Carrion Virus (Book 2): The Athena Protocol

by M. W. Duncan

  ***

  The midmorning traffic crawled along at a frustrating pace, at times almost to the point of a gridlock. Brutus wrapped a knuckle against the half-opened window of the taxi. The driver sang along to a tune on the radio. Brutus could have left earlier in the morning, instead, he spent a few hours on Hua Beach drinking fresh, fruit juice and enjoying the sun. The beach was a perfect place to be, but he had to get back to work.

  Toth expected him to leave first thing in the morning. He disliked being summoned like an obedient dog. Tardiness was an apt protest. That’s why he left later. Well, that and because he did not fully trust Toth or the people he worked for. The difference between getting on a plane to the next objective and having his throat slit while he slept was as thin as an assassin’s blade.

  He kept his arm resting on his holdall while scanning out the window. “How much longer?”

  “Not long, mister,” said the driver.

  Brutus gave the window a final wrap. He could see the airport ahead. “I’ll get out here.”

  Brutus threw a bunch of crumpled notes at the driver, and stepped out into the midday sun, slinging his bag over his shoulders. He slipped on his aviators and closed the taxi door behind him. It may not have been more time efficient to walk the remainder of the distance, but the driver’s singing was getting on Brutus’s nerves. He pulled his mobile from the pocket of his shorts and punched the only number stored.

  “Freddie. It’s me. You ready?”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Brutus, sir.”

  “Meet me at the drop off point in five minutes.”

  “Very good.”

  Nodding Freddie, as he was known, due to his habit when speaking, was a fixer of sorts. Brutus was put in touch with Nodding Freddie by an old acquaintance, Ash Gibbons. For the right price Freddie could negate all security measures, sneaking you through passport control and customs. Nodding Freddie was a backdoor in and out of Thailand.

  Brutus powered on, picking up his pace. Since Aberdeen, he was confident his face would be on a watch list. He touched at his eye, beneath his glasses. The scar still hurt, made worse by the hours spent in the sun. If anything, that bitch made him more recognisable. A scar on his face. It was not a death sentence but it made international travel more difficult.

  Nodding Freddie in a garish Hawaiian shirt, yellow with green palm trees, waved Brutus over.

  “Inconspicuous shirt.”

  Freddie nodded. “Sorry, Brutus, sir. Should I change?”

  “The flight is in an hour. I need to be on it.”

  “Of course. I will need the … ah …” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together.

  Brutus gripped Freddie on the back of his neck and pulled the slender man into an embrace. While close, Brutus slipped enough cash to keep Freddie in alcohol and hookers for the next few months.

  Freddie nodded as their bodies separated. “Very good. Follow me.”

  Brutus paused at a waste bin, pulled out his Glock which was wrapped in a plastic bag, and threw it onto the pile of trash. He would never make it through security with the firearm, despite the money he was paying. He felt naked without it, but even unarmed Brutus was a dangerous man. Besides, he trusted Freddie just enough to know that he was not stupid enough to cross him. Brutus had a reputation and in some instances it was better protection than bullets.

  ***

  Eric stepped out of the car and into the cold night. A light covering of snow whitened the ground underfoot. It was nothing like the adverse weather in Aberdeen, but enough to excite children on a day off school. The house was quiet, the windows dark except for the dull light in the living room.

  Eric raised a hand to knock, frowned, and pulled a key from his pocket. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked its perpetual tempo. He locked the door behind him, dropped his pack, removed his coat and placed it on the banister. Christmas cards hung on a string extending over the far wall. A small wooden advent calendar sat on the table, the numbered drawers waiting to be opened. A familiar scent struck him, a perfume that Jacqui wore for special occasions. He bought it for her on their one-year anniversary. It reminded him of better times.

  The living room door creaked open. Jacqui gave an optimistic smile. She rushed over and he took her in his arms.

  “Thank God you’re back.”

  Before Eric could speak his wife placed a firm kiss on his lips.

  “Not here, the kids are asleep. I don’t want to wake them.” She led him by the hand into the living room and closed the door.

  The last time he had been home, things were strained. The kids did not warm to Eric, and Jacqui seesawed through phases of hating him and rescuing him. When they parted, Eric felt there was hope for something better than they had before. So far, that hope was being proven true.

  Eric eased himself into the armchair, Jacqui sat across from him. He longed to sit next to his wife, have her in his arms but a nagging caution urged him to sit where he was.

  “I was so worried, Eric. I didn’t know if you were safe. It doesn’t make sense what they’re reporting on the news, and the few times you called, well, you could never say anything.”

  “You know the rules when I’m working.”

  “I know. I know. I’m not blaming you.”

  Eric felt his face harden. Not in anger, but in thought.

  “What happened there, Eric? Can you tell me now?”

  He let a long moment of silence pass. What to tell her? The whole truth would frighten her. Not enough of the truth would underprepare her.

  “It’s complicated, Jacqui.”

  “Try me. Please.”

  “You know it’s a virus?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s more widespread than reported. People are getting sick all over the city. There’s nothing the government can do. There’s no cure.”

  “And the sick people?”

  “Locked away until they can be treated.”

  “So they can be treated then?”

  “Not yet. Nothing’s been discovered.”

  Jacqui tucked her legs up and hugged them to her chest. “Did you lose people?” Her ask was soft.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Eric?”

  “Too many. Too many.”

  Jacqui unfolded her legs, crossed the space between them and sat on the floor. Her hand kneaded his thigh. “We’re safe, aren’t we?”

  Eric forced a smile. “Of course. I’ll not let anything happen to you and the kids. I promise.” He brought Jacqui’s hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Can we go to bed?”

  Jacqui smiled. “You want your Christmas present early, huh?”

  ***

  Their lovemaking had been awkward at first, two people once so close, trying to rediscover that intimate familiarity. After, they lay together, Eric pulling Jacqui close. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. He was safe, even just for a night. Outside the wind flurried, snow tapping at the window. He stroked Jacqui’s hair, breathing in all that he had missed for so long.

  “Eric?”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Are you going back?”

  “I have to.”

  “When?”

  “Boxing Day.”

  Jacqui let out a sigh, her fingers pushed into Eric’s chest with almost enough force to hurt. “You’ll come back to us, won’t you?”

  “Nothing in the world will stop me.”

  “Don’t break your promise, Eric Mann. I need you. The kids need you.”

  “Do you?” Eric recognised an element of desperation in his voice.

  “Obviously more than you know.”

  “I thought you would try to stop me.”

  “I would love to. But I’ve come to understand that sometimes events take you along for a ride, and you either hold on or fall off. I know you too well, Eric, so any protesting wouldn’t have done any good. You’ll go back until you’re satisfied you’ve done all you can. Martin was the same.”

&nb
sp; Martin’s name still struck a raw nerve. They’d buried him only a few months ago. A good man who died under Eric’s command, and died looking out for Eric. That fate was bound for one of them.

  Eric gently removed Jacqui from his chest so he could look at her fully in the dull light. Her eyes sparkled. She was beautiful. He had to remind himself of how close he came to losing her with his stubbornness and his lack of control and his lack of trust. It brought a chilling fear but also a poignant reminder to never let things spiral out of control like that again.

  “What is it, Eric?”

  “When I’m away, you need to keep your eyes and ears open. You hear anything about people with rashes or unusual behaviour in the area you take the kids and leave. Go out into the country. Check into a bed and breakfast somewhere quiet.”

  “Why? It won’t come here, will it?”

  “No. I don’t think so. But I need to know that you’ll do what’s needed if it does.”

  “What’s happening in the world?”

  Eric had no answer. He did not understand events anymore. Everything soared from nightmares to reality and he was thrust in the middle of it.

  “Merry Christmas, Eric.”

  Eric hugged her close. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  What kind of Christmas would the people of Aberdeen have?

  ***

  Brutus had not visited Cairo before. As was promised, he made it through airport security without so much as a question being asked, or an eye sent his way. He kept a small wad of cash in his pocket in case a zealous official challenged him. None did, and he swept through the throngs of humanity crowding the transport hub and hailed a taxi. A grotty, somewhat rusted car pulled up. Inside, the stench of stale sweat and cigarettes choked Brutus.

  Downtown Cairo, and onto a part of the city the rest of the world never saw, he found the stygian of the renowned capital of Egypt. It was not unlike any other sullied portion of a city. Cut a little deeper through the visible layers, and Brutus could read the streets as well as a lifelong resident. Street vendors selling all manner of ware, some mundane others illicit. The roads filled with cars and lorries. A swarm going about its usual business, many clad in caftans. He may not have spoken the language but Brutus understood all too well.

  The taxi stopped in a narrow street away from the crowds, the light of the sun fading. Brutus threw a clump of crumpled notes to the driver and the taxi pulled away.

  The air was heavy and a musk polluted the street. The windows on a dilapidated and discoloured, two-storey building were shuttered with boards. If anyone observed Brutus he wasn’t aware. The building could have been abandoned and perhaps that was the intention, a camouflage designed for plain sight. The door was the only clue there was more to it. Sturdy, made of steel, well-kept and relatively new with a sliding panel at eye level. His new accommodation was an urban fortress.

  Brutus banged on the door, and stepped to the side before the shutter opened. Cautious? Perhaps. But it served him well. A loud click, and the slider moved from position.

  “Who is it?” called a voice.

  “Santa Claus. And his elf.”

  “Brutus?”

  He stepped into view. “Open the door, Niall.”

  A few more clicks and the door opened.

  “No presents?” asked Niall Campbell with a smirk. He looked tired. Several days of stubble added a number of monochromatic tones to his face.

  Brutus raised his middle finger. Niall laughed at the gesture and slipped his Glock into the waistband of his combat trousers.

  “Is everyone here?”

  “Mostly. A few are out in the field as instructed.”

  Niall lead Brutus to the rear room. A collection of men sat around a square table, cleaning weapons, loading magazines, typing on a laptop or just leaning back in a chair, their baseball caps pulled down over their eyes. Multiple bodies confined without proper ventilation. The room stank. Brutus recognised all in the room, all former military men, elite soldiers now working in the private sector. These men represented a portion of the collective trust Brutus retained in the world. Magnus Munson, Stuart Taylor, Freddo Macleod, Daniel Ziaber and Graeme Sinclair.

  “Season’s greetings, gentlemen.”

  Greetings were returned.

  Niall pulled up a chair for Brutus and they sat next to a weapons rack that held AK-47s and a PSG1 sniper rifle.

  “Where’s Ry Watson?” Brutus asked Niall.

  “He’s at the airfield, making sure our transport is serviceable.”

  “Craig Muir? Roy Smart? Ash Gibbons?”

  “At the location. We last had contact from them two days ago.”

  “Good. We’ll move out tomorrow, be there the day after.”

  Niall leaned in close, and said in a low voice, “What are we getting into, Brutus?”

  These men were hired on his recommendation, on his assurance that he could control them and apply them to the task ahead. The money that secured their services for the next two weeks was better than any could hope to make elsewhere in a year.

  “I wouldn’t be involved if it wasn’t worthwhile,” was all Brutus offered.

  “The money is worthwhile. It’s the risk I worry about.”

  “My contact will be here in the next few hours. Then we’ll all know.”

  “I won’t stick my neck into a noose. I’m here to make money.” Niall leaned back, and edged his chin toward Brutus’s face. “Collected another scar?”

  Brutus touched the wound. A little deeper and he probably would have lost the eye. That bitch and her knife. He should have broken her neck when he had the chance. He shrugged. “We’re all scarred. I just wear mine for the world to see. Get some rest. We’re moving out tomorrow.”

  ***

  Gemma stepped off the bus into a snowstorm. Christmas Eve and she was riding along with a force of CAF soldiers and DSD agents. It had taken some persuasion before any would entertain the idea of allowing her to witness them in action. She dropped Williamson’s name enough and finally the DSD agents relented. She chatted with Danni, a female agent while they rode the commandeered bus. The sheer amount of displaced peoples in Aberdeen looking for shelter far exceeded the anticipated numbers so the CAF now looked to open more areas of the city to house these people until the containment was lifted. Several of the larger hotels in the centre of the city had been cleared out by the military; all traces of infection were removed and they now were readying to receive the displaced. It was a mammoth task but a necessary one. So Danni told her.

  Gemma clutched her camera. Her aim was simple, document everything and latch onto anyone who could provide leads or snippets of information. She pulled her coat tighter, trying to huddle against the cold. The shivers that ran up her spine and through her neck were not due to the weather, but due to the act of stepping back into the city, the place where she lost Stacey, the place where she was forced to strike a man with a knife to save her own life. She had seen so much horror, and knew there was more to come.

  Don’t think about it. Concentrate on moving forward. Stacey’s gone and you have a job to do.

  The CAF soldiers alighted from the bus, rifles and packs in hand. The bus station was covered in a thick layer of snow. Armed men stood at the doorways, weapons held at the ready, their faces hidden by thick balaclavas. Gemma followed the group toward the hotel door. It was one of the largest in Aberdeen, several storeys high and housing hundreds of displaced people. Now filled to capacity, no doubt strangers would be forced to share rooms.

  They trudged along the corridor, sweat and dampness mingling in the air. The carpet beneath their boots showed hints of once being bright and immaculate, yet was now dull and ruined. Gemma loosened her scarf. Ahead, a sergeant shouted orders. She followed the procession up the stairs, filming as they climbed. Her foot burned. Glass had lacerated her foot two weeks ago, and regular cleaning of the wound and changing the dressing had not brought about any signs of healing. But she had less to complain about than mo
st.

  Nothing happening around her sprang out to her as majorly important. She was taking standard run-of-the mill footage, the movement of displaced people and the redeployment of military personnel, a mass of panic-filled faces, people herded from one place to another, the everyday misery that haunted Aberdeen.

  Gemma rounded a corner, finding the soldiers stowing their packs in the bar area before moving out. Danni waved her over and indicated the free chair next to her.

  “Sit down. Thought I’d keep you in the loop,” she said with a smile, one that Gemma guessed would disappear in a few days.

  “What’s happening?”

  “We’re starting to bring in the displaced. The soldiers you saw will be stationed on every floor. None of the room doors will be permitted to close.”

  “And if someone does close a door?”

  “Everyone coming here signs a contract of behaviour. Anyone breaking it will be removed and detained indefinitely.”

  “No kidding?”

  Danni shrugged. “Dangerous times, Gemma. The actions of one person can endanger many more. We need to be strict. The CAF aren’t screwing around. That’s live ammunition in those rifles.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “Who?”

  “Those who don’t follow the rules?”

  Danni checked over her shoulder, a slight movement that many would have missed. “I don’t know. Nowhere good I suppose.” She smiled again. “But still, we hope that won’t happen. The first coach load will be here soon. We’ll be processing them. Feel free to stick around.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to tour around the hotel a little, see some of the conditions.”

  Danni tapped a pen to her teeth. “That’s at the discretion of the CAF. That badge,” she pointed her pen at Gemma’s Black Aquila ID badge, “won’t get you very far. The CAF is the law here.”

  “Guess I’ll stick with you, then. Can we get a coffee?”

  “Sure. Over there.”

  She pointed to a table lined with large canteens for the preparation of hot drinks.