Cheryl pushed her daughter inside as Charlie stepped out with the shotgun, raising it at the truck. Cheryl stepped down from the porch and around Alexis’s SUV, firing several rounds into the ground in front of the now stopped vehicle, its occupants freezing at the sound of the bullets tearing into the gravel. Cheryl aimed the weapon at the windshield.
“I suggest you all turn around and leave now!”
She was running on adrenaline now, her hands beginning to shake as she tried to steady her breathing. She knew it would take several minutes to get control of her shakes, but she didn’t think she had that kind of time. This was going to end one way or another in the next sixty seconds. She flicked the weapon to fully automatic.
The driver stepped out, his hands up, a smile on his face.
“Now, you’re not going to shoot us, are you? A little old lady like yourself?”
Old my ass. I oughta shoot you just for that.
The man, maybe thirty, if that, began to approach, his hands still raised.
“Now all we want is what’s in the back of her truck. Things are going to hell, and we just want our share.”
Cheryl pointed the weapon directly at the man’s chest. This caused him to pause, then he continued forward, motioning for the other three to join him. The passenger door opened then the two doors of the rear cab as his friends joined him. They were all approaching her now, and she stepped back, trying to keep some distance.
They’re not going to stop. They’re going to kill you, then your son, then rape and murder your daughter.
“This is your final warning.”
The driver stopped, his smile disappearing.
“Screw you, lady. Your time is over.”
He rushed at her and she squeezed the trigger, a burst of lead erupting from the barrel, leaving a row of holes from the man’s stomach up to his left shoulder as the other three scattered.
A shot roared from the other side of the SUV and a body flew back into view as Charlie took out one of the men. Cheryl swung her weapon at a third man who seemed to be reaching for something in his pocket that she had to assume was a weapon.
She squeezed the trigger again, hitting him in the back then the head, the body dropping in a quivering heap. The final man dove into the front seat of their truck from the passenger side. Charlie emptied a barrel into the windshield as the engine roared to life. He advanced quickly, the shotgun held high against his shoulder as he chambered another round.
“Wait!” yelled Cheryl but it was too late. The muzzle flashed as the round was fired through the hole already made in the windshield. The final survivor ducked in time, the back of the seat and headrest riddled with holes. The rear tires spun and the front tires turned as the man drove blind, tearing out of their gravel driveway, his head finally making an appearance when the back of the truck was between him and their weapons.
“Why did you let him get away?” demanded Charlie, clearly exasperated.
“He was leaving. You don’t shoot someone when they’re clearly running away.”
“Running away, yeah, probably to get more of his friends!”
Cheryl nodded, realizing he was probably right.
“Nevertheless, I don’t want us being accused of murder.”
“Are you guys okay?”
It was Alexis, standing in the doorway brandishing a handgun.
“We’re fine!” called Cheryl, looking at the three bodies.
“What are we going to do with them?” asked Charlie.
“We can’t move them. This is a crime scene. I guess we’ll call the sheriff.”
“Let’s just hope one of these guys isn’t a friend of his.”
Cheryl frowned, holding out her arm as Alexis joined them, putting her head on her mother’s shoulder.
“Maybe we should just call Dad.”
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Morrison sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled in front of his face, his lips pursed as he stared into space. Leroux wasn’t sure if he should say something and exchanged a quick glance with Sherrie. Both had been talking for almost the past ten minutes, with Morrison saying little if anything, the Director’s side of the conversation more often than not some sort of guttural sound.
Something’s bothering him.
Leroux wondered if it was appropriate to ask your boss, a man so high up on the ladder he could probably order you killed without question, if he was feeling alright. Leroux decided against it.
Morrison’s phone rang and he jumped at it, seeming to forget he wasn’t alone.
“Are you okay?”—“What?”—“How many?”—“Is she okay?”—“Did you arm the system?”—“One got away?”—“Who have you called?”—“Good, just stay inside, I’ll take care of things.”—“Love you too.”
Leroux had tried not to eavesdrop, but it was impossible. The office was large, but not that large, and his boss had been so agitated, he had made no attempt to lower his voice. The receiver hit the cradle and Morrison sighed, then seemed to remember they were in the room.
“Sorry for that, personal call. Family.”
“Are they okay?” asked Sherrie.
Glad she had the balls to ask!
“My wife and kids are at our cottage. They were attacked by four men. Three are dead, but one got away.”
Leroux’s heart was pounding in his chest just thinking of it. His mind immediately filled with images of his own family, and how scared they must be, and how he had no power to help them.
“Do you want me to go get them?”
It was Sherrie who asked, and the Director’s eyebrows shot up at the suggestion.
“That wouldn’t be appropriate. Our families shouldn’t get any special treatment because we work at the CIA.”
“Sir, the Director of National Clandestine Services’ secondary residence was attacked by unknown hostiles with unknown intent. At least one is still alive, with possibly more accomplices on the way. Security of the Director’s family, so they cannot be used in an attempt at extortion against him is in the best interest of the nation, especially in a time of crisis.”
God I love that woman!
Morrison’s head was bobbing slightly as he listened.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way, and as selfish as it sounds, you’re right. Go get them, take whatever resources you need. My assistant has the address. Full biohazard protocols are now in effect, so make sure you follow them and put my family into quarantine when they get here. CDC apparently has a blood test now. Screening has already begun in New Orleans and all major Federal facilities. We’ll at least start to be able to know who’s infected and who isn’t.”
“But how many do we test? All seven billion?”
“If we have to. The protocols for the test are being sent to every government in the world. Quarantines are already being set up at airports, and the EU, Canada and China have already shutdown all international air travel. We expect full shutdown within the next few hours.”
“Jesus,” muttered Leroux. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Morrison nodded. “Neither did I.” He turned to Sherrie. “You’re dismissed, good luck.”
Sherrie got up from her chair, gave Leroux a wink, then as she was about to open the door, Morrison spoke up.
“And Agent White?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled then left the office, closing the door behind her. Leroux was about to stand up when Morrison waved him back into his chair. “Don’t worry, you’ll get a chance to say goodbye.” Morrison leaned back in his chair. “This theory of Agent White’s about Dr. Urban being coerced. What do you think?”
Leroux leaned forward.
“I think she’s right. Stand in for the wife, leaving the kids in place, means this wasn’t a getaway to a new life with his family. Unless the guy really hates his kids!” Leroux’s mind spun for a moment at the thought. “After all, he seems to have no qualms about killing people, s
o maybe he doesn’t care about them.”
“Then he probably wouldn’t care about his wife either. Let’s assume he does love his kids.”
“Then leaving the kids behind with a stranger has to have him worrying constantly. Who knows if the wife is even alive? Maybe they killed her, or are holding her as another way of getting him to cooperate. The children being with the stranger is the key. He has to assume the imposter has orders to kill the kids if necessary.”
“Sounds solid. What else?”
“Well, we know he’s not working alone. There’s the man who planted the canister at the Superdome, there’s the man who hired that man, there’s whoever killed him. Also, we have the person who recruited the wife stand-in. He could be the same person who hired the guy in New Orleans, who knows, but when there’s more than one person, it’s a conspiracy.”
“I agree. I think Agent White’s theory is correct. Now we have to hope that if Urban is an unwilling partner in all this, that if we are able to somehow find him, we’ll be able to get him to cooperate. He just may have a cure for what we’re now facing.”
“What are the latest projections?”
“If the mutated strain were to get into the general population, with a one-hundred percent kill rate, we’re looking at total annihilation within less than a year. Some will survive of course, the President has already given orders to start prepping certain offshore facilities, and other countries will be doing the same. The human race will survive, but in isolated pockets until we can figure out how to reclaim the mainland.”
“I try not to think about it, otherwise I can’t concentrate on my work.”
“Me as well,” said Morrison, nodding. He sat up in his chair, moving his mouse to clear the screensaver. “And speaking of work, we both better get back at it.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Leroux as he stood up then left the office, sending Sherrie a text. Within a few seconds she replied.
Meet me where we first made love in five minutes.
Little Chris jumped at the message as Leroux raced for his desk. He quickly checked the status of his searches, initiated his follow ups, then raced toward the temporary quarters where they had been housed after the attack on his apartment several months ago. Memories of that experience flashed through his mind, and he was thankful he wasn’t wearing track pants.
He reached the door and opened it, holding his breath in anticipation. It was dark inside, the only sound his own heart slamming in his chest.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Suddenly the door was pushed shut behind him followed by a click of the lock. He was shoved against the wall, hard, then he felt a pair of lips pressed on his, hands ripping off his clothes as he remained still, momentarily stunned.
“We’ve got maybe fifteen minutes!” said Sherrie breathlessly.
Leroux’s body flew into motion, not willing to waste a second of their precious time, the troubles of the outside world momentarily forgotten.
Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana
Dr. Katherine Best winced as the obviously tired nurse took her blood sample. She like the rest were being screened for the antiviral using the new test developed by the CDC and BioDyne Pharma. The first results were starting to come in, and wisely Dr. Johnston had ordered the outlier cases, the two men infected in their isolation ward, be screened first, the third man who had been brought in with the initial wave of women actually born a woman and being treated as such from a medical standpoint.
And both men were positive.
Genetic tests ordered by Dr. Corkery, the young doctor who had notified them of the outbreak, were also starting to arrive, showing all of the women whose results had come back did indeed have the same genetic mutation, along with the first “male” who had arrived with the initial batch. The genetic defect which affected less than half a percent of the population, led to a highly increased risk of breast cancer in women, which essentially proved Corkery’s theory, and corroborated what Dr. Kapp from BioDyne Pharma had said their message from Dr. Urban had claimed about the antiviral.
This antiviral was designed to target specific genetic sequences. The problem in this case was that a genetic deformity you were born with was in all of your DNA, therefore the antiviral was targeting the victim’s entire body, eventually killing them. An actual virus like HIV or the flu would only infect some of the body, and the antiviral would kill only those bad cells. If the antiviral were used as designed, it would do wonders. But programming it to target genetic birth defects was just madness.
A hazmat suit rounded the corner, its orange color indicating their exposure classification. Dr. Corkery’s face was revealed through the window, a smile on it that widened when he saw Best.
“I take it your blood test cleared you?”
He nodded.
“Now it’s round two. I have to stay isolated in this suit for the next few hours until the second test is negative, then I can join you guys in those lovely green suits.”
Best laughed. “I guess you haven’t seen daylight or smelt fresh air in quite a while.”
Corkery nodded.
“Reminds me of med school.” His face became all business. “I understand we have mixed news back.”
She nodded.
“Looks like you were right on what the original antiviral was designed to target. But the two outliers both have the virus, obviously aren’t women, and don’t have the mutation, so they shouldn’t have been targeted.”
“How are they progressing?”
“Similar to the others, however a little slower. There’s definitely something different here, but we don’t know what yet.”
“I assume you’re having the antiviral in their blood compared to the original?”
“Of course, but it will take time. The initial analysis says it’s essentially the same. They’re trying to identify the differences now, and then determine exactly what those differences mean. We’ve sent samples of both to BioDyne Pharma to see if their scientists can make head or tail of it since it was originally their creation.”
“Anything further on transmission?”
“It’s airborne, we know that for sure. We’re doing testing to see how long it survives outside the host and under what conditions. We’ve got teams growing it like crazy so we can start to try figuring out how to destroy it. It’s going to take time, which is the one thing we don’t have.”
Corkery frowned just as another Code Blue blared over the PA.
“I’ll take this,” he said, “these are my patients.”
Best nodded and Corkery rushed into the isolation unit as one of the final remaining patients passed.
And Best kept wondering if a second wave of infections was about to start arriving.
Gravier Street, New Orleans, Louisiana
Dylan Kane leaned back, stretching the kinks out of his back. He leaned forward and took a swig of his Diet Coke, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the screen. It hadn’t taken too long to get the digital footage from the owner of the corner store embedded in the apartment where Milner had lived, but there was no rhyme or reason to the hard drive he had provided.
And he hadn’t stuck around to explain it, his drop off more resembling a drive-by than anything else. So he and Isabelle had commandeered a terminal in the FBI mobile HQ, now located out front of the apartment building, uploaded the footage to Langley, and waited for the first results to begin coming in. It hadn’t taken long, and they had now spent almost two hours staring at digitally enhanced faces with date and time stamps to see if anyone jumped out at them. After the first half hour, some of the faces began to come in again with identities attached to them and their FBI files.
The unfortunate part about dealing with a dump apartment building like the one Milner had lived in was that almost everyone had a file, making their job even more difficult. The original lobby footage hadn’t proved useful, the angle actually away from the entrance, only showing the
mailboxes they had identified Milner's apartment number from. This new storefront camera though could prove a goldmine.
“That’s Milner there,” said Isabelle, pointing at the screen. Kane had to admit he had almost missed it. She clicked on the photo, then activated the link back to the original footage. “That’s the night before he installed the canister.”
“Looks like he’s alone,” said Kane as he fired the image number back to Langley over his phone, telling them that this was their high priority target and that they needed his comings and goings identified, along with anybody who might be with him or anybody entering the building after him that didn’t live there.
On the terminal a database was building as the faces came in. Many were duplicates as residents came and went, and the computer, using facial recognition software, was able to catch the duplicates and combine them into single files, then when their identities came in from one of the many government databases they were tapped into, classify them as resident, non-resident, or unknown. The database was quickly filling in, the amount of computer power being dedicated by Langley massive, as this was their best lead for the moment.
FBI Special Agent Hewlett cleared her throat, handing over a tablet computer. “We’ve got footage of our cemetery guy. Pulled it from a security camera.”
Kane took the tablet and held it out so both he and Isabelle could see it.
“You’re sure it’s him?” asked Isabelle. “He was barely pixels in the other shot.”
“He’s coming out of the same cemetery at the same time in the same direction as the other man, dressed in the same color clothes. This is the guy all right.”
“I agree,” said Kane, nodding, as he quickly read the summary. “So we don’t know who he is?”
“No. We’ve uploaded it to our people and sent it to Langley. Hopefully we’ll have something shortly.”
Kane pursed his lips.
“Got somewhere to sleep around here?”
“We’ve got rooms reserved at the Holiday Inn near the Superdome. Just show them your ID and they’ll give you a room.”
Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2) Page 14
