Inside the van, the metallic clang of bolts and magazines rang out as shotguns, pistols, and rifles were checked and loaded.
“This entrance doesn’t allow for a quick turnaround should we need one,” Mulhaven said as he looked up at the western red cedar trees that adorned both sides of the track. “Cindy, I don’t doubt your ability to drive, but under pressure it’s a different ballgame … so I’ll take the wheel, okay?”
The Tall Man called from the back of the van. “How about you let me drive, Riley? I’d love to get my damn long legs out of this position for a while.”
“Okay, you drive. It’s fine by me, but let’s get it done.”
Before Cindy had her feet on the ground, the Tall Man was next to her. In the dark, they exchanged a brief look. The Tall Man couldn’t see her pain, but he felt it. She was strong and took comfort from having her friends around her. She wouldn’t get over it—none of them would—but he had confidence in her.
“Get in the van, Cindy,” Mulhaven barked. “We haven’t got all night!”
The Tall Man jumped into the driver’s seat, grateful for the stretch. He was determined that his new friends would survive, no matter what it took. No matter what.
“Are you happy to stay up front with me, Allan?”
“Sure I am, Chuck.” Allan remembered.
“Okay, then let’s go and hope these friends of yours are still human.” The Tall Man slipped the van into drive and headed toward the farmhouse and what awaited them.
Four
“I don’t understand any of this!” The president stood at the end of the table. His hands gripped the edge of it, his eyes stared straight ahead, and his lips curled inward. He was pissed. “Since the start of this crisis I’ve been given nothing but contradictions. First I’m told we have less than three weeks before the contagion spreads across the country, infecting every man, woman, and child. Now, all of a sudden, I’m told we can institute an emergency response to develop an agent to halt the expansion of the disease, even find a cure. Then in the same breath, I’m told we have to nuke our own country. Is this the White House or the Mad Hatter’s tea party?”
The president was not about to mince words any longer. Richard Holmes also appeared disturbed by this latest development. More surprises in a day of full of them.
“Mr. President, while the intensity of the situation has been played down in the mainstream news services around the world, some overseas news agencies have turned to the Internet for their information. These countries have a more liberal approach to the dissemination of news than we do. They’re seeing the full picture for the first time. Mr. President, it will only be a matter of time before a worldwide trade embargo, and a freeze on all US assets, is put in place,” Secretary of State Terry Branden pleaded.
“We cannot have that, not at all!” Stodge declared.
“Sir, we need to put a perimeter around the affected areas. We would have to make certain no one enters before we went ahead. We have a limited time to execute this plan, three weeks tops, if we want to prevent any further advance of the disease. Contact with the infected should be restricted and work on a preventative program must begin at once.” Hadlee’s confidence had receded.
The president eyed everyone in the room. He could no longer count on any of them—save for Tom Transky—and with his executive decisions wrested from his control, he realized it was a waste of time to argue the point. The decision had been made.
“Sir, in light of this new information, can I suggest we take a short recess to absorb it all?” The voice of calm belonged to Richard Holmes, the man who had informed the president of a planned evacuation of the brightest—and wealthiest—individuals in the United States before the crisis worsened. The president was unsure on which side Holmes stood, and was curious if this development had altered his plans. He decided it could be worthwhile to play this out.
“Yes, that’s a good idea, Mr. Holmes. We can all use some fresh air,” the president said.
“Sir, we don’t have time for this. Every second …”
“Ten minutes, Hadlee. Ten fucking minutes!” The president thrust his arm forward like a sword with every syllable before he walked to the exit. Everyone in the room stood. No one questioned the president … not in the Situation Room.
Everyone filed out after the head of the country. To most, he still was. They would make their way outside for some fresh air, coffee, or a bite to eat. It was the early hours of the morning on the East Coast, and most of those who had attended the meeting hadn’t eaten for some time, though no one had much of an appetite.
“As they say, Mr. President … a penny for your thoughts.” Tom moved into the seat next to the president.
“I don’t think you and I are the only ones caught unawares.” The president nodded in the direction of Richard Holmes. “There is a sight to behold, Tom, an anxious Richard Holmes. Who would have thought?”
Five
The Tall Man edged the van closer to the front of the farmhouse. It was dark and quiet, but that was common at this hour in the country. The outline of a tractor and an old truck could be seen near the house.
“Hold it here, Chuck,” Mulhaven whispered, “and keep the engine running.”
“You got it.”
“Let me call Roger.” Allan grabbed the door handle as a large hand fell on his shoulder.
“Best to stay in the van, Allan…. Stay in the van.” The Tall Man tried to make it sound like advice and not an order.
“Are we going to sit here until the sun rises?”
“Take it easy, Allan. If there’s anyone inside, they know we’re here.” Elliot comforted his high school buddy. He found that concerning himself with others eased his own stress.
Almost on cue, several powerful spotlights from atop the veranda activated. The area was bathed in a brilliant light.
“No sudden moves, okay?” Mulhaven hissed in the dark.
“You in the van … come on out and state your business.” A loudspeaker cackled from inside the house. “And let’s make it slow.”
“At least we know they’re alive,” the Tall Man said.
“But who are they, exactly?”
“That’s the million dollar question, Elliot, and there’s only one way to find out.”
Elliot knew that meant the Tall Man wasn’t about to knock and ask.
“I said come out, and I mean now!”
“Okay, there is a touch of desperation in his voice, I suggest we do as he asks. If they wanted to fire on us, they would’ve done so by now. And leave your weapons in the van,” Mulhaven, the voice of reason, recommended.
“You want us to go out there unarmed?” Since she had started running from the foamers, Cindy had found comfort when her sidearm was strapped on. Her love for Elliot and the strength of the Tall Man helped.
“It will be better if we do. Show some trust,” Mulhaven added. “I just hope they don’t panic when they see the size of Chuck.”
As each stepped out of the car, they raised their arms. The glare from the spotlights was so strong they were unable to see anything. The sound of a screen door opening and closing told them they were no longer alone.
“Allan Pearce … Is that you?” The voice was different—no longer funneled through a loudspeaker.
“Roger, its Roger! I know his voice,” Allan told the others.
“Yeah, of course it’s me. Who’s with you, Allan?”
“You won’t believe who I have.”
“It’s all right, kill the spots,” Roger yelled back toward the house. Less than a second later the spotlights were extinguished and replaced by regular outdoor lights of the type used on most patios. Roger Grigsby smiled as he walked toward Allan and eased his grip on the SPAS-12 shotgun.
“Damn, Roger, look at you!” Elliot couldn’t hold his excitement once the tense moment had passed. Roger had lost weight, at least thirty pounds, had cut his hair way above his ears, and sported a healthy tan. His chubby baby cheeks, however,
remained unchanged.
“Elliot? Elliot Goodwin? Well, look at you, boy. You grew up!” Roger chided Elliot then indulged in a little roughhouse play before he realized there was a woman among the group.
“Cindy? Is that really you?” he exclaimed, his voice full of surprise.
“Yes, you big dummy, it is!” she said then jumped forward and hugged Roger, whom she regarded as a big teddy bear.
“I hate to interrupt this joyful reunion, but there are other important matters at hand.” Mulhaven stepped forward, practical once more.
“Oh, Riley, lighten up. We haven’t seen each other for a while,” Cindy said.
“You’ll have plenty of time for that later on, girlie,” Mulhaven shot back.
“Wow, you brought Morgan Freeman with you.” Even in the dark there was no mistaking the resemblance.
A stifled cough emerged from the Tall Man, who covered his mouth and turned away. He bit his bottom lip to prevent any laughter from escaping.
“What’s wrong, Elliot? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’ll tell you later, Rog. Who have we got inside?”
“It’s my uncle and aunt. They built this place from scratch, you know. Business was good until … Well, I guess you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with the shit-scared looks, right?”
“Yeah, Roger…. That’s right.”
“Let’s go meet your aunt and uncle, young man. There’s a lot to discuss and little time to do it in,” announced the Tall Man, who had come up from Roger’s side.
“Damn, you picked up Wilt Chamberlain as well!”
Elliot smiled and shook his head. Roger hadn’t lost his sense of humor, an important quality to keep in these times, much more than the SPAS-12 he carried. Elliot and Roger caught up with the Tall Man while Allan, Mulhaven, and Cindy followed.
Six
During the recess, Holmes made his way unnoticed through the grounds of the West Wing. He called Milton Etheridge as soon as he was certain he wasn’t under scrutiny, but there would never be any guarantees of that at the White House. He used an encrypted satellite phone, as always, alleviating his concern a great deal.
“Mr. Etheridge, I apologize for the late hour, but there’s been a development which you need to be aware of.”
Holmes listened as Etheridge asked the usual security questions to make sure of the authenticity of the call. Holmes had never understood this. The phone he’d been issued could only call this number.
“Sir, it looks like Hadlee has a new ally in the chairman of the joint chiefs. Together, they’ve proposed a limited tactical nuclear strike on Idaho and the surrounding areas that are affected.” He expected Etheridge to blow his top, but Etheridge remained composed as always.
“Sir, he then plans to implement a program to stop the disease from advancing … and ultimately find a cure.”
“I see…. That’s not good, not good at all. We can’t have that, Mr. Holmes, you need to see that it doesn’t.”
“Yes, sir, my thoughts as well.” Holmes puffed out his chest. Now was the time to prove his worth.
“You get back and find out as much as you can, and I’ll look into it from my end,” Etheridge said. “Years of planning have gone into this, Holmes, we can’t have it derailed by this madman. Call me as soon as you have any news.”
Holmes looked at his watch. The meeting at the Situation Room was due to resume. He’d grab a coffee along the way. For the first time, he detected a touch of hesitancy in the tone of his mentor.
* * *
“Tom, sit with me, please,” the president said as other select members of the Security Council filed back into the Situation Room. The recess had been more like twenty minutes than ten.
Holmes, not surprisingly, was the last to return, coming in right behind Hadlee, who carried a small briefcase.
“Looks like Hadlee’s armed with new information, sir,” Tom whispered to the president.
“Yes, he resembles the early bird that got the worm, doesn’t he?”
“The analogy I think would be more appropriate is the rat that got the cheese,” Tom whispered.
“Gentlemen, before we get back to the meeting, I have some information to share with you.” Hadlee switched on the large monitor behind the lectern, made a few adjustments on the handset, and opened his briefcase.
“These pictures just arrived. Taken by a drone over Twin Falls a few hours ago. Infrared equipment was used.”
The president and his top aide exchanged concerned looks.
“First of all, I want you to look at this picture. It was taken yesterday of the same area by satellite.” Hadlee paused to consult his notes. “It was taken at around two in the afternoon. As you can see, the streets are deserted. Contrast it with this image …” Hadlee pushed a button on the handset and brought up a picture bathed in green.
“I’ve always wondered why it was called infrared when the pictures are green. Haven’t you?” Tom asked the president, who responded with a short smile.
“There are now thousands roaming the streets at night, the same streets that, hours earlier, were bare.” Hadlee brought up another picture. “We don’t know why they’re not visible during the day, but as you can see, they more than make up for their lack of activity when night falls.”
There was a murmur among everyone seated, all astonished at the sheer number of those infected.
“Gentlemen, I’ve been led to believe these people were infected with some terrible life-threatening contagion, yet I see people walking around the street in great numbers—and you want to fire nuclear missiles into these zones? How can you justify that?” Weisman asked.
“Looks, especially from a satellite photo, can be deceiving, sir. Let me assure you, what you see on the monitor could hardly be classified as people anymore.” Hadlee was firm in his assurance.
“Good to know we aren’t the only voices of reason in the room,” Tom muttered under his breath after Weisman spoke out against the missiles strike.
“This might be what we need, Tom.”
“Sir?”
“Shh, I’ll fill you in later.” The president tapped Tom’s forearm.
* * *
“We have no choice but to implement the plan. If we don’t, what you see up there on the screen will be everywhere. New York, LA, Washington. From there, who knows? This is a drastic measure, make no mistake, but we are faced with the most diabolical of circumstances any country has ever faced. We can’t waste time, the future of the whole country is at stake!”
“I agree we can’t let the rest of America become a wasteland like … like …” CIA Director Conner waved an arm toward the monitor, which now displayed a close-up of several foamers. The disheveled appearance, the red eyes, and the anger convinced him they were no longer dealing with humans.
“We don’t have time for this. We have to move on it now. Let’s take a vote, agree or disagree is all that’s required.” Hadlee felt his tenuous grip on power slipping. He had to make it happen now or the voices for reason would prevail.
One after the other, they went around the table until it was the president’s turn. Holmes from DTRA sat on the other side of the president and had avoided the vote thus far.
“What say you, Mr. President? The vote is an even split,” Hadlee, now uncertain, asked.
“I think everyone here knows where I stand, so we are left in a stalemate, are we not?” The president assumed Holmes would vote in favor of Hadlee’s proposal.
Hadlee didn’t answer. He held the executive powers, but it would amount to little if no one, or not enough, followed.
“I would be interested in what Mr. Holmes thinks. We haven’t heard his say on the matter.” The president looked across at Holmes.
“Well … I think the development of a treatment to combat this abomination is a good idea—how could it not be?” Holmes paused, thinking out his reply word by word. He was without allies in this room, and he had to be careful. The nuclear destruction of a state wasn
’t part of the Chamber’s plans, and neither was containing the disease. Not before it attained the desired result. As far as reducing the population, the outcome would be the same, but what good would it be to have complete control of the planet when the entire infrastructure lay in ruins and no one could safely walk in the open? He had been directed to use his considerable power to thwart Hadlee’s plan, by any means possible. Etheridge was adamant.
“I strongly disagree with Director Hadlee’s plan. I fail to see how the use of nuclear missiles will do anything. If, as it’s been suggested, this pathogen originated from the potato growth hormone, are we not all at risk?” Holmes’s vote and the logic that followed left the entire room in shock.
The president exchanged a suspicious glance with Tom Transky.
Something else is up here.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for your enlightened understanding of events.” The president stood, not knowing what to make of Holmes for now. For the moment he’d gained a new ally, and for that he was grateful.
“I suggest we get a few hours rest because in the next few hours, maybe days, we won’t have time to catch our breath,” Hadlee interrupted. He sensed a power play was underway and not in his favor. “We’ll meet back here in four hours, agreed?”
Hadlee’s motion for adjournment was seconded by his lackey Stodge, who immediately trailed Hadlee out of the room. Director Conner stood and followed, turning when he got to the door, where he gave his commander in chief the slightest of nods.
Hadlee’s plan was now in tatters. He’d have to find some new allies if he were to succeed in the removal of the president. What was meant to be a meeting to introduce the new power in Washington instead saw him scamper out like a mangy dog with its tail between its legs. The president, on the other hand, had regained his position—with no small thanks to Richard Holmes.
Seven
Daylight was still a few hours away in Idaho, more than two thousand miles from the White House, which was now gripped with fear and turbulence. The group from Twin Falls, with the new additions from Shoshone, would have been more than grateful to trade places, however. The days were foamer–free, but the nights were lock-the-door-and-arm-yourselves time. Life and survival had been reduced to this simple fundamental in a few short days. There were small pockets of survivors throughout Idaho, of that they were sure, but without communication, they would be impossible to find and link up with. Safety in numbers would become more than an old saying. It would be the difference between life and death.
The Beginning of the End (Book 2): Toward the Brink II Page 2
