someone else to do the job. In fact, he must have a contingency plan. That meant the Chancellor had to die - very soon - before he could trigger it.

  Davidson got to his feet and went back to Prentice and Watkins. The room was quite cool. Prentice shivered slightly. A heavy fleece-lined bomber jacket lay on an armchair. It looked out of place, because the weather wasn't cold enough yet to justify such a heavy garment. Davidson picked it up and used it to cover Prentice.

  "Thank you. I knew I'd have to pay for my sins at some point. This is quite a bill."

  "What do we do now?"

  "You'd better search this room. See if you can find a clue to where the Agent Pandora is hidden."

  "What if we can't find one?"

  "We move to Plan B."

  "What's that?"

  A rictus smile. "We visit the Chancellor, and get him to open his safe and show us the secret dossier."

  "And if the dossier doesn't give the location?"

  "We assassinate the Chancellor before he can order the release of the Agent Pandora. In fact, whatever happens, we kill the bastard. He must die."

  Davidson smiled. "I thought that was our next step."

  Prentice laughed and winced. "Great minds think alike."

  "Alright. What will you do while we look around?"

  Another tight smile. "I'll lie here quietly and preserve my energy. I want to be there when we shoot the son-of-a-bitch. In fact, I want to pull the trigger. Get moving."

  Davidson doubted the Colonel would leave the room alive; he stood up and looked at Watkins. "Alright, let's see what we can find."

  They spent two hours rummaging through drawers, rifling filing cabinets and even opening books in case a slip of paper was hidden inside one. However, they found no clue to where the canisters of Agent Pandora were located.

  Watkins dropped the last book to the floor and looked at Davidson with a despairing look. "Nothing. We won't find anything here."

  "Agree."

  Davidson strolled over to Prentice, still on his back with his eyes close. Maybe he was dead. Davidson felt a surge of panic. "Colonel?"

  Prentice opened his eyes and winced. "Yes. Any luck?"

  Davidson breathed easier. "No. Looks like it's time for Plan B."

  "I'm not surprised. In fact, I'm glad."

  "Why?"

  "I want the honor of shooting the bastard stone dead."

  "You can't come with us. We've got to break into the Palace, find the Chancellor, take him to his office and get him to open his safe. The whole thing is suicidal. It'll be even harder with you along. You'll just get in the way. We'll drop you off at a hospital on the way to the Palace. You can say someone tried to assassinate you. You'll think of something."

  "No, I'm going with you. I'll be alright. In fact, I'm the only person who can get you into the Palace and face-to-face with the Chancellor without a lot of trouble. You need me, I'm afraid."

  "Really? How are you going to do that?"

  A half-smile. "You'll see. Help me out to the car."

  Prentice winced
and groaned as Davidson helped him to his feet and supported his elbow as he walked to the door.

  "You OK?"

  "No. But I'll make it."

  Prentice leaned on Davidson as he slowly walked down the stairs and out through the entrance to the Cadillac. Watkins opened the rear door and they gingerly eased Prentice onto the back seat. Watkins sat beside him.

  Davidson got behind the steering wheel, put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

  Prentice emitted a laugh which turned into a painful cough.

  Davidson said: "What's so funny?"

  "You've been wondering, haven't you, whether I really joined the Freedom Alliance or was a double agent?"

  "Of course."

  "I don't blame you. I hope I've proved my bona fides."

  Prentice's blithe exterior obviously hid a strong moral core and deep reserves of courage. Once, those qualities served the City well; now, they served its enemy just as well. Davidson had always found Prentice an interesting and elusive man. Now he realized the guy was the most amazing person he had ever met.

  "You certainly have."

  A tight laugh. "Good."

  "Where to now?"

  "Take me to my office. I've got to call Edward Mellon."

  "Why?"

  "To arrange an urgent conference with the Chancellor, of course."