“No I didn’t.”
“Now see, I find that really odd.” Joe shook his head. “Probably could have stopped the whole thing if you knew?”
“I would have. But they had a master plan. They were releasing the virus. Nothing could have stopped them.”
Joe nodded again. “That’s what I thought.” He smiled once more than finished opening the door. “Thanks George you’ve answered a lot.” He spun his heels before he walked out, still smiling arrogantly. “But . . . Just one thing. I thought you said the scientists didn’t speak to you at all.”
“They didn’t. I never saw one.”
“Just needed to know that. Thanks, George.” With a deep breath Joe walked from George’s home. His mind was heavy with thoughts as he stepped into the street. He walked slowly, occasionally looking back at the house he had just left. Preparations were made for Joe’s talk with George. Preparations that included instructions to anyone who had contact with George, not to mention the society or their plan. Joe told them he wanted to be the one to inform the former president. And Joe’s preparations worked.
George had confirmed his every suspicion, his fear, when he spoke of the master plan. Something he couldn’t possibly had known unless the scientists had told him. And according to George, they didn’t speak to him at all. He was locked away in a room. Joe had the inner proof he needed, he just had to find the physical proof for everyone else. He would have to have that. To think that about George being the traitor that lived amongst them was one thing. To prove it to the community, that looked to him as a trusted council member, was another.
Joe was in his own world. Deep thought, a sense of loss, an overwhelming anger growing caused him not to be paying attention. If he had, he would not have been nearly knocked over by Dean who ran at a high speed past him. “Dean, what the hell?”
“Help me, Joe.” Dean kept running. “Help.”
As Joe turned his view from Dean he was nearly knocked over by Frank he was picking up the distance between them. “Christ Almighty . . . Frank! Leave him alone!” Joe tossed his still burning cigarette and took off running after them. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
^^^^
CIRCLE OF JUSTICE
Book 4
CIRCLE OF JUSTICE
A dedication . . .
Imagine a place you love to be, a place you want to visit again. And the memories you have of this place are all good. If this place was a story it would be called, BEYOND THE WALL. Now imagine another place, a place where you really need to go. A place by the end of this book, I hope you want to be. A better place, hopefully far exceeding any other I have taken you to. This place, this next place, lies across the other side of a river. If this better place was a story, it would be called, THE RIPPLE.
To cross this river you need a bridge. The name of this bridge is CIRCLE OF JUSTICE.
You are about to cross that bridge. By no means is it a straight bridge, nor is your journey across going to be smooth. But it is a route you need to take.
I really loved writing CIRCLE OF JUSTICE. Every moment I wrote, I truly put my heart into. I hope you enjoy the directions I have chosen.
So for all those who enjoy the journeys the people of Beginnings take you on . . . this story is dedicated to you.
CHAPTER ONE
BEGINNINGS, MONTANA
The leaves that fell victim to the autumn air, crushed between the spaces of Frank Slagel’s fingers as he crawled belly-down through the thick brush west of the back perimeter region. It was difficult for a man of his size to stay hidden in foliage that grew barer by the day. He had a hard time finding the intruder that he was told was ‘right there’. His head cold coupled with the small animals that scurried about, threw his sound perception off. And inexperienced, fill-in tower guard, Henry Kusakari, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Frank had to stay close to the ground, deep in the brush. And if he wanted to keep his head--literally--he had to depend on Henry’s directions to find the invader and take him out. It just was overly annoying to Frank that Henry had no sense of real direction. Not even an inkling.
“Where?” Frank graveled his voice, hovering his mouth over the microphone of his headset, wishing he could scream.
“There.” Henry replied. “Right there.”
“Where is there, Henry?”
“Frank . . . oh. Frank . . . there. Right there.” Henry’s voice grew louder with excitement. “Frank, he’s right there.”
“Well, shut up so I can hear him.” No sooner did he get the words from his mouth, Frank heard the familiar pumping sound. The pumping of a shotgun’s chamber. “Shit.” With quick shifting eyes to the left, he saw a black boot. With just enough time to spare, Frank rolled his body to the right, seconds before the blast of the weapon caused dirt and dried leaves to spray outward like rain. Before his assailant had another opportunity, Frank swiped his left hand forward, grasping the gunman’s ankle and knocking him on his back to the ground. With his revolver already clasped in his hand, Frank fired one shot, one deadly shot, and it was over. “I got him.” He stood up brushing off the dirt that had stuck to him. He bent down to the uniformed man. “Check it out Henry, we got another shotgun.” Frank picked it up. “Nice one too. I’m taking this one on as my own.” Tossing it over his shoulder, Frank, using his boot, rolled the man from his back onto his stomach. “See any more? Henry? Henry?”
The sound of Henry breathing heavily out could be heard. “I thought you were dead, Frank.”
“I almost was.” Frank moved to the back gate. “Did anyone ever tell you there’s a difference between right there and right behind you?”
“Well, Frank I was a little excited,” Henry defended. “But I don’t see any more. I don’t think. No. Yes. No. It’s O.K., go on in.”
Frank grunted. “Are you sure?’
“Yes. Wait. No. It’s a deer.” Henry stated. “I don’t like doing this, Frank. It’s too stressful. Find someone else.”
“Tough. You’re doing it.” Frank marched in. “You will play tower guard every day for an hour. Think of it as my punishment to you because you started it.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You opened that wall.” Frank secured the gate. “This is Frank.” He spoke to into his radio as he kept walking. “Fire up the back perimeter, I’m in. And no one touch my dead body. Dean’s claimed it.”
^^^^
Questioning in his mind, ‘Dean’s claimed it?’ Joe Slagel could only shake his head and turn down the volume on his radio to spare himself from anything his son said that he didn’t understand. Of course, to Joe, ninety percent of what Frank said he didn’t understand. But dealing with Frank’s demented point of view was the furthest thing from Joe’s mind. Other things took precedence.
Heading to his office to prep for the council meeting that would take place that early afternoon, Joe also braced for a meeting with Frank. After activity at the back gate the unscheduled gripe session Frank called a briefing was always imminent.
Joe wanted to lock the door along with locking the world out for a short period of time. But he couldn’t. Pounding stress headache, eyes burning from reading, Joe laid the huge stack of computer paper on his desk before he sank his stocky body into his beat-up chair.
The papers had become his new daily routine. They had nothing to do with the issues that had to be discussed at the meeting, but everything to do with George. At least Joe thought so. The information he held before him was printed from some of the disks in the cryogenics lab they discovered underneath Beginnings. Though a lot was missing and answers still remained lost, there was valuable information in those printouts. The entire plan was to wipe out the world and start all over using death squads, the genetically enhanced embryos, and the reconditioning of humans to make them fit the mold. The entire thing was so big. How could George, as the former president, not know of the Caceres society or their plan? He had to. But nothing in the papers Joe held confirme
d George’s connection. Joe needed confirmation; a gut instinct wouldn’t be good enough. He knew the people of Beginnings, whether they trusted Joe explicitly or not, would not believe George had anything to do with the Society. The answers and the proof, Joe was certain, still laid in Beginnings somewhere. He was determined to uncover it, even if it ended up being the last thing he ever did. He owed it to the people of Beginnings. He owed it to the billions who had lost their lives in the senseless plague that was released as a mere way to control the population.
Sitting back in his chair, Joe mentally prepared himself. George was third council, and would be at the meeting. Facing George, knowing what his insides told him, was one of the hardest things Joe had to do. But it paled in comparison to the pleasantries and fake trust Joe had to front to George. Front to a man he had truly grown contempt for since he arrived back in Beginnings, ten days earlier, completely unscathed from being held hostage for a month.
^^^^
A look of confusion perched upon Melissa’s naturally pretty face. She tucked her red hair behind her ears, folded her arms tightly and jolted--again--to the loud sound of crashing glass that flowed from the cryo-lab. She turned around, looked at the closed door, and then tapped on the glass of the blackened out window. “Dr. Hayes?” She called out. “Everything all right?”
Another crash, a thump, and a squeal were the sounds that precluded the buzz of the lab door. Dean pop only his head out. His dark blonde hair in total disarray. “Um, yeah, sure. We’re uh, testing his strength.” He gave a nervous smile.
“He’s very strong.” Melissa commented.
“Yeah. One more, maybe five minutes.” Dean slammed the door.
Melissa tossed her hands up.
In the lab Dean leaned against the metal door. “El, did you get him?”
Up from behind the counter, Ellen Slagel stood. She ran her fingers through her hair, which not only matched Dean’s in color, but in being messed up as well. Only Ellen’s was long enough to be knotted. “What are you nuts? Catch him? I can’t even think that fast. We really should do his checkup right before his nap time. That way he’s not so hyper.”
Dean hunched down, stepping slowly in a search around the lab. “Marcus,” He called in a whisper to Melissa’s son, a child born as the result of the experimental implantation of one of the enhanced embryos. “Marcus.”
“Here, Marcus.” Ellen sung out almost as if she fetched a dog. “Dean, all the rabbits are secure, right?”
“Shit.” Just as Dean spoke a rattling of cages was heard coming from one of the back rooms. “El.” Dean raced toward the back. “Get the bunny Thorazine ready just in case. I’ll lock him in the back.”
“Got it.” Ellen took off to the counter.
Dean hurried in the back room, bodily slamming the door as he entered. “Marcus’” he called in a parental scold. “Put that down.”
Marcus didn’t have a normal laugh but he tried. A gurgling hiccup is what it sounded like. He smiled widely but most of it was hidden beneath the thick brownish flesh that folded all over his face. The child was four weeks old but looked six or seven months. His body was pug, almost muscular looking. Sitting on a counter, he held on to the rabbit cage, lifting it high and shaking it as if it were his own live rattle. The furry inhabitants rolled and bounced helplessly around as he did.
“Marcus.” Dean stepped to him. “Down. Mommy will feed you later.” He cringed when Marcus slammed the cage and playfully lifted it again.
“Have it,” Ellen announced as she raced back in the room, shutting the door. “Oh, look Dean, he’s playing.”
“Swell.” Dean shook his head. “I think you’re right. I think a closed in area is needed for an exam. We’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
“Maybe have Melissa there?” Ellen asked.
“Yes. But . . .” Dean took a step closer to Marcus. “We have to return him first.”
“No, we have to catch him. He’s there, Dean. Get him.” Ellen giggled. “Go on, get him.”
With a grunt, Dean smiled to the baby. “Marcus. Come on. Put down the cage.”
Marcus did.
“Good boy.” Dean raised his voice to a high, upbeat one as he held out his arms. “Come here. Let’s play. Come here, Marcus. Come . . .” Before Dean could say another beckoning word, a high pitched delightful squeal came from Marcus and he shot forth happily into the arms of Dean, barreling the small doctor’s five foot seven frame up a foot in the air and back five. Dean smashed into the wall before falling onto the floor. “El.” With Marcus perched upon his chest, he groaned trying to avoid the very wet kisses Marcus plastered him with at that moment. “Help.”
Ellen just laughed, shook her head and stepped over Dean. “Hold on to him. I’ll get his mother.” She laughed once more before opening the door and leaving.
^^^^
Even though Joe received the radio call from Frank stating he was stopping by before meeting Dean, the ‘boom’ of the office door as it flung open and hit the file cabinet, still made Joe jump. Frank was never without an entrance and he didn’t make an exception.
“Hey Dad.” Frank walked in carrying a poster size piece of wood. He closed the door with his foot. “Thanks for taking the time. Check out what I made.” He stepped closer to the desk. “After my tower watch episode with mentally deficient Henry.”
“Mentally deficient Henry?” Joe questioned. “Who’s calling the kettle black, Frank?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“Who?!” Frank questioned louder.
“Frank!” Joe snapped. “Never mind. What do you have?”
“Oh.” Frank set it upright facing Joe. “After today, I went back and finished it. What do you think of my chart?”
Joe stared at it and at the red painted heading. “What in the world, is ‘S’, ‘U’, ‘T’?”
“Huh?” Frank looked. “Oh. O.K. Not ‘S’, ‘U’, ‘T’. You say it like ‘butt’, only SUT. It’s the name of the death squad guys that the frozen people created.”
“Who in the world gave them a stupid name like . . . never mind, I don’t need to ask. Frank, why did you name them?”
Frank rolled his eyes, shaking his head and running his hand over his dark complicated face. “It would be a little long winded, don’t you think, if tower had to yell over the radio, “Frank, I see a death squad guy that the frozen people made.”
“I’ve heard enough. What is this . . . SUT-Buster Chart?”
“My way to keep track and estimate when this little game will be over.” Frank closed one eye and pointed to his own temple. “See, the plan says twenty-five hundred. I’m marking numbers we took out, when and where.”
Joe nodded impressed--sort of. “I see. Keep track of what’s left. And what is this projected end date at the bottom?”
“The way I figure their little chip in the brain has them programmed to come and attack us like zombies going to flesh. And the way they flock, steady at four per day, gives them the benefit of a few big hits which I look forward to. I figure they should run out of SUTs in three years.”
“If they didn’t make more. Which they probably did.”
“Yeah.” Frank grinned. “So? What do you think?”
“I think I need an aspirin before my council meeting.” Joe stood up and walked around his desk to the door.
“Oh. Hey, if you see Dean, can you tell him his dead SUT is waiting. Hurry before the birds get him.”
Joe only mumbled something inaudible and left.
Frank looked down and gloated at his nice looking accomplishment. Then figuring his father was really impressed with it, Frank proceeded to hang that chart behind the file cabinet that Joe faced when he sat in his desk.
^^^^
Andrea took in the cool fall air in a long deep inhale through her nostrils. Her arm looped through George’s as they walked slowly. “This was nice. Thank you.” She complimented.
“You need to get out more.” George said.
“I know. I just . . . two big parts of my life have left me in a year’s time, George. I’m just not that strong.”
“Ah, but you are.” George patted her hand. “And you going back to work is the way to do it. Get your mind off of things. The clinic needs you. Dean and Ellen . . . they need you. I don’t know what’s up with those two.”
Andrea had a slight chuckle. “I believe those two haven’t decided their field of calling. Medicine or mad scientists.”
“Tell me about it. They treat Marcus not like a child but like . . .”
“A lab experiment.” Andrea nodded. “That’s our Dean and Ellen.”
“See why we need you back?” George slowed in his walking. “This is where I have to depart. Thank you for taking the walk with me, Andrea. I needed a little friendly face before the meeting.” George started to leave and when he felt the tug to his arm, he smiled, but didn’t let Andrea see it.
“Whatever do you mean?” She asked.
Pretending to be so down, George swayed his head slowly. “Oh, it’s Joe. He’s . . . He’s not been the same with me. I can’t figure out what I did.”
“It’s not you, George. Joe’s just stressed. These little attacks here and there by those soldiers are wearing at him. Even though the society episode is over with, I believe the whole ordeal is still so fresh. I’m sure Joe will get better. He’s just dealing with leftovers right now.”
“Good to hear that,” George said. “I thought it was me. I couldn’t figure out what I did. I don’t want to cause Joe any unnecessary stress.”
“Who you?” Andrea giggled. “Only Frank and Ellen can do that. And they’re doing good, together and individually. Knock on wood.”
“Knock on wood. Thanks again.” George smiled and walked away. He felt better. He hated the thought of being in the same room as Joe. He carried the little black case that contained the drug he would use on him. It was a small mental consolation for times, such as council meetings, where he had to deal with Joe’s arrogance. He couldn’t wait for the day that it became a reality. But that couldn’t happen until Joe had achieved the mental and physical levels that wouldn’t warrant any suspicion over his sudden health deterioration. And after his little chat with Andrea, George was hopeful. She had given him some food for thought on how to start pushing Joe to those optimum, prescribed levels.
The Big Ten: The First Ten Books of the Beginnings Series Page 126
