"Thank you, Edith."
"Sir? We need to notify Dr. Yang’s estranged wife…and his daughter…"
Resolve hardened Desmond’s voice. "I’ll do it. But I’m also going to find out who did this…and they’re going to pay a very high price."
"Yes, sir," Edith said, her voice choking with emotion. "I know you were close with Dr. Yang…we all liked him…"
"Edith?" said Desmond. He had to practically yell now over the sound of several fire trucks roaring up the driveway to Yang’s house, sirens wailing, engines straining against the incline. "I want the executive team on lockdown until further notice. We have to assume this is related to the distribution tonight. This a global command.“
"Of course, sir," Edith said, her voice back under control.
"Get everyone not actively taking part in the events to their safe houses. We’re going to move operations to the backup facility for the time being until I figure out what the hell is going on. Have the Beacon Point manor brought online."
"Yes, sir, I’m sending the evacuation orders now."
"Good. I need someone to get Catia—if these people can get to Norman…make sure she’s safe, Edith. Send a whole security team to get her. I don’t know who’s on duty now, but have them tell her I’ll meet her at the manor, okay? I have to run the main event at the Staples Center in a few hours, then I’ll fly out."
"Sir, should we postpone—"
"No!" Desmond snapped, kicking a small rock off the road. "We’ve worked too hard for this, Edith. Elixr is going live tonight, goddammit. We can’t let these bastards slow us down and win. I won’t allow it!"
Edith didn’t say anything for a long moment. Desmond cleared his throat. "All right," he said breathing hard as the adrenaline coursed through his body. He emerged from the driveway onto the street at the base of the hill. “All right. I’ve reached the bottom of the hill."
"Your driver will be there in…three minutes, sir."
"I…listen—thanks, Edith. I mean it."
"Your welcome, sir. I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said, her voice only quivering a little.
He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see his him, but needed to do it, anyway. "Look, I need to make a few calls while I wait. Let me know when Catia is in the air, please."
"Very good, sir, I’ll clear the line. You should see your car any second."
Desmond lowered his wrist, and the line went dead. He fished the phone from his pocket and placed his thumb on his gritty screen. He was about to automatically scroll to his contacts list when he noticed the screen was still dark. The glass was cracked, but the phone didn’t look damaged otherwise.
"Shit…" he muttered, examining the phone’s case. He shook it. Nothing rattled inside. He tried his thumb again. Nothing. Growing frustrated, Desmond pushed the power button on the phone’s thin side and held it for a count of three. The screen flickered to life.
The smiling face of Kelly Yang greeting him.
Desmond blinked. It wasn’t his phone. It was Yang’s. Oh, God…I’ll have to tell her…
After a moment of shock, he looked back up the hill at the smoke—now changed from thick black to white with the arrival of the firefighters—and down at the phone in his hand. The explosion must have blown Yang’s phone clear of the house.
Realization hit him like a punch to the stomach. That was what had hit his windshield and cracked it…
He gripped the phone tight to his chest and hung his head. Desmond looked up with a sudden realization. Yang’s phone had cracked his windshield just before the explosion. He shook his head and fought a wave of vertigo. It didn’t make sense. If the phone came flying out of the house before the explosion…did that mean Yang threw it out the window? Or was someone else up there with him? Maybe a suicide bomber? But why?
He looked back toward the house and could still see flames flickering between the trees in the distance. Screw it, I’ll figure this out back at the lab.
Desmond entered the master code on the lock screen that only he knew and the phone opened as if it were his. The last screen Yang had used appeared. It looked like he was texting someone about a horror movie. A picture of a zombie eating someone’s chest was followed by a slanted picture of three blood-covered zombies coming at whoever took the picture.
The one in the middle was the same one from the solo picture, the other two looked like soldiers, judging by their uniforms. Blood smeared the walls of a white, sterile looking room. Like a doctor’s clinic. The pictures—there were several more—looked more and more hurried. In the last frame, one of the zombies was right on top of the cameraman, rancid jaws open wide, stringy bits of flesh and gore hanging from blood-stained teeth.
"Jesus," Desmond muttered. "That’s sick." Desmond hadn’t been aware Yang was a horror buff, but it didn’t matter now. He exited the texting app and activated the phone. He was about to call in a favor and rain down some horror of his own on whoever the hell had killed Yang.
"Hello?" a gruff voice answered on the first ring.
"It’s me. Are you still willing to do me that favor?"
A pause. "Yes.” Then, “I pay my debts."
"Good. Get your shit ready and be prepared to activate your team. I’ll have you meet me at the safe house in Beacon Point if need be. You remember the manor?"
The hard man on the other end of the line snorted. “Not easy to forget that castle. How many of us do you need?"
Desmond spotted a sleek black car—the twin of the one that thad just been wrecked—turn the corner and accelerate toward him, headlights winking twice. He raised an arm and the driver flashed the brights one more time.
“I may need all of you," he said.
The former special forces operative on the other end of the line whistled. "It’ll cost you."
Desmond smiled. "Money is no object here. This is…” he looked at the phone, at Kelly’s smiling face, set as the background image. “This is personal. I’m going to have everything sent to the manor. After tonight, me and the rest of the executives will be in town as well. I’m shifting global operations there until this is sorted out. Someone got to Yang—”
“Define ‘got to.’”
Martin sighed, a deep, shuddering sound. “He’s dead, okay? They blew up his God damned house and almost killed me in the process."
The man grunted. "Your HQ is compromised. You should increase your security detail and call in the tier-one executives and your wife."
"That’s what I’m worried about," Desmond replied. "And I did all that. You still have the credit card I gave you last time?"
"Yes."
He smiled. "Good. Use that to stock up for an extended mission—your people, too. You may need to rent or buy some vehicles on short notice—whatever it takes, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the voice said, smiling.
Desmond grimaced. Why did he have the sinking suspicion he was about to turn the tiger loose in a room full of sheep? “When the balloon goes up, I need you to get to Beacon Point as soon as possible—I don’t care how, and I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll even open up the toy chest from the DARPA projects for this one.”
“Jesus. What the hell happened?" demanded the deep voice on the other end of the line.
Desmond stepped back as the car slowed to a stop in front of him. "Someone declared war on me and took me by surprise. It won’t happen again.”
“Do we have a target?”
“Not yet. I’ve got some ideas,” Desmond said as the car rolled to a stop at the curb. “I’m going to get this phone analyzed and send you everything. Get your secure link ready.”
“Hooah.” The line went dead.
Desmond climbed into the front seat and shut the door, sealing out the noise and the smell of the fire.
The driver, dressed in a black suit and tie, glanced at Desmond, keeping his hands on the wheel and the vehicle in drive. “Edith made me promise to check that you’re okay, sir. It’s good to see you in one piece. How are
you feeling?”
“Thanks, Barry.” Desmond managed a wan smile as the car pulled away from the curb.
“Care to answer the question, sir?” Edith’s disembodied voice asked.
“I’m fine, Edith, really."
"Just making sure, sir. I’ve contacted the upper-level executives not directly involved with the global events tonight—they’ve put in motion the transition of global operations to the facilities at Beacon Point, per your request.”
"Excellent," Desmond replied, buckling in as he watched another fire truck race up the hill. "And Catia?"
"Granger was on her detail tonight and brought her up to speed on the situation. She’s on her way to the airport now and sends you her love and sympathy.”
Desmond relaxed into his seat. "Thank God. I want constant updates. When she’s in the air, when she lands in Michigan, and when she arrives at the manor."
"Of course, sir."
“Edith, my phone was lost in the…accident. I have Norman’s.”
Edith was silent. He could almost see her, eyes closed tight as she fought back tears.
“Someone killed him, and there may be a clue why on this phone. And we may learn something about his erratic behavior lately.” He looked at the cracked screen in his dusty hand. “I want this phone torn apart. Put our best people on it. Can you access it from your end with the secured link?”
“Yes, sir, the quantum computer from R&D is online. I’ve got the connection ready to go.”
“Good. Get the data to…who’s that whiz-kid we bought from the CIA? The one they arrested for that sneak and peak with the Federal Reserve?”
“Jimmy Stahn. He’s in Atlanta.”
“Right—get this to him and tell him he can tear up his contract after he figures out who did what and where they are.” Martin waved a hand. “Tell him I’ll even get his record purged. Tell him this is a blank cheque offer.”
“Of course, sir. Initiating uplink now.” Edith went quiet as she worked on transferring every scrap of information from the phone to their pet hacker.
"We heading back to HQ, then?" asked Barry the driver after a moment of silence.
Desmond grimaced. "No, take me to the Arena."
"Sir, we’re still a few hours away from—"
"I know when the event starts, but whoever is trying to stop us is expecting I’ll run and hide. I want people to see that nothing is wrong. These bastards don’t scare me.”
"Your wardrobe for tonight has been pre-staged at the Staples Center, sir," offered Edith.
"Excellent," Desmond said, cracking a smile. "See, Barry? Everything’s ready. Let’s get this show on the road. Right now, it’s the best form of revenge we can take."
“‘Right now,’?” asked Barry, eyes on the road.
"Later, when we find out who killed Norman…” Desmond swallowed, tasting bile at the thought of his colleague’s life snuffed out.
God, if they can get to him, they can get to me…
He clenched his jaw, fighting down the momentary surge of fear. Fuck that. No one kills my friends and gets away with it.
“When we find them, then we’ll have retribution." He cleared his throat, ruffling and resetting his nerves. He had to be on top of his game tonight. It was the most important night of his life—perhaps in all of human history.
“In the meantime, we have a world to save."
10
Vengeance is Mine
Los Angeles, California
Staples Center Arena
Rashid casually peered around the corner, heedless of the security camera across the hall. His men had already hacked the camera system—anyone looking at footage from tonight would see only an empty hallway. Through the thick walls of concrete and steel, he heard the music and the speeches—the Event had started.
He had to hand it to Martin; the infidel made sure everything had taken place exactly on time, even after the death of his lead scientist. The Staples Center had been filled to overflowing with people willing to pay serious money—all for charitable causes, of course—to get the initial dose of Elixr. The First, as they had been hailed in the press, would be the first to reap the rewards of an enhanced immune system, and as a result, longer lives.
The rest of the world would only have to wait a few months—other distribution events would follow as time and money allowed, but the real mover for getting Elixr to the masses was the modified measles-influenza virus at the heart of the concoction. Without obvious symptoms—those traits had been edited out by Dr. Yang and his staff—the neutered virus would happily infect up to 90% of people who came within speaking distance of anyone not already inoculated with Elixr.
Projections published on the news had stated the modern, hyper-connected world would receive Elixr—whether it wanted it or not—within a year.
Martin claimed that the virus only had a lifespan of 48 to 72 hours though, so anyone not infected after 3 days wouldn’t get Elixr from someone else. That was the built-in safety valve. If things spiraled out of a control and something untoward happened...
Rashid grinned. Something like a group of Iraqi freedom fighters hijacking the global distribution events and handing out modified forms of Elixr designed to infect and kill people with Jewish genetic markers...
He wondered if the modifications included switching off the 3-day termination protocol for the active virus. He made a mental note to ask the Libyan scientist after the attack. It didn’t really matter in the long run, but he had always been a curious man.
"You’re sure there’s no one on the other side of that door?"
"Positive, brother," Samir’s voice replied in Rashid’s ear. "The security teams have all regrouped around the main stage and the VIP dressing rooms. Local police are moving into position to guard the exterior of the building, as we were told."
A tremendous, muted roar thundered through the walls. The countdown had begun. He heard sixty-thousand voices call out, "Five…minutes!" and frowned.
Things had been going so well—too well? He and his command team had infiltrated the Staples Center as planned using their stolen uniforms and taken up positions ready to strike at the distribution staff. They were so close…
"Now is our chance," Samir urged over the radio.
"I know, I know," Rashid replied through clenched teeth.
"Four…minutes!" the crowd roared, shaking the floor.
Rashid shook his head. Something was holding him back, but what? Allah had handed him a golden opportunity—he could walk in with minimal bloodshed in the magical, unguarded time between the shift changes between private and public security teams, and take control before the local police arrived to secure the facility. They’d be looking for outside threats, not ones already inside the arena.
Yet…
"Brother—" Samir began, his voice warning that fate wouldn’t wait on him forever.
"Do it," snapped Rashid. "All units," he commanded over the entire net, "move on your positions."
By the time the crowd announced the two minute mark, the fates of every Jewish man, woman, and child in Los Angeles had been sealed. Rashid had taken over the distribution apparatus and switched out the Elixr canisters for his own modified versions. All Martin Enterprises employees had been dispatched, and the bodies hidden. Not a single one of his men had been injured in the brief but extremely violent fracas.
Rashid stared at two examples of the plain metal cylinders, the catalysts for all the bloodshed, one in each hand. Samir stepped up next to him, his face shining with sweat and split with a toothy smile. "It is done, brother."
"One…minute!" the crowd announced, sending tendrils of dust cascading down the cinderblock walls of the control room. The music ramped up and the background noise increased significantly. If nothing else, Desmond Martin knew how to put on a release day party.
Rashid grunted, not taking his eyes off the canisters. "You know, I do not think even I can tell the difference between theirs and ours."
Samir ins
pected the one in Rashid’s left hand, the smile fading as he concentrated. He glanced at the one and nodded, his jaw set. "That one is ours, but the craftsmanship is remarkable."
Rashid frowned. "How can you tell?"
"Thirty…seconds!"
Samir grinned. "There is blood on this one—likely splashed on it when you killed the technician who guarded it."
Rashid laughed. Allah had indeed been merciful. He was in radio silence with the other teams, but could only pray that things had gone as smooth in the other locations around the world as they had in Los Angeles.
He stepped over to the last open receptacle and placed the modified Elixr canister in the slot. The machine greedily accepted it and hissed to itself as it consumed the contents and pumped the cursed concoction through a myriad of pipes and hoses, to be shunted into distribution stations in the arena. It was vaccination on an industrial scale—step up, present your arm, feel a pinprick from the machine, and step away for the next person to receive their free dose, just as soon as the needle was jettisoned and a new one installed. Sanitary, simple, efficient—the American way.
"That’s it?" Samir asked, watching the dizzying array of blinking lights on the machine’s control station. His hands hovered over the keyboard, ready to do something, yet unsure exactly what to do.
Rashid grinned. They’d originally thought to force their way into the arena and hijack the machines themselves until some more research—and a few threats—uncovered the distribution machines hidden out of sight of the partygoers. It proved to be far easier to take control of the machines here, in the secret spaces of the arena, than fight—and create a bloodbath—on the main floor.
"The system is fully automated. Now that we have injected our Elixr into the machine, our task is complete.” He looked at the others, all sweaty and anxious, but grinning in triumph. “Prepare to leave, brothers.”
"Ten…nine…eight…"
A pump warmed up somewhere in the bowels of the car-sized machine and valves opened and whined. Pressure gauges trembled and needles climbed up displays, both analog and digital. Everything was stable, nominal, and primed for the big moment.
Elixr Plague (Episode 1): Vector Page 7
