The Apocalypse Virus Trilogy_Book 1_Big Smoke

by Blackstone, R. F.

  “Greed is good,” Banks said, looking at the slowly dying ripples in the water. “But know when to bring it out for a walk.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Christine snarled.

  “Don’t be an idiot… You won’t kill me the same way I won’t kill you. We are both too valuable.” He checked his watch. “You don’t have much time, Christine. And failure is not an option when working for me.”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  Banks glanced at her. “Don’t bog your mind down with needless details. All you need to know is that you have the most important job in the modern age. Succeed, and you will go down in history as a hero. Fail? Just another lunatic.”

  “What do you get out of this?” Christine asked, her mind trying to find something to latch onto; there was something about the way he spoke that made her want to be around him.

  “Cuba. Do you know that the history of Cuba is almost as bloody as the history of Mexico? It is. The Spanish Conquistadors came to this island and did what they did to every new people they came across: destroyed them in the name of two things, Spain and Christianity. The books will say it was for gold and to become more dominant. But, in reality, they came because their God told them to. So, why, you ask, did they subjugate the natives? Easy. Spain needed servants. The Church needed new souls to preach at and condemn.”

  He paused as Adriana returned with drinks. Mojitos. She had had a shower and was now wearing a bathrobe. “Let me untie her, so she can enjoy this.”

  Banks nodded and Adriana removed the restraints. Christine’s wrists were bloodied and Adriana kissed one. Christine elbowed the Cuban in the face.

  Adriana grunted then kicked Christine.

  “That’s enough,” Banks said, pointing the gun at them. He gestured with it and Adriana moved back to his side.

  Christine picked up the cocktail that had been placed beside her and took a small sip.

  Banks smiled. “It’s good, yes? Adriana makes the best mojitos in all of Cuba.” He looked at the woman next to him and smiled. “Where was I?… Yes! Preaching and condemning. After Santiago, Trinidad, and Havana were built, the Spaniards needed workers. Slavery. It was a booming business in Cuba. They got them from the natives and from Africa, sold them to Haiti and the Dominican Republic. Then there was the Slave Revolution which pretty much showed Spain that Cuba would not be controlled by anyone.”

  “What has this got to do with me?”

  “Patience child, patience.” Banks spoke as a mentor does to a particularly slow student. “The battle with Spain brought in the Americans. This was the first proper time they had taken an active interest in Cuba.”

  “And then they came in and turned it into a degenerate hedonistic wonderland. Then Meyer Lansky placed Batista in power and the country became a cesspool like the USA. Right?” Adriana cut in; she looked bored beyond belief. Jeremiah Banks glared at her then turned back to Christine.

  “This, is all about that. The way Cuba was is what it will become again IF the embargo is destroyed and Big Business with US money comes back to Cuba.”

  “What about La Perpetua?” Christine saw where this was going. “That’s your money, right? Did you get it from here? Mexico or from your partners in the States?”

  Banks chuckled. “Thank you, Christine.” He turned to Adriana. “Be a dear and let Albert know the deal is almost done and that he should get to Havana now. Albert Bates,” he said in response to Adriana’s blank stare. She nodded then with a sad look to Christine she disappeared into the cabin.

  “So, you see, Christine,” Banks continued, “I’m not some terrorist or Bondian villain. All I am is a man who wants to protect his country. You could say I’m a Revolutionary.”

  “You want to protect Cuba,” Christine repeated. “Protect Cuba?”

  Banks nodded, proud that this woman was coming round to his way of thinking. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

  Christine nodded, her face unreadable except for a slight glimmer of amusement. Luckily, Banks didn’t notice it. “So, if you truly want to protect Cuba, which is quite a noble cause…” A part of her was worried that she was piling it on thick but in Christine’s experience flattery was sometimes the best form of attack, “…then you must know about the plague?”

  “Of course I do. People dying and then coming back to life, feeding on the flesh of the living, nothing more than the tales of the old and deranged. But, if you believe them, then there is a zombie plague,” he said, laughing. “A mass hallucination from contaminated water and food. Or bad medicine.” He winked at Adriana who shook her head.

  “She’s serious,” the Cuban said. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. That concierge. Rafael? Well, I saw him stand up and try to bite Chris’ face. Nothing slowed him down.”

  “Not even having both arms hacked off,” Christine added.

  Both women looked at Banks, hoping for a reaction other than to think them crazy and kill them. They would have to do something. Anything. Soon. Adriana went first.

  “No te estamos volviendo locos. Ahora mismo esto es más importante que tus planes.” She shared a quick glance with Christine who gave a slight nod.

  Jeremiah Banks looked out across the clear water at Havana. Absentmindedly, he stroked his beard.

  “Y,” Adriana pressed, “si no lo detenemos, muy pronto no habrá Cuba.”

  It started as a low chuckle, almost a snigger. Then it grew louder, more boisterous until Banks was bellowing with laughter. “Do you really expect me to believe this?” He turned to Adriana. “It’s obvious that you’ve been turned!” He moved towards her.

  “Bullshit,” Christine’s voice stopped him. “What if I can show you proof?”

  “Proof of what? That you convinced her to betray me?”

  Adriana snickered. “Really, Jerry? You’ve read my reports.”

  Banks looked at both women, studying each of them, his eyes darting back and forth. “Okay. Show me this proof.”

  Christine went over to where Juan had moments earlier stood. “Any moment, the late Juan de Dios is going to bob up all zombified.” It felt odd to say that word. But in crazy times, you have to roll with it.

  Instead of her desired reaction, Banks laughed, big guffaws. “They said you had a decent sense of humor. Zombies!” He clapped his hands. “Good. Good.” He wiped away a fake tear then the smile vanished from his face replaced by a look that made Christine a little frightened. “You’re going to need it soon, my dear.”

  A breeze had started up and it brought to the boat the smells of Havana. Christine took a deep breath and savored all the tastes. Her mind was racing. He’ll never believe us, she thought. There was only one thing to do: Get off the boat without being killed. “Why? Are we going to a comedy club?”

  Banks chuckled mirthlessly then with a quick one-two punch, Christine was doubled over. She clutched her belly and wheezed. “You listen to me. This isn’t a game to be taken lightly. You saw what I did to Señor de Dios and your dear friends five years ago. Just imagine what we can do to you. ¿Entiendo?”

  Christine nodded vigorously then winced as Banks dragged her to her feet. He looked at the city and sighed. “Forgive me. Sometimes my temper gets away.”

  The woman waved him away as if nothing had happened.

  “You don’t seem to understand,” he said, “so let me put it in terms that will make you.” He began to pace up and down the deck, brow furrowed and one hand in his pocket, the other stroking his beard. “If I was to come to you and say, ‘For every person you killed, I would pay you five hundred thousand dollars,’ how quick would it take you to figure out how many bullets you could spare?”

  “What?”

  “You. Kill. People. Five hundred thousand dollars per person.” Banks spoke like the old Tarzan movies. “How many would you kill?”

  “Jerry,” Adriana had stuck her head out of the cabin and was looking at the man, “Señor Bates wants to talk to you.”

  Banks nodded
then silently moved past Adriana and into the darkened room. The Cuban closed the sliding doors so as not to disturb him.

  The two women stared at each other. The boat bobbed gently up and down, the rhythmic lapping of the waves and the breeze a relaxing force. Christine’s fists were clenched tightly.

  “It’s ironic. Hm?” Adriana raised an eyebrow. “You come back to Havana with the goal to redeem yourself and now, this is the second time that I’ve… It’s funny.”

  “Yeah, because I’m having a fucking riot,” Christine growled. Her face was unreadable. She had to fight to keep herself from leaping across the deck and tearing the Cuban to pieces.

  “Don’t be like that, Chris. You know it’s all about money.”

  Christine shook her head. “I bet the gringos would pay more for you to make sure nothing happens. Get a nice big shiny apartment along the Malecón? Suit you perfectly.”

  Adriana looked as if someone had just pissed on her leg and then told her that it was raining. “Jeremiah Banks is more Cuban than he is… Well, I don’t know where he is from. But that’s not important. What is is that it is better to be in bed with the devil, you know.”

  “And how many times has that happened?” Christine was hurt and getting close to lashing out.

  “Never. He understands that this is just business.”

  Christine nodded her head while rolling her eyes. A boat full of young idiots floated lazily next to them. Christine ignored them as they called out, trying to get her attention. Adriana, on the other hand, went out of her way to make them feel welcome. She was just about to start offering them drinks when, “Honey, why do you play with these insects?”

  Adriana laughed with a flick of her hair. “All boys must become men.”

  “But look at their trunks!” Christine pointed. “Not one of them looks like they can handle themselves.” The boat’s engines revved up and soon the insects were vanishing beyond the horizon.

  The two ladies watched as the waves dispersed and became gentle again in the wake of the boat. Adriana started laughing while Christine went back to glowering at the Cuban.

  “He does like the sound of his own voice,” Adriana said with a small laugh changing the subject, “Jeremiah, I mean… Is he giving you the ‘how many bullets’ speech? He needs to stop being so verbose.”

  “Did he use it with you?”

  Adriana nodded. “On me, Juan, pretty much everyone he needs to work for him.”

  “What was your answer to the question?”

  “As many as it takes.” Adriana smiled. “I’m going to skip ahead. Christine, you are going to kill President Sanderson.”

  Christine laughed, slapping her leg. She stood up then went over to where Adriana was resting against the rail. “I’ll have another drink while I think. Okay?”

  Adriana smiled and gently caressed Christine’s arm. “Be right back.”

  Christine watched the sway of the Cuban’s hips and for a moment allowed herself to smile.

  After Adriana had left her sight, Christine started searching for a weapon. The storage compartments held nothing but the usual boating equipment, ropes, oars, life lines, vests, and more. She grumbled as there were no flare guns or anything she could actually use.

  “Are you done yet?”

  She spun around startled by Banks’ voice. He leaned against the cabin wall with a slightly amused look. “Where’s Adriana?”

  “Making drinks,” he said. “She mentioned that she told you what the job was. Well?”

  “Give me details.”

  Banks shook his head. “Details. Details. Don’t bog your mind down with unnecessary information. Trust that all will be well.”

  “Not on your life,” Christine said as she moved to the stern railing. Resting her hands on it, she was ready for her next move.

  “Why not? You’ll be doing your beloved Cuba the greatest of service plus you will never have to work again in your life. Retire to Santiago or Trinidad. Live on the beach until your dying days. Paradise is at your fingertips. All you have to do is say yes.” There was a fervor to his words that was extremely compelling. Jeremiah Banks was a true believer.

  Adriana returned and handed Banks and Christine their freshly made mojitos. She then stood next to her employer. “Has she agreed to it yet?”

  Banks sipped his drink then shook his head. “She wants details, for some reason.”

  “Just tell her.”

  Christine watched the other boats. A part of her hoped for the Coastguard to make an appearance. But deep down, she knew that it would be futile.

  “At the closing dinner, both presidents will be there. They are going to make an announcement that is going to change the way the world looks at Cuba. That cannot happen,” Banks said conversationally.

  “The last attempts haven’t succeeded. Why change the game now?”

  Banks nodded his approval. “Very good. Ever wondered why Cuba has never really tried to have the embargo removed? It’s not because of Communism, nor is it because the people don’t want it. By all means, most do want a better life that they think will come from US money. How wrong they are. No, the reason is much simpler. Tradition. Have you noticed that nearly all Latin American countries are steeped in tradition. Same here. For Cubans, not dealing with the US is tradition. And as we all know, traditions are hard to change. That is why I’m doing this. Because of traditions.”

  “And because no one else will,” Christine asked. She was getting bored with all the monologuing.

  Banks nodded and clapped his hands. “So, before the plan was to scare the president. But now, we have to be more direct. So at the dinner, you will kill him.”

  Christine raised herself up and sat on the railing. “How? Poison the food?”

  “A sniper rifle and the position have all been set up for you at PabExpo where the dinner is going to be held.” Adriana started to move forward as both talked. Banks didn’t notice. “This is the important part: he must be killed before either of them start talking. You’ll know when the time will come.”

  “Jerry, maybe you should stop telling her everything?” Adriana said as she kept moving forward towards Christine.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Christine said as she swung her feet. “Who am I going to tell?”

  “I’d bet Station Master.”

  Banks let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about the Station anymore. Christine, what say you?”

  She smiled at both. “I need time to think about it.”

  Jeremiah banks shook his head. “I need the answer now.”

  Adriana started to move faster, her mind realizing what was about to happen.

  Christine grinned. “Then…”

  She flipped backwards straight into the crystal clear water just as Adriana lunged for her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He hated the beach; always had ever since he was a child. Captain Mondragon would have been happy to never see sand again. But his esposa and niños could not keep away, so whenever they wanted to go, he always had work.

  Not today though. The final day of the festival and for the life of him, the order had come down that the CIA was going to be patrolling the city, which meant one thing: the beach.

  Juanito and Fabiola were frolicking in the shallows, chasing each other, splashing, throwing seaweed at one another. Jazmina kept a watchful eye as the captain wished he was on a stakeout.

  Casually, he glanced around at the mixture of turistas and locals. All was peaceful apart for the gathering of people and his niños and esposa making their way over to it. He stood, stretched, and then started over. Probably a dead shark, he thought. It was Fabiola’s scream that pushed Captain Mondragon into a full run.

  “¡Ceder el paso! Ceder el paso! Policía!” he shouted as she shoved people out of the way. Everyone was in a circle and people were muttering about how crime is everywhere; what would Sanderson think if he saw this and how could something like this happen here in paradise?

  The captai
n stopped when he saw the mess of limbs, hair, blood, sand, torn clothes, and seaweed. “Don’t touch it.” He barked orders on a regular basis and it came naturally to him.

  The crowd froze and he took a stick from a slack-jawed gringo and began to flick away the seaweed and other flotsam. As more and more flesh was revealed, his eyes grew wide. “I need a phone. Now!”

  Christine’s face was bruised and there was a large gash across her face. Her arms and legs were entwined with the bloated, pink, veiny corpse of the late Juan de Dios. There were crabs feasting from the stiletto holes on the chest.

  A young boy poked the body and giggled as the crabs scattered. Captain Mondragon found a phone and was barking orders. The boy again poked, this time Christine.

  He screamed when a hand latched onto his leg and the eyes fluttered open. “Ayuda!”

  The captain turned and nearly screamed himself as the boy was being attacked by what he had supposed to be a dead body. It had latched onto the ankle and was tearing at the flesh. The crowd screamed and started to flee. The young boy was screaming and crying.

  Captain Mondragon leapt into action. A swift kick to the man’s face collapsed the nose and it let go. He threw the boy to the ground who was instantly scooped up into the arms of his terrified mother.

  The captain had no time to worry about the wailing child. He needed to stop this seemingly undead monster from attacking anymore of his people.

  The creature was crawling across the sand, dragging its bloodied stumps. Pieces of bone and sinew glistened in the sun. Probably got caught in the propellers, Mondragon thought as he pushed people out of the way. In the back of his mind, he knew there was something else he had to worry about, something more important. But, for the life of him, he had no idea.

  Then he heard the scream.

  Little Fabiola was crying and trying to punch at the mouth tearing at her stomach. Juanito cradled her head while their madre tried with all her might to pull the monster off her darling daughter. Everyone was screaming and a couple of turistas were busy taking photos and videos. Captain Mondragon was frozen, his legs refusing to move.