Volcano

by Gabby Grant

  And the worst, the absolute fucking worst part about it was the look people got on their faces when they were talking to him. It was like they thought he was fucking mad!

  Tom lifted the bottle, wondering if he was.

  The commies, he reminded himself, the god damned commies. Castro in Cuba and those goddamned missiles. President Kennedy- or was it Bush? Tom stared at the wall calender and tried to remember, but all he saw were dates and the month. No year.

  Didn’t matter what the hell year it was, Tom told himself, pouring another shot. Important thing was they’d flushed the commies from the system. Cleaned the pipes of the analytical realm. Mooney was god damned Mr. Plumber!

  Mooney laughed out loud and started to pour himself another, then realized the bottle was empty. God damned wouldn’t happen when Mooney was president! When he was in charge, booze cabinets would be stocked across the nation- and Uncle Sam would foot the bill.

  Say, not a bad idea...Mooney thought, slumping lower in his chair, not unlike the Asians freely distributing opiates. Placate the masses.

  Tom startled at the sound of glass breaking in the front hall.

  What, god dammit? he thought, stumbling to his feet.

  Mooney stepped into the corridor on unsteady knees and stared at the intruder in disbelief. “You?” he said, staggering back from the pistol aimed at his head.

  ***

  “Something’s wrong about this,” Ana told Mark. “Dead wrong. I can feel it in my bones. There’s something my father’s not telling me.”

  She and Mark sat in the basement DOS cafeteria. Here and there a few weary workers from the skeleton crew sat stone-faced drinking coffee.

  Mark swirled another packet of sugar into his cup and looked up. “It was your father’s plan.”

  “What?” Ana asked, nearly upsetting the small two top between them. “What do you mean?”

  “Volcano.” Mark took a tentative sip of coffee, grimaced and tore open another sugar packet.

  “Your blood is going to crystallize,” Ana told him. “Now, what’s this about Volcano? What is that- some kind of code name? And what do you mean it was my father’s plan?”

  Mark nodded and set down his cup, apparently finally satisfied with its sugar content. “An old DOS plan, actually. One developed by your Dad, Tom Mooney and their old Chinese friend Au Yang.”

  Ana bit into her lower lip and stared down at her coffee, realizing for the first time just how immune she’d become to the sting of surprise. Immune or perhaps cynical. The fact her father had concealed one more detail scarcely phased her at all.

  “Au Yang?” Ana said. “How old of a friend?”

  “What do you mean how old? Old World War II connection, at least in his seventies by now. Late seventies.”

  “Mark,” Ana said, leaning forward, “the man who-”

  Mark shook his head. “Au Yang is dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Your father received verification this morning.”

  “From?”

  “Beijing.”

  “Our guys or theirs?”

  “What are you getting at?” Mark asked, taking a big swallow from his cup.

  “Our guys or theirs, Mark?”

  “Who reported Au Yang’s death? I believe the information came through a DOS connection.”

  Ana fell back in her chair with a hoot.

  “What’s so god damned funny?” Mark asked, leaning forward.

  “I no longer believe the DOS when they tell me someone’s dead,” Ana said, with a smug smile. “But anyway, what was the deal with this plan- Volcano? You’re not saying...” Oh my God. “Mark, are you telling me the analyst scare, all this hell breaking loose right now, is the manifestation of some old operation planned by my father?”

  Mark looked at her but said nothing.

  “Jesus Christ! And just when were you and my father going to get around to telling me?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Mark cautioned through barely-parted lips.

  “Jesus.” Ana picked up her own cup that had gone completely cold and set it back down again. “What the hell was the idea of this thing? To destroy the USA? Disable its own military intelligence capability? How much fricking sense does that make?”

  “No, Ana,” Mark said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Volcano was designed as a way to bring down communist regimes, cripple their intelligence infrastructure in order to simplify the removal of a dictator. The plan was to work in three phases. The first phase involved terrorizing the intelligence gathering community to force a mass exodus of its skilled work force.”

  Of course, it was all starting to make sense.

  “The second phase involved toppling the dictatorship.”

  “Or, in this reverse case scenario,” Ana guessed, “democracy- by throwing a blow-out party. Oh my God,” Ana said, cupping her hands to her mouth. Oh…my...God.”

  “What? What is it?” Mark asked, reaching across the table to steady her elbows with his hands.

  Ana looked at him and knew, from its cool pallor, her face was devoid of color. “We’ve been barking up the wrong tree, Mark.”

  “What? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said? A ‘blow-out’ party?!”

  “As in explosive? Hell yes, Ana. That’s what we’re so damned worried about. Some kind of chemical weapon, something that’s going to blow the lid off The Old Post Office or at least everyone inside.

  “That’s why your Dad had me get the lists, pull all those champagne imports. Soda cans, too. Anything that could possibly serve as a receptacle for-”

  “How about balloons?” Ana said flatly.

  Mark guffawed. “Balloons? Get real, Ana. What on earth could you-”

  “Mark,” Ana said, slapping a palm to the table in agitation and suddenly feeling just like her husband. “Joe mentioned something about- ”

  Mark set his jaw. “No matter what I think of him, I’m sure McFadden wouldn’t have told you-”

  “I don’t think he meant to,” Ana said. “Least ways it seemed like he was making tracks to cover it up.”

  Mark emphatically shook his head. “No way. No fricking way. What are you suggesting? Some sort of gas- in balloons?”

  “What’s so absurd about it?” Ana asked. “It’s the one thing nobody would think to check! You yourself said you were looking for more typical containers- like the cola cans in Tokyo...”

  Mark gleamed at her and brought a hand to his chin. “Hang on. Maybe if we were dealing with some sort of binary product. Two chemicals that would react only when combined.”

  “That would eliminate the transportation problems, the risk of things blowing prematurely,” Ana said, egging him on. “One agent maybe in the tanks- something that looks and smells like oxygen. Anything inert that would allow the balloons to drop rather than rise.”

  “Combined with what, Ana?” Mark pressed. “Something inside the goddamned balloons?”

  Ana set her brow in concentration and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Precisely. A powder, some type of chemical resin. Separated from the agent in the tank, no problem. But fill those balloons for the big drop at the Old Post Office and-”

  “Christ,” Mark said, slamming back in his chair. “They do drop balloons at that event. Straight from a big net near the ceiling at midnight.”

  “Balloons that float down, Mark. Onto the unsuspecting masses. Until the gasses reacting inside expand to one...two...three.”

  “Kaboom,” Mark finished with a frown. “Christ, and if we’re dealing with even small doses of a chemical weapon like Sarin, that would be highly toxic in an enclosed area.”

  “Something like Sarin-plus,” Ana told him. Something that was being manufactured in that plant Joe was sent to investigate. Something very specific, maybe, that’s been in the works for more than two years just waiting to be implemented as the final phase to this explosive plan.”

  “Not quite the final
phase,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Phase three involved the installation of a new regime. Under Volcano’s original premise, that would have been some sort of US-government supported democracy.”

  “So, in our current situation,” Ana said, feeling her skin go hot and the styrofoam cup slip in her hand, “we’re talking a dictatorship. Either the Arabs or the Chinese are planning to remove the President from the White House and insert a maniacal dictator in his place?”

  “That’s the worst case scenario.” Mark set his jaw. “That’s why I’m supposed to notify the Commander in Chief.”

  “Only if my father doesn’t come back from wherever it is he’s gone? Are you crazy, Mark? Why wait? Somebody needs to notify the President now!” Ana made a move to stand from the table, but Mark reached out an arm to restrain her.

  “Calling the White House now will only incite panic.”

  “Well, maybe we need to incite panic.”

  Mark gritted his teeth. “This is a DOS problem, Ana. A problem that starts and ends with us.”

  “We hope!” Ana said.

  “Better that the Commander in Chief see this whole mess in the after-action report once the DOS has had the chance to clean everything up.”

  “Well, you better goddamned hurry,” Ana said, her eyes brimming with fury as she checked the clock on the wall. “You’ve got less than twenty-four hours!”

  “Ana,” Mark said, leaning across the table and gripping her by the elbows. “If you really want to get involved in DOS work, there’s something you need to understand. We’ve been granted a certain latitude to get our job done. What the President doesn’t know about, he can’t be held accountable for.”

  “Are you telling me the President hasn’t even been advised of the scare? That it didn’t make the papers?”

  Mark hung his head but maintained his grip on her arms.

  “How, Mark? How is it possible that so many deaths...” She paused. “Just how many deaths were there anyway?”

  “Actual casualties?” Mark asked, looking up with tired eyes. “A couple dozen. The threats, home and systems invasions were much wider spread.”

  “Still,” Ana said, shaking herself free of his crushing grip. “Two dozen is no small number. Surely, some frightened party would have run to-” Ana stopped talking. Mark’s expression was one she didn’t recognize, but its meaning was completely clear. Whatever Ana was asking she didn’t have a need to know.

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Ana asked. “Not going to tell me how it is none of this got into the papers, how it’s possible even the President himself doesn’t know of this imminent threat to his survival.”

  “The President is always protected,” Mark assured her, pushing back his chair. “And based on what you’ve told me, we’re just going to make him a little more so!”

  “Fine,” Ana said, springing to her feet and grabbing Mark’s arm. “But how about my father?”

  “Your father,” Mark agreed, looking her in the eye, “might very well be in danger.”

  ***

  “You’ve found out about the plan,” Mooney said, squinting in the glare of the hall light.

  “I wrote the god damned plan,” Albert said, leveling his weapon.

  “And so what?” Mooney asked, his heavy jaw reverberating. “You’ve come here to kill me?”

  “Why?” Albert asked. “How could you do it, Tom? Turn your back on your own country?”

  Tom’s brow furrowed as his eyes darted from Albert’s pistol to the front door, at Albert’s back. “My country,” Tom growled, “is fucking falling apart!”

  “With plenty of thanks to you,” Albert answered. “How could you do it? Me, I can understand. You’ve never really felt you’ve gotten the fair shake have you, Tom?”

  Tom wobbled on his feet and made an effort to step forward, but Albert stopped him by raising his pistol.

  “And you know what’s funny, so god damned funny?” Albert laughed. “Is that somehow Isa knew.”

  “What the hell you talking about?” Mooney snarled. “Your granddaughter?”

  “I’m talking about my wife-”

  “Your wife is dead, you crazy old man!”

  Albert released his safety and took a step forward.

  Mooney retreated against the far wall.

  “My wife may be dead,” Albert said, “but she had a gift for seeing things, old friend. And before she died she told me about you.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Mooney said shaking his sweaty head.

  “Isa told me you weren’t to be trusted. ‘Watch your back with that one,’ she said. ‘Sometimes old friends make the worst adversaries.’”

  “Hogwash!” Mooney shouted. “Isa would have never said that about me. You’re fucking making that up!”

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Albert said, taking another step forward.

  Tom reached inside his coat and a bullet pinged through the air, sending Tom doubling forward.

  Albert looked over his shoulder at Joe McFadden. “My God, son,” Albert said, staring in disbelief, at the Barretta in McFadden’s hand, “you didn’t!” But Joe just stood there looking numb.

  “Why?” Mooney said, looking up and dropping to his knees. “It was the commies, Al. The fucking commies...”

  Joe took a giant step forward toward his uncle.

  An Arab stepped from the shadows behind Joe. “Hold it right there, Mr. Smith!” Al Fahd said, angling his smoking pistol at McFadden’s head.

  Both Albert and Joe slowly lowered their weapons.

  Mooney curled into a ball and slumped onto the hardwood floor.

  “God damn son of a bitch!” Joe said, spinning back toward the Arab.

  “I just did your family name a favor,” Al Fahd grinned around his unlit cigar. “Which of the two of you,” he asked, pivoting his weapon between Joe and Albert, “is next?”

  “Not another move, Al Fahd!”

  Albert turned his head to see Mark stepping through the threshold.

  “The only one going down here,” Mark said, “is you!”

  Al Fahd spat his cigar to the ground and spun his weapon around, centering it between Mark’s eyes. “I’ll die first, you-”

  There was a numbing bang and the Arab crumpled forward, his head splattering the wall.

  A woman screamed. Ana? Was that Ana? Albert’s eyes frantically searched the back of the room.

  “Never could refuse a polite invitation,” an Oriental said, stepping forward. “Though I do hate making a mess.”

  Mark wheeled his weapon on the Chinese man.

  Albert squeezed shut his eyes, then tried looking again. It couldn’t be, but it was.

  Au Yang tossed his pistol to the floor and walked over to Tom Mooney. “Somebody call an ambulance,” he said, rolling Tom over on his back.

  Ana bolted for the phone as Joe rushed to his uncle’s side. “Uncle Tom,” he said, lightly shaking his uncle’s shoulder. “Uncle Tom, stay with us.”

  Joe looked up at Albert Kane, his face a heated rash. “Just what the hell were you doing?”

  Trying to save an old friend, Albert thought. But aloud he said nothing. Instead he turned to Au Yang, who had righted himself and left the tending of Mooney’s wounds to his nephew. “You’re back.”

  “Never left,” the Oriental said. “Just trying to oversee an operation gone haywire.”

  Albert knew then that Au Yang had never really left the DOS; he’d been with them all along operating under deep cover. So deep, even the DOS Assistant Director hadn’t had a need to know.

  “And your mission?” Albert asked, thinking in the confusion of the room, Au Yang might just tell him.

  “Bring down Al Fahd. Discover the mole working within the US system.”

  “The Gray Wolf,” Albert said. “But, why’d you wait so long? My God, we could have-”

  Au Yang looked sadly at Mooney, his distraught nephew pressing a makeshift tournique
t to his chest. “Our friend is not well...”

  Of that much, Albert was certain.

  “I was looking for a way to disclaim his involvement, lay it back on Al Fahd. But as things escalated, it became increasingly difficult. Still, I want you to know I took pains to protect your daughter- and our old friend’s nephew.”

  Albert knew then that Ana’s abductors delivering her into Joe McFadden’s hands had been no accident. It had been one of the ways Au Yang had sought to protect Albert’s daughter without blowing his own cover.

  Mark stepped up to the two of them. “Gentlemen,” he said, pointedly looking down at his watch, as ambulance sirens blared, “I believe we have a pressing time issue.”

  “Nothing’s to happen until Al Fahd gives the official order,” Au Yang assured them. “But just the same, I can tell you where to find Al Fahd’s men.”

  “Let’s go!” Mark said, laying a hand on Albert’s shoulder. “Ana?” Mark asked, calling over to where she knelt beside Joe. “You coming with us?”

  “I’m staying here,” she said as EMT personnel rushed in, took one look at Al Fahd’s body then scurried over to Tom and Joe.

  CHAPTER 30

  Ana tightened her hold on Joe’s bandaged hand as they sat in the lounge of the intensive care unit. “Tom’s going to pull through,” she told him. “He’s as tough as you are.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Joe said through red-rimmed eyes.

  He didn’t have to explain it; Ana knew what he meant. In some ways Tom’s uncle would be better off dead. If he survived and was deemed mentally competent, he’d stand trial for treason against the United States, not to mention an entire docket of second-degree murder charges.

  “Your uncle’s ill, Joe,” Ana told him. “We can get him help.”

  Joe looked up. “There is no help, Ana. No way to bring back the man I knew.”

  “What did the staff psychologist say?”

  “Dementia, Alzheimer’s...who knows?” Joe rubbed Ana’s thumb where it crossed over his splinted fingers. “One’s just as bad as the other.”