“How’s that book I saw you writing earlier coming?” Steele poked at the man.
“You know I hate computers, but my boss keeps making me do action reports,” Jarl growled, a scowl settling across his face at the thought of writing more reports.
“I feel ya’ man. You have all your mags?” Steele asked, making a mental checklist of everything.
“I brought a couple extra mags for you, little boss,” the big man boomed down at him.
“Hopefully we won’t need them.”
Steele meandered his way over to Agent Carling’s table. Her gear was laid out neatly for inspection; organized and tidy, without a single piece an inch out of place. He glanced at her and then back at her gear. Her brown hair hung freely along her shoulders, a small smirk settling on her lips as if she dared him to find a piece missing. She was pretty and the moment you underestimated her she took you out. Andrea was to be the lone female in the group, and it wasn’t unusual for females within the Division to work with all-male teams. Former military, especially special forces, dominated their workforce.
“What?” she said, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at him.
“Nothing. I wonder if Wheeler has a back up blade for you.”
Anger steamed from her. “No way,” she stammered. Andrea shifted her gear from place to place, picking up one piece at a time. She found the blade and pushed the button, revealing a wicked edge.
“Oh, there it is,” he said, dodging a swipe.
“Screw you, Steele. Get your eyes checked.”
“You’re right it is hard to see you all the way down there.”
She puffed her chest out. “I’m tall enough to whoop your dumb ass,” she said, raising her arms into a striking position.
“Okay, Okay. Simmer down now,” he said with a smile.
Close to the same age as Steele, Andrea had always felt like a sister to him.
Steele shoved his hands into his pockets. “You heard from Chip?” he asked, leaning on the desk.
“Nah, I haven’t. I overheard Wheeler saying he called in sick at the last minute, and the big bad SAC over there won’t bring in a replacement.” She rolled her eyes.
“Needs of the mission,” Steele snorted. “Don’t ask any questions because you won’t get no answers. Stick with it.”
Despite his joke, it concerned him. “That’s not like Chip. I guess we’re rolling with a five-man team then.”
“I think you mean five-person team,” she corrected with a smile, extending her baton and swinging it back and forth as if testing to make sure it worked.
Steele took a step back. “Five-person team,” he said carefully.
She grunted, closing the expandable baton back down by slamming it vertically onto the floor shrinking it to normal size. “I’m not too worried about it.” Andrea stopped talking as the SAC ambled to the front of the room, drawing everyone’s attention.
Here we go.
JOSEPH
US Embassy Kinshasa, DRC
Thirty agonizing seconds passed since the last time Joseph had glanced at the mocking white clock on the cafeteria wall. The walls were plain and beige, generating an overall emotionlessness feeling to the room. He had moved over to a chair at a roundtable, away from the window, but it hadn’t made him any less anxious. Is it worse seeing them in the streets or knowing they were out there and ignoring them?
His insides turned over and over. Waiting was the worst feeling. His leg bounced up and down. A swig from his water bottle did nothing to quench his dry throat and roiling stomach. He wished the cries from outside the embassy would just stop, but they wouldn’t.
The crisis outside had gone from bad to worse. The crowd of locals at the gate had thickened and hundreds of people were now pushed up against the fence. Their arms and faces pressed painfully against the iron bars trying to push their way through. The fence held, but it was only a matter of time before it gave way to the mass of humanity on the other side.
Earlier, a few people had tried to climb the fence. One skinny Congolese man in a torn, weathered T-shirt and shorts had almost made it. Joseph had watched as he frantically kicked at the people below him. Just before he made it to the top, a hand caught his foot and pulled him down into the expectant hands of the crowd below. No one else had tried to climb the fence since.
Harkin pulled up a chair, next to Joseph, moving his extra girth with surprising efficiency. “Joseph, how are you holding up?” he asked, hands clasped in front of him like a trusting therapist.
“Okay, I guess. This is madness, Ed. I know it’s related to the virus.”
Harkin leaned forward. “There’s nothing to worry about. All of this is just standard procedure. We both know that since Benghazi, the policy of protecting diplomats from hazardous crowds in consulates or embassies is a top priority. Anything that resembles even a protest like this is viewed as a direct threat, and is treated like a potential terror attack.”
Joseph took another drink of his water, swishing it around in his mouth. “It doesn’t seem to be going too well.” Joseph eyed his colleague.
“I assure you the new Sec State had everything beefed-up. As lead of the scientific mission here, I have to sit on all of embassy operational meetings. We have more embassy guard units and diplomatic security details, and they work closely with intelligence services across the board: CIA, DIA, NGA, NSA and the FBI.” Harkin rested a hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “It will be fine.”
“Well, what about Dr. Gao? And Dr. Nichols? And Dr. Sherman? Where are they?” He hadn’t seen the other three members of his team since he had returned.
They had all gone out into the field at about the same time as him. A full deployment of the CDC staff was highly unusual, even for the beginning of the fall rainy season. The rainy season brought with it a surge in the spread of infectious diseases including Monkeypox, but never like this.
Harkin took a deep breath leaning back. “I haven’t told you yet, but we lost contact with them two days ago. Best intelligence they’ve given us is that their communications equipment has gone out. RSO Kline took a detail and went to check it out. As you can see, he hasn’t returned either. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just thought you had enough on your plate.” Enough on my plate?
“So they could still be out there and we’re just gonna leave them?” Joseph asked, suddenly getting angry. That could have been me out there.
“I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. The acting DS agent in charge told me a full investigation’s underway.”
“Someone help! A doctor, please!” a staffer shouted from the other side of the cafeteria. People huddled around a woman on the ground.
Harkin perked up, but Joseph felt a little like lying down. Oh God, what now? Surely, this isn’t related to the virus. I’m not supposed to be treating people. I am supposed to be researching and studying diseases at a distance. He wished he had a shell like a hermit crab to crawl into.
Harkin stood up. “I’ll take care of it, Joseph. Just relax,” he said, waving a hand at Joseph to stay seated and then moving over to help a woman lying on the ground.
Relax? How can I relax? My entire staff is most likely massacred, and the city is boiling over into an all-out riot. Every minute, more and more people crowd the gate. A ticking time bomb. It isn’t if; it’s when. We need to get out of here now.
Joseph surveyed the room nervously. Harkin attended the sick woman, while others sat around on chairs, on the floor, or sprawled out in various stages of distress. Maybe Joseph should help Harkin; after all, he was a doctor. He stood up, thinking about making his way over. The woman looked as though she was about to throw up. He sat back down. Harkin could handle it himself.
Joseph’s gaze fell upon a man seated against the cafeteria wall. “Why is this happening?” he said loudly, staring into space.
As if God had answered his prayers, Joseph heard the prominent swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of a helicopter, and the building shuddered as it set down
on the rooftop helipad. There was hope. There would always be hope. People glanced up with light in their eyes. They would make it, after all. This disaster would come to an end. The wagons were circled, and now, the cavalry had arrived. People rose up and flooded toward the exit, and Joseph found himself in the middle.
People jostled into the hallway bumping each others shoulders appearing polite but on edge.
“I need everyone to go to the roof in an orderly fashion,” yelled a helmeted Marine guard in full battle dress. He elbowed open the door to the stairwell, his long gun slung across his body as he directed them.
Blood red flood lights coated the stairwell and dimly lit the way. It was as if the darkness would hide their actions. They ignored the guard’s instructions, and as soon as they hit the stairs, they started running in a state of panic. They pushed and shoved, scrambling for position as they sprinted up the stairs. Joseph got caught up in the rush and lost sight of Harkin. Shoulders, arms and hands drove him forward. Soon, he found himself doing the same, as he put a hand into the person’s back in front of him, fear in his gut driving him onward. A woman tripped, hands reaching out to brace her fall.
“Someone please help,” she cried. No one bothered to give her a second glance.
Joseph couldn’t stop. The tide of people swept Joseph up. He made a feeble reach to help her; at least that’s what he told himself. The last thing he saw of the woman was her bloodied face, stricken with fear as she tried to use a handrail to pull herself upright.
The rooftop door opened with a bang, and the staffers bolted through. They ran for the helicopter, becoming a frenzied mob.
The only thing that slowed them down were two DS agents in full tactical gear. Vests featuring bullet holders, guns, and cylindrical things hanging from clips. The militant contraptions went beyond Joseph’s understanding. He had never even held a gun.
The agents held up their hands. “Stop!” they shouted, attempting to bring order to the mob. Joseph recognized Agent Yang from an earlier deployment.
“Keep your heads down,” they yelled over the rotor blades, hands cupped to their mouths.
“Women and children first,” shouted the other agent.
“Get in line!” shouted Agent Yang.
One man led his family aboard the aircraft, and then another. The number of seats dwindled rapidly like the worst game of musical chairs he had ever played in his life.
Joseph could feel a swell of panicked energy from the civilians around him. They all wanted on. They didn’t want to be left behind like some less vigilant creature of Noah’s biblical flood.
They were like animals that had been backed into a corner: shaking with fright, willing to do anything to survive. A staffer in a sports jacket fell forward, knocking into Agent Yang.
Yang tried to block the staffer from entering the helo, and a scuffle ensued. There was no way everyone could leave on the lone chopper; it was just too full. It would have to go and come back. It has to come back, thought Joseph. Unless I can somehow squeeze to the front. He turned sideways and weaved his way forward.
“Wait your turn, asshole,” shouted a staffer, putting a rough hand on Joseph’s shoulder. Joseph wriggled in fear, slipping through the man’s hands. Now he had a front row seat to the end of all his hope.
Agent Yang extracted himself from the man’s grasp, striking the staffer in the face. “You, stay back,” he bellowed, pointing his MP5 submachine gun at the staffer, more out of fear than malice. “This bird’s full. The next one’ll be here shortly.”
The man clutched his face where he had been struck, crinkling in hate. “Fuck you. I want on THIS one,” he yelled.
He lunged for Yang’s gun and, caught off guard, Yang fell backward, excitedly ripping a few rounds into the crowd before losing his grip on the weapon. The two men rolled around on the ground, fighting for control.
The woman next to Joseph dropped to her knees, holding her stomach. She pulled her hand away from the wound, lips quivering as she stared down at her own blood. Everyone gaped at the woman in silence as she gasped for breath.
“Ahhhh,” she wailed in pain bringing a bittersweet drenched hand toward her face. Everyone just stared. Joseph’s jaw dropped. The man responsible for their safety had shot one of their own. That was the turning point.
As one, the entire crowd rushed for the helicopter, each individual trying to force his or her way on board. Joseph forced his way around the other agent as he tried to hold people at bay. They formed a school of human fish escaping obstacles in their path. The other agent looked about in panic as the mass of people drove him toward the edge of the helipad. He momentarily maintained his balance as he teetered on the line, but he couldn’t hold on.
Joseph knew he would never forget the look in the man’s eyes as he toppled over. Pure astonishment. Joseph tried to get inside, but fell victim to the classic case of survival of the fittest. The aggressor would be the victor. Driven by more wild primal rage than Joseph, they swept him to the side.
The pilot saw the rush of people, and took the helicopter airborne. Unwanted passengers clung to whatever they could. They latched on to foot railings, other passengers and side handles. They were ticks on a deer. The pilot struggled to bring the overburdened helicopter more than twenty feet into the air. It hovered spinning around in a circle as he tried to gain control.
Joseph stood to one side, feeling helpless. He was no longer in control of his own fate. His only hope for escape floated above him. The helicopter swerved back and forth as the pilot tried to maneuver the bogged down aircraft. Flying low, it veered towards the airport, shaking off one of the passengers from the foot rail. The man screamed as he plummeted to earth, silenced within seconds as he struck the ground. The unbalanced helo jackknifed to the right at a dangerous angle.
The pilot struggled to keep it straight coming back the other way angling awkwardly. The helicopter wobbled before the rotor blades dug deeply into a white apartment tower. Huge chunks of building sprayed onto the people and streets below. They stared up at the chopper, oblivious to the dangers of the hot metal, rubble and debris that rained death from above. The rioters were drawn to the destruction, ignoring their crushed and maimed allies as they followed the crashing helo. The frame of the helicopter tipped backward out of the building and collided with the street in a fiery mangled mess.
That couldn’t have just happened? Smoke and flames erupted from the wreckage. Bodies blanketed the ground around the helicopter like a human patchwork quilt. The loss of life was horrendous.
As if the whole scenario couldn’t get any worse, the people still alive on the street below swarmed over the debris. The pilot crawled out and the locals fell upon him like a pack of hyenas. The struggle was over quick. The last Joseph saw of him, he tried to hold his entrails in while the locals pried them from this grasp. They tug-of-warred for his insides. Joseph puked over the side of the helipad. It didn’t make him feel any better.
Clearly, the people in the streets were infected with the virus. They were impervious to falling debris. Relentless in their assault upon the living and feeding upon the dead. Joseph hoped for the children’s sake that they all died in the crash. He stared vacantly, traumatized by the situation.
The air sucked out of the people around him. Many were crying as they watched the horror below. Joseph didn’t know if they were weeping for their friends and family, or because their means of salvation had disappeared in a fiery inferno of flesh and metal.
“There’s another helicopter coming, right?” a man asked Joseph. Joseph didn’t acknowledge him. He wiped his mouth and continued to watch the grisly scene below with detached interest as the remaining staffers and families slowly retreated inside the embassy. The pain in his gut disappeared and was replaced by a hollow, empty feeling; a feeling of despair. The embassy slowly eroded like a sandcastle of refuge, and the people outside were the waves destroying them piece by piece. It was only a matter of time before it collapsed.
This
confirmed what he had known deep down: the virus was unstoppable and that, unchecked, it had spread rapidly among the urban population of Kinshasa.
His distant, dead stare faded upon hearing a familiar voice. “Joseph! Joseph!” Echoed up from the stairwell. The man still couldn’t address him properly.
Joseph turned limply. Nixon appeared in the doorway of the stairs dressed in tactical gear, his MP5 dangling from his shoulder.
“I found you,” Nixon exclaimed. Gasping for breath, the agent leaned over revealing his emerging bald spot, resting his hands on his knees.
“Phew, that’s a lot of stairs,” sputtered Nixon. He stretched his back and whistled when he saw the crash. “Was that ours?”
Joseph nodded, his eyes unfocused on the scene below.
Nixon searched clearly looking for someone. “Where are Baxter and Yang? They’re supposed to be up here.”
Joseph didn’t know what to say, so he simply replied: “They’re gone.”
Nixon gave him a concerned look. “Snow is prepping some vehicles near the garage,” he said. Joseph hugged himself. The people from the streets would come for him.
STEELE
Undisclosed building, Virginia
“Men and… ah… woman. You have been hand-selected to cover an SPD from the Democratic Republic of the Congo to the United States. I will let the team leader disseminate the details, but I am here to remind you that we have policies in place for a reason. I would expect you all to follow them to a T,” said the Special Agent in Charge, glaring directly at Wheeler.
He glanced over at the other two suits. “That said, you will be traveling with two Agency personnel to Africa, so be on your best behavior.”
“Jesus. What are we… fucking kids?” Mauser whispered to Steele.
Steele shook his head and laughed under his breath. This guy would talk down to them any chance he got.
“Upon arrival, you will escort the staff from the U.S. Embassy Kinshasa back to the United States. They are going to be pretty shaken up from their experience, so do your jobs right and get them back home. I’ll let our ‘comrades’ from the intelligence community introduce themselves. Good luck, gentlemen and lady.” He snatched up his notes and promptly left the room, not wanting anything to do with them once the formalities were done.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 6
