The Apocalypse Virus Trilogy_Book 1_Big Smoke

by Blackstone, R. F.

  “Bullshit! There is no Shylock in the world that would massacre an entire restaurant to get one deadbeat.”

  Juan sighed. “We can never know what someone is capable of doing, Christine, until they actually do it.”

  “How philosophical. There were two giant goons that attacked us. We were able to question one and he gave up Banks. Definitely him that is behind the threats. There! Bring him in, Juan.”

  “Pinche…” Juan stopped himself. “I need proof. Can you get these men to talk to me?”

  “No,” Christine said softly. “We had to kill them.”

  There was a long pause. “Who is we? Are you working with someone?”

  “Of course I am,” Christine said, exasperation washing over her. “Station Master put me in contact with one of your agents. They’ve been helping me. A lot more than you have old man.”

  “Who?” Juan asked, his voice sounded worried. “Who are you working with?”

  “If you don’t know, how can you help me?”

  “…What do you mean a zombie?”

  Christine nearly threw the phone across the room. What the fuck is happening to the world? “I tried asking you earlier and you ignored me. Now, now! You want to know? Fine. I have seen it, so don’t think I’m lying to you. I have seen the dead get back up and try to eat me. There are fucking zombies in Cuba!” She laughed at that last statement.

  “Christine, are you positive that they were dead?”

  “Oh for fuck sake… Yes, Juan, I am positive. Seven shots, point blank to the chest does that. Maybe this has something to do with the State of Emergency?”

  She couldn’t hear anything except the shower, which was good, she hoped. Juan better have something otherwise the whole situation was fucked and her instincts were screaming to get the hell out of Dodge.

  “That would explain the mess,” he said slowly. His tone was deadly and Christine knew something else had happened.

  “What happened, Juan?”

  “Those two men you say you killed? They weren’t.”

  “What? No fucking way!”

  “They killed five of the police that showed up. All had to be burned… Christine, maybe you should seriously consider leaving Cuba? Go back to the Station. Or better yet, get out of the business.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “Juan, what do you think about the dead rising? Could it be true?”

  Juan de Dios laughed; it was devoid of any humor. “Not without the help of evil. My family came from Haiti originally and the only religion I know is Voodoo.”

  “¿En serio?”

  “Si,” he said. “But not what Hollywood says. In Voodoo, zombies are not the undead, but bodies that are forcibly used, against their will, to do the bidding of one person. The idea of the dead rising? That is something that Hollywood and bad writers have used. There is no way for that to happen, Christine…”

  “Then what could be causing the sickness and what has been happening?”

  Before the old spy master could answer, Christine slammed the phone back onto its receiver. Adriana had exited the shower and was now standing the doorway to the bedroom. She had a towel wrapped around her body. It hugged her, accentuating her curves and leaving little to the imagination. Her hair was wet and plastered to her face and neck. “That was refreshing! You should have one, Chris. Wash all your troubles away.”

  Christine nodded and headed into the bathroom, cursing her terrible luck.

  She tilted her head back, letting the water wash her. It felt good, the pressure from each drop of water hitting her skin. The little pinpricks kept her mind focus, which was what she needed right now. As she washed her hair, she started to make a list of everything she knew to be true.

  Jeremiah Banks was indeed in charge of the plot to kill President Sanderson. No man under the torture she had dealt out would lie, would he? That was the first fact. Juan de Dios was hiding something, which wasn’t odd since all spy masters do that. But since he had seen her that first time at Buena Vista, his interactions with her had seemed forced. Almost as if he didn’t want to be around her for some reason. Both Adriana and Juan had never mentioned each other; did they actually work together? Christine would ask both at some point, probably after the case. She only had two more days left until the end of the festival and nothing much to show for it. Just a certainty about Jeremiah Banks and the note.

  “Chris, you mind if I pour us some drinks?” Adriana called through the door.

  “Go for it.”

  Why would Station Master use Adriana as the contact after all they had been through? That was the most perplexing question she had at the moment. Time to get some damn answers, she thought.

  Christine turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around her.

  #

  She grabbed another towel and put her hair up. Christine had always hated the feeling of wet hair on her neck and face and thought anyone who did was barbaric. So when she entered the main room and saw Adriana lounging on one of the couches with her hair all over the back of it, Christine was struck with a moment of disgust. “Do something with your hair.”

  Adriana smiled and held up a glass of rum. In a highball. No mixer. Just the pure rum. The glass was half full and glistened with condensation. “Drink up,” Adriana said, handing Christine the glass.

  Christine sipped the rum, savoring the flavors as it washed down her throat. “Your hair,” she said, “get it off the couch please.”

  The Cuban giggled, downed the rest of her rum, looked around for a towel then realizing that there was nothing else she shrugged and took her towel off of her body then wrapped her head. Christine tried not to stare, but the Cuban’s body was alluring; voluptuous in all the right ways and darker than most other Cubans Christine had seen. There was a slight speckling of freckles over the heavy breasts that came from years of sunbathing.

  “Are you drunk?” Christine asked tersely as she sat on the couch opposite Adriana. Christine’s eyes started to wander and she had to force herself to look elsewhere.

  Adriana sat with her legs slightly apart, her eyes twinkling, and she smiled. “Not borracha pero mellow,” she giggled and poured herself another.

  Christine shook her head as she sipped the rum. “Some night, huh?”

  “Dios mio! I haven’t had this much fun in years… Come to think of it, not since you left,” Adriana said as she stared at the amber liquid.

  “Yeah,” Christine agreed, “me too. It felt good being in the field getting into trouble with you again… What do you think of Rafael?” She waited, watching Adriana’s face, waiting for the reaction.

  “Probably wasn’t fully dead yet.”

  “And how do you explain the continuous movement after losing his arms?”

  Adriana blinked then rubbed her face. “Running on adrenaline… or something stronger.”

  “Aye por favor,” Christine sighed. “Give me a fucking break. Can’t you see what is happening? Even Juan knows.”

  The Cuban sitting opposite her stared at the bottle. “Adriana?”

  A sigh escaped from the full lips. “There is no such thing as a zombie,” she said. “We were told stories about the dead rising from the grave. Not because of magic, or any such thing… Forget about it.” Adriana turned her head, embarrassed by what she was about to say.

  Christine nudged the table with her foot; the noise startled Adriana. “Go on. This is a safe space.” She watched as the Cuban picked up the bottle of rum. Her eyes focused on the liquid as it moved inside the bottle. Adriana’s eyes were completely fixated on the amber beverage, as if she was hypnotized.

  “The only way for the dead to come back,” she finally said, “is not from magic, or science or demons. But…from the sins of man. When the Lord is fed up with man’s wicked ways, he… Que paso?”

  Christine had a slightly amused look on her face. “No, please go on.”

  Adriana shook her head. “You think I’m a silly superstitious peasant. Pinche pendeja!”

 
“Fuck you very much. Just finish what you were saying, por favor?” She watched as Adriana took a swig from the bottle.

  “Well, before the Rapture, he will start judgment by sending a plague to wipe out the sinners. The undead. Those who have been found guilty have been given the purpose of bringing us all for judgment… That’s all.”

  “So,” Christine started, “if we have forgiveness, then the undead will leave us alone?”

  A slow long nod from Adriana. “Forgiveness is all we have these days.”

  Christine laughed as she looked at her own glass. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you. Bitch,” she said as she took a long gulp of her rum.

  “Por favor!” Adriana pleaded “I did my nacional duty.”

  “National duty! Please, you were working for Jeremiah Banks. Do you know what that did to me? My reputation at the Station? Fuck you.” Christine finished the drink, grabbed the bottle, and filled her glass. “Have you ever been honest?”

  Adriana looked hurt for a microsecond. “Everyday with you I was. For some reason, I can’t lie to you.”

  “Bullshit! You’re a spy, you lie for a living. Pendeja.” Christine took another drink and as she wriggled to get comfortable, her towel became loose and slipped down her chest, exposing her bosom and the scar.

  “What the hell is that?” Adriana pointed at the scar.

  “The fuck you care for? This is what happened after you fucked me over.”

  Christine ran a finger along the scar and her face clouded over with painful memories. Adriana got up, went over, and knelt before her. Her face was full of remorse. “How did that happen?”

  “After you sold my team out and they were all killed. Did I thank you for that?” Christine didn’t wait for an answer. “You know they never found the bodies. I suppose Jeremiah Banks had them buried or at least anchored and dumped into the bay. Well, after all that, I had to make contact with Station Master. The old man tore me apart, and he put out a burn notice.”

  “He did that?”

  Christine nodded slowly. “I didn’t know at the time. It wasn’t until I went to Juan for help that I knew I had been burnt. He wasn’t happy to see me, which was rare for the man. Always treated me like family. That day he looked like the grim reaper. Told me he was sorry and that there was nothing he could do. Next thing I remember is being black bagged.”

  “Puta madre!”

  “Your shock helps my pain. When I could see next, they had me strapped into a chair and an ancient Cuban was asking all sorts of questions. This man must’ve been around during the Batista regime.”

  “Short? Mustache? Big mole on one eyelid?”

  Christine nodded.

  Adriana shook her head, impressed. “That was Santiago Durán, the top interrogator in all of Cuba. For him to come out of retirement to work on you… Juan must’ve really wanted to know all your secrets.”

  “Well, if I ever get to see him again, I’ll make sure to say Hola properly.”

  “He died a couple of years ago, Chris.”

  Christine punched the couch hard. “Another thing to cross off the bucket list then. Fuck me!”

  Adriana reached out a tentative finger and began to trace the shape of the scar. “How did they do this?”

  “He didn’t. I don’t know how long I was there for, but he kept asking two questions. Where is Jeremiah Banks and why would The Station burn me…” Christine stopped talking. Her eyes met Adriana’s who smiled. Slowly, Christine raised a hand, laid it on top of Adriana’s and then removed it. “Do you know the worst thing about torture?” Adriana shook her head. “Of course you wouldn’t. You never felt real pain. The worst thing is not the pain or the devices used. It is the knowledge that sooner or later you’ll talk. Eventually, you run out of stories to tell. Doesn’t matter how good a liar you are. At some point, you will have nothing else to say except for what they want. That’s what happened. I spilled everything I knew. The old man just nodded and recorded everything.”

  “Chris… You can’t beat yourself up about it. Anyone would have caved too.”

  “I don’t blame me,” Christine said softly. “I blame you. You have been both the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. At some point, Juan paid me a visit, told me about the burn notice and that I had to escape. The order had come down that I was to be killed, executed as a foreign terrorist. Courtesy of the Cuban Government and Station Master. But Juan didn’t like that. He had a plan. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘it is going to hurt a lot.’ Then he shot me. Point blank with a .9mm. What you see is the result of the operations. Five in total.”

  Adriana sat on the floor, looking up at the other woman. She couldn’t believe what she had just been told. “Chris, I’m… por favor forgive me!”

  Christine Moore stared at her former lover. “Why should I,” she asked. “Since arriving here, you and Juan have not been straight with me at all. Don’t! How the hell do I know this isn’t another setup? Not once has either of you two mentioned the other or that you work together. Don’t you dare feed me the line about working in different sections. CI isn’t big enough to need more than one team. So, what the hell is going on?”

  The Cuban’s big brown eyes stared up at the ceiling. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic. Christine’s own eyes traced the body before her and memories full of pleasure danced through her mind. “Do you remember that trip we took to Trinidad?”

  “When we both had to be the honey-pot? For the Germans.” Christine nodded.

  “That was the first time we shared a bed. The night before we met the Germans, I told you all about my life. My family. You listened and said what?”

  “I said that the past is the past. We shouldn’t be chained to it.”

  Adriana nodded. “You should listen to your own advice. Does it matter whether or not Juan and I speak about each other? No. Por que? We have a job to do. Stop a plot that could destroy Cuba. That is what is at stake here. Not the world. Not the pinche USA. But Cuba. My country. Your haven. So stop being childish, Christine.”

  “That’s rich coming from you.”

  Adriana snorted. “If you think we’re keeping things from you, welcome to the world of spies! You were a traitor to your organization. Is it any wonder we are a little quiet around you?”

  Christine stood then grabbed Adriana by the hair and pulled the Cuban to her feet. “Listen to me, you tight twot! The only reason they branded me that was because of you! I get professional courtesy and all. But for fuck sake, I was here for five years!”

  Adriana slapped the hands away and backed up. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t control your tongue and pussy. Five years is a long time and for all I knew you were going to fuck me over at some point.”

  “Get the fuck out.”

  Adriana blinked, “What?”

  “You heard me. Get out.”

  The Cuban chuckled. “Same old Christine. Work gets tough and you just power through it. Private life hits a bump and you tell it to hit the road.”

  “Tell me something honest then.”

  Adriana shook her head. “Besame primero.”

  Christine laughed. “Why? Can’t get anyone else?”

  “Fine.” Adriana turned and went into the bedroom.

  Christine stood there, thinking about everything they had just talked about then as Adriana returned, clothed and at the door, Christine took four long strides, spun the Cuban around, and kissed her.

  “Jeremiah Banks has something really special planned for tomorrow. The tour at the cigar factory. Intel says it will bring the house down.”

  “Not good enough,” Christine breathed then kissed her again.

  Adriana breathed deeply then sighed after the kiss. “Presidente Esposito doesn’t want the talks to happen.”

  Christine took a step back. Adriana grabbed her arm. “Why? What’s he afraid of?” Christine muttered.

  “The same thing as all Cuban presidentes: The return to the old ways. Cuba being another Puerto Rico. The typical bull
shit.”

  Christine shook her head. “No. No. There’s something here we’re missing. I can feel it.” She turned around and went back to the couch and sat deep in thought.

  “What just happened?” Adriana asked as she took the seat opposite Christine.

  “The USA is not the superpower it once was. The only way for Cuba to become another territory is if Sanderson offered something Cuba can’t get on its own. But what?”

  Adriana stretched. “Democracy. Financial security. Who knows or cares?”

  “Don’t do that. You know I hate it when you answer a question with a question.” Adriana chuckled but Christine ignored her. “What would happen if Cuba told the USA to go fuck itself?”

  “The embargo stays up, probably gets tougher. Cuba gets drained of its resources, goes into a major recession and then…”

  Both ladies jumped to their feet and spoke at the same time, “The USA would come riding in as a hero!”

  “That’s the plan! Sanderson is going to say or do something so offensive that Esposito is forced to decline any offer made. Then Sanderson has every right to turn round and bitch slap Cuba. Give it three years or so and when Cuba is at its weakest come back as the savior of a nation and get what? What resources does Cuba have that the USA needs?”

  Adriana was standing next to Christine with her arms wrapped around the blonde’s mid-section. “Land. Cuba has the best soil for growing crops. The USA needs unsullied land for the farmers.”

  “Makes sense,” Christine crowed excitedly. “So then if Sanderson is killed… No, that would result in a war; Jeremiah Banks won’t want that. Too much at risk… If there was a credible threat to the president, one that would make him flee that would mean Esposito wouldn’t have to say no to any agreement. Right?”

  “Maybe, but the WMDs are just too obvious. It would have to be something believable.”

  Christine nodded as they both started to sway, their hips moving as one. She let out a soft moan as Adriana caressed her neck. “That’s nice.”

  “I missed this.”

  Christine nodded, her eyes closed slightly, “Assassination is good. But there has to be proof… What if the factory tour is just a setup? There will be traces of an assassin. A gun or tripod. Maps. Things like that… You don’t think Esposito has Juan talking to Jeremiah Banks about all this? The government working with a known…”