by Darrell Bain
“I said I'm going and that's all there is to it. Now why don't you two quit arguing and figure out a way to make it work without putting Dan in even more danger than he already is.”
While Daniel was trying to come up with a scenario that would allow Lisa to accompany him, protect her and yet not scare Wesley off, Tyrone offered a solution.
“You said that the meeting is at the corner of the park closest to where the B&B fire was. There's a little clothing shop on the other side of the street. I know the owner and he has a young daughter who works for him. We could have Lisa watch from there.”
“Wesley might still suspect. It's a logical place for backup.”
“Well, how about all afternoon we have his daughter go back and forth across the street and cut through the park as if she's going home; she does that all the time, anyway. Then an hour or so before the contact, we put Lisa in her place and let her make a pass or two. It will be getting dark then and he won't be able to tell the difference even if he has been watching. Besides, his daughter has long red hair, just like Lisa.”
“You should have been an agent. Okay, that might work,” Daniel said. “Just go about it openly and wear clothing that you can carry your gun in without using a purse. Thing is, will the owner and his daughter go along with the charade?”
“They will if I ask them to,” Tyrone assured him.
“All right,” Daniel conceded reluctantly. “I don't like it, but I have to admit I will feel better having someone watching. And I can tell you, Tyrone, not only is Lisa a damn fine shot, but she doesn't panic, either.”
Lisa smiled at him, relaxing now.
“I know she's a good shot. She beat me in the city revolver championship match last year. And she proved it all over again at the B&B fire; otherwise I wouldn't have suggested this setup.”
There was one more thing which had suddenly piqued Daniel's curiosity. “It just now occurred to me. There sure seem to be a lot of redheads in Masterville. Is that right, or is it just my imagination?”
Tyrone and Lisa both stared at him.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Tyrone murmured. “Dan, you may be right, come to think of it; a few years ago Jeremiah did a humorous article for the Clarion about all the redheads around here. Whether it means anything or not, I'm completely clueless. It's worth looking into though, that's for sure.”
* * * *
That night Daniel and Lisa slept together, without company, even though Marybeth was back on the mountain. Daniel thought about asking what the criteria was for the sleeping arrangements, but let it go. The night last week had been enjoyable in the extreme, but he was perfectly satisfied to have Lisa to himself. Apparently, Lisa had the same thing on her mind; either that or she wanted to explain the situation.
As they were undressing, she said “In case you're wondering, I want you to myself most of the time. Last week was great, but it won't happen that often, especially while Marybeth is with Tyrone.”
“Lisa, sweetheart, whatever you want to do is always going to be fine with me.”
Lisa unhooked her bra and tossed it in the general direction of a chair. It missed. Daniel decided that she just enjoyed throwing clothes about while disrobing. “Marybeth and I-well, she-oh, never mind. She's a good friend and a free spirit and she likes you enough to want to be in bed with us. We'll do it again sometime.” She peeled down her panties and stepped out of them. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
Daniel laughed. “I think you just like to throw clothes around, but never mind-it turns me on. In fact, everything you do turns me on.”
“Good, come show me.”
He wondered if he would ever get enough of Lisa. She was as much of a free spirit as Marybeth, so far as he was concerned. At least she made love with abandon and no hint of shame or embarrassment. They were no sooner in bed than she threw a leg over him then moved to sit up. She adjusted her position a bit and he slid into her. She began rocking slowly on him, leaning forward just enough so that he could easily caress her breasts. He held one in each hand and felt the firm, resilient flesh push against his palms each time she rocked forward. The movements rubbed her nipples against his hands and he felt the friction stimulate them to hard little buttons. That excited him even more in turn, as it must have Lisa. She leaned her body lower and lower until finally she stretched out on him and began rubbing against him with furious back and forth movements while he held her breasts and lavished attention on first one then the other with his mouth and tongue. He felt his excitement rising and strained up against her, coming to a climax just as her whole body tensed and trembled. She cried out at the delightful joy of total release before collapsing on top of him, as utterly spent as he was.
Later they made love again, this time slower, and with the positions reversed. They slept cuddled together, holding each other as if this might be their last night together. Daniel didn't mention it, but he knew that it very well could be.
* * * *
Lisa left earlier in the day after Tyrone called and set up the cover at the shop for them, apparently with no problems. Daniel thought it spoke well of his reputation in the city. Tyrone left them alone part of the morning and he had run Lisa through a few basic techniques for acting innocent but held it to a minimum. Trying to make a field agent out of her in one day simply wouldn't work. He did show her how to wear some clothes where she wouldn't have to carry a purse but could still keep her revolver handy. Most female agents used specially made purses with quick-draw pockets for their weapons, but there wasn't one available for her and no time to devise one. He felt bad about sending her off with so little preparation but it was all he could do.
Daniel and Tyrone left the plant shortly before dusk. On the way down, Tyrone turned on the radio to catch the news at the top of the hour. As it had been for days, Masterville was the main story, but this time they caught three pieces of breaking news in a row.
First they heard that Chief Masters had earlier in the day asked the governor for permission to activate the National Guard Company stationed in Masterville to help control the crowds of outsiders still clogging the streets of the city. Permission had been refused, with the reason cited as there not being enough of a disturbance nor enough violence to warrant calling out the guard.
Next, they heard that the Surgeon General had declared a quarantine of the whole valley, citing public health and the possibility of spreading infectious prions as the basis for the action.
Daniel started to let loose a disgusted comment about the origins and probable destination of the Surgeon General when the last piece of news rocked them. Gregory Sullivan, the President's press secretary announced that an army brigade had been designated to seal off the valley in accordance with the Surgeon General's orders, and would be moving into place as soon as possible. Mister Sullivan said that the President was taking the step reluctantly, but he was bound to follow the expert advice of the SG.
Daniel again started to make a derogatory remark, but Tyrone beat him to it. “Oh Goddamn, I didn't expect this, at least not so soon! Damn, damn, damn! Daniel, you're going to have to ride back up with Lisa when you're finished. I can't wait like we planned. Look me up when you get back.”
“Is something the matter?” Daniel asked, concerned at the obvious agitation Tyrone was displaying.
“Yes-no, hell I don't know. Depends on how fast they move. Anyway, it's not anything to concern you right now, so stay focused on what you're doing and maybe we'll talk about it later,” Tyrone said, though he didn't intend to talk about it to anyone yet, except the special persons who had chosen to volunteer.
Tyrone was morose and silent the rest of the way into town. He let Daniel out several blocks away from the prospective meeting place and drove away, pausing only long enough to shake his hand and wish him good luck. Daniel kept his car in sight until it turned a corner, then began walking slowly toward the corner of the park where Wesley would be waiting for him if all went well.
* * * *
&nbs
p; Simmons was beginning to have doubts about Wesley Carron. They had arrived at their destination, a mile or so beyond a small break in the valley wall that was still heavily forested, with no trouble, but then he had been acting as if something were bothering him. Simmons was an old hand at reading emotions and body signals and he knew that something was amiss. Wesley had almost quit talking to either him or Canton Bass, the third man of the Op. Bass was a former native of the area, though not from the immediate area. He knew the old logging roads, though, and had directed them to a very good hiding place. Even if they were discovered, Simmons had already put out all the props to make the site look like a simple camp, where they were presumably enjoying some time in a wilderness setting.
While Wesley hadn't actually done or said anything to arouse suspicion, Simmons still decided to follow him when he volunteered to go down into town and purchase staples enough to last another week or so. He could feel secure leaving Bass behind; the man was the type who always followed orders, never questioning. Besides, it didn't matter. He owned the only phone between the three of them; he had insisted on this for security reasons. And if that weren't enough, there was the Dead Man's switch he had activated as soon as they arrived. He had to reset it every twenty four hours; otherwise a timer would start, and in another forty eight hours the bomb would go off. To wrap it up even tighter, once the timer started, even he couldn't stop it. All he could do was get out of the fallout pattern. If he did get orders to set off the bomb, then the three of them would separate and go their separate ways. Simmons didn't know where Bass or Wesley would go, but he had his place already picked out in the Cayman Islands, where his offshore account was located.
Once Wesley's truck was out of sight, Simmons set the Dead Man's switch, then waited until he could no longer hear the sound of his vehicle. He then followed in the other pickup with the lights out. He had an excellent memory and there was still enough of a moon showing to keep him on the old logging roads. As soon as he turned onto the first blacktop, he could see the taillights of Wesley's vehicle far in front of him. He waited until it went around the curve of a switchback then turned on his parking lights; he had no desire to run off the road. Once onto the main highway leading down into the valley, he put a couple of vehicles with lights between them, and only then turned on his headlights. After that it was a simple matter to follow Wesley on into town and watch as he pulled into the parking lot of the City Park.
Simmons quickly turned off on a cross street before reaching Wesley, then parked along the side of the street and hurried back to the park. He was just in time to see Wesley stop on the far corner, look around then seek out a park bench to sit on, as if he were taking a short rest. Simmons noted the location. He circled around into a forested section then quietly made it back to within forty yards of where Wesley sat, concealing himself in a clump of bushes just out of the tree line. He hunkered down and waited. Wesley sure as hell wasn't intent on buying groceries, not the way he was looking around and fidgeting. He had to be meeting someone.
* * * *
Wesley Carron waited and wondered how he had ever gotten involved in this mess, and whether his desperate plea had gotten through to his old partner, Daniel Stenning. He had taken the only chance he had gotten to try to stop this abomination without implicating himself, and had called in a huge favor back at the agency to get even that much done. While waiting at the old motel and watching television he had seen the news accounts that Daniel was now a fugitive, but didn't believe the agency's story. He must still be somewhere in Masterville, and he had asked that his message be delivered to the city's most prominent citizen, Tyrone Beamer, with a mention that it was imperative for Daniel be receive it. He wasn't going to take a chance on anyone else, figuring the chances were fifty-fifty they would simply report it to the government. If he were caught, he knew that prison was the best outcome he could hope for, but execution would be far more likely.
It had seemed like such a good idea at the time when Phillips proposed it. Go off the agency payroll and work for him personally at a huge increase in remuneration. He had taken the bait, then after a few unsavory Ops, knew that he had been a sucker. Phillips owned him now. He had quieted his conscience and gone along, even to the point of helping hide the stolen radioactive material after it had been recovered, thinking Phillips would send it overseas to be used some place where a dirty bomb explosion could be blamed on the country's enemies. Even after Simmons had arrived at the hiding place with the explosives-laden truck, he still thought they were destined for overseas duty, probably exiting through Mexico then to somewhere in the Middle East, where stolen pickups had a big market.
When they got the orders to move to a location near Masterville he could hardly believe it, but he knew it would do no good to protest. Even the promised extra money and retirement held no lure. He had quit believing Phillips. More likely he would end up as shark bait in the long run. No, he had done the only thing possible to both try to alert someone who knew how the agency worked, and one who might possibly keep his name out of the ensuing mess. If it went off anyway, he intended to run, just as fast as he could, and get out of the country to somewhere he could go underground and eventually send for his wife. He sighed and looked at his watch again. If Daniel was coming, it was time.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Tyrone sped back up the mountain toward Beamer Research, hurrying as fast as he could without chancing a wreck; that would be disastrous. He very nearly ran off the road anyway, trying to pay attention to adjust the buttons on the phone panel in the car. His voice shook enough so that the phone mis-dialed; he had to speak up again to get his office. The call would ordinarily have been redirected to one of his assistants, but Gina was there, working late. She answered.
“Get the couriers and Harry into my office, as soon as possible,” he said, then listened a moment. “Just tell Harry to bring the goods and we'll go with however many we have on the premises. If there's time, we'll deal with the rest of them later.” He rang off, hoping his call hadn't been monitored by the NSA; they could probably break his encryption if they wanted to.
Once he arrived at the plant, Tyrone hurried to his office. Harry was there, carrying a plain cardboard box in his hands. Standing around and against the walls of his office were a dozen men and women, all trusted employees he had recruited. The only thing they appeared to have in common was that they all had a Hispanic countenance.
Tyrone greeted them all, then held out his hand to Harry. He was given the box, which he opened. Inside were more than a dozen capped vials containing a cream colored liquid, each little more than the size of his finger. He began handing them out to the others in the room, talking as he did so.
“I guess you all heard about the President calling up the army to seal off the valley.” Muttered epithets greeted that remark, telling that they had heard, all right. “I doubt that they'll have the passes covered yet, but there's damn little time, so be on your way. If they do have roadblocks already up and you get stopped, you probably won't be searched; you'll just be turned around and told that you can't leave. In that case, you all know the back trails. Get out anyway you can.
“Now remember, you are not to release the prions except under two circumstances: one, if the army moves into the city and begins rounding up our people with the intention of transporting them to a concentration camp of some kind. We've already talked about that, but now there's a second scenario. There may be a dirty bomb near here, a regular explosive device, but laced with radioactive material. If a dirty bomb does blow here, you can be sure the feds will try to blame it on us, and begin imprisoning every last person in the valley. And that will be your other signal, a dirty bomb explosion. Either of the two is a go.” He waited for heads to nod agreement, then turned to his Lab Chief. “Harry, is there anything else they need to know?”
“It's really pretty simple,” Harry said. “The stuff in those vials can be aliquoted down to ridiculous proportions and still be effective; it ju
st might take a little longer for the prions to multiply after ingestion.”
“Aliquoted? What's that?” Someone asked who wasn't familiar with laboratory jargon.
“Diluted. You can dilute it with just about anything, then dilute that portion all over again, et cetera. That should give you enough of a supply to last a long time.”
“Okay,” Tyrone said. “Get going. I don't have to tell you how important this is, and that you all have my thanks. If for some reason you get caught, I'll do all that's in my power to help you. Godspeed and good luck.”
The others filed out of the office as Tyrone stood by the door, shaking each hand as the men and women departed.
After the office was cleared, Harry looked down at the remaining vials in the box. He shook his head, thinking about the others being transported out of Masterville. “How are they going to do it Tyrone? You haven't told me. Or is it a secret?”
Tyrone debated with himself for a moment, then decided it wouldn't matter whether Harry knew or not; if the feds or anyone else ever caught on to what he was doing, Harry's name and his role in the seeding would inevitably surface. “You could figure it out if you gave it a bit of thought, Harry, but I'll save you the trouble. What's the best way of getting our prions into babies, so that they will grow up with them?”
Harry thought a moment then grinned. “Baby formula.”
“Right. There are only five or six large formula producers in the country, and the couriers won't have any problem getting jobs at the initial processing part of the assembly lines. It's a fairly smelly business, believe it or not, and they use mostly immigrants, plus a lot of illegals who have forged documents. If they get the signal, roundup or dirty bomb, it won't be long until most of the babies in the country who are being bottle fed will be ingesting our prions. And that can go on for-oh, a year or so, wouldn't you say?”
“At least. Prions are hardy little critters. It's hard to destroy them and it doesn't take many, according to my latest research. And our prions are curious little devils; they seem to multiply only up to a certain saturation point around certain synapses, then stop. After that, they go into the typical folding routine, but not in the typical way of disease-causing prions. I sure hope we don't do any harm, Tyrone. There's a hell of a lot we don't know about them yet.”
