The Gemini Effect

by Chuck Grossart

  As if on cue, a plasma screen on the wall opposite the president winked on, revealing the face of Allison Perez, vice president of the United States, who at that moment was aboard an aircraft heading to what the press liked to call an “undisclosed location.” Her jet-black hair was tied tightly in a bun, and her piercing, dark eyes communicated nothing but serious intent, a steely readiness to act. “Good morning, Mr. President,” she said, staring at her own screen showing the members assembled in the conference room.

  “Good morning, Allison,” Andrew answered.

  Of all the people Andrew could’ve chosen as his running mate, Allison Perez was the best. A former Coast Guard chopper pilot, Allison had entered politics reluctantly as well, encouraged by those around her to make the jump to a different sort of public service after she’d made the front page of the papers by saving uncounted lives during the Houston port attacks. To Andrew, she was a kindred spirit of sorts: disciplined, smart, humble, and, most of all, fearless. He knew Allison could be president of the United States, and if he were to fall, the country would be in good hands. It was a comforting thought.

  “All right, people,” Andrew said, signaling the start of the meeting. “What do we have so far?”

  Hugo McIntyre, Homeland Security, spoke first. “Mr. President, this morning at approximately 0530 hours central time, Kansas City police and fire departments started receiving a flood of emergency calls on the 911 system. As you know, sir, our field offices are automatically alerted if a certain number of 911 calls are received over a specified period of time. Our field office in Kansas City received the automatic alert notification at approximately 0550 hours. At that time, the system had received over three hundred 911 calls. The information we have is preliminary at best, but the majority of callers were frantic about some sort of animal attacks.”

  For a second, Andrew wasn’t sure he’d heard his secretary correctly. “Animal attacks?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hugo paused for a moment and cleared his throat. A nervous tic. “What we’ve been able to screen from the calls so far involved what could best be described as a multitude of large rodents attacking people throughout the city.” He directed the president’s attention to a briefing slide projected on one of the large wall screens. A red, roughly circular line cut across a map of the Kansas City metro area, stretching nearly thirty miles across at its widest point. “This graphic represents the affected area, Mr. President, based on the reports we’ve been able to sort through.”

  Andrew silently stared at the graphic, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

  “This spread,” Hugo continued, “occurred before sunrise. As soon as the sun came up, the animals seemed to concentrate themselves in houses and other buildings, away from the light.” Hugo cleared his throat again, clearly shaken by the incredible information he was providing. “The spread has stopped, but whatever these things are, they’re still active. Some first responders have been attacked after entering darkened structures. They’ve reported smashed light fixtures in the infested buildings. It seems the animals have an aversion to light.”

  Animals? A slight chill shot down Andrew’s spine. No, not animals. Smashing light fixtures indicated intelligence. “How many of these ‘large rodents’ are we talking about, Hugo?”

  “Impossible to ascertain at this point, Mr. President. General Smythe will brief you in a moment on the actions we’ve taken to find out. For now, we know a large number of these creatures have completely devastated the population in a large portion of the Kansas City metro area. Inside the red-bordered area, sir, we estimate deaths could number in the hundreds of thousands.”

  “You’re telling me that everyone inside that red circle has been killed?” Andrew asked.

  Hugo cleared his throat once more, struggling to force the words from his throat. “The things aren’t just killing, sir. They’re eating. Feeding. It’s a massacre, Mr. President.”

  A massacre. The room was silent for a moment as a flash of disbelief crossed the president’s face. None of this seemed real! A major American city, eaten alive? How could it be? “Okay, by the numbers,” Andrew said. “Let me hear it.”

  Adam Williamson spoke next. “Mr. President, our embassies and consulates have been informed, worldwide. Chiefs of station in high-interest areas have their ears open and are listening hard.” He momentarily shifted his glance to Jake Kesting, silently communicating to the president that State and CIA were working hand in hand. “No information has been released to any foreign governments, nor have we received any inquiries. However, the press is starting to report on the situation, and we should be getting some questions soon.”

  “Brief the Brits, Adam. Let them know what we’ve got so far. Don’t hold anything back.” To the room, the president added, “I’ll be addressing the nation at noon our time. Inform the networks and get started on a rough draft of my speech once we adjourn. For now, get a statement out that we’re taking immediate action to control the situation and to help the citizens of Kansas City. If this is out on the wires for too long without a word from us, we could be asking for public panic. We don’t need that again.” Every person at the table remembered the Cleveland attack, and how events had quickly spiraled out of control. So many innocent citizens had died, most because of a panicked rush to get away from the city. They all had clear memories of that day, a day that saw the United States suffer a severe radiological attack in the middle of a major American city. A city that was still uninhabitable in some areas, and would be for years to come. None of the memories were pleasant. But, as an administration, they’d learned from it, and sworn never again.

  “And,” Andrew added, “those who wish us ill need to know now is not the time to decide to start screwing with Uncle Sam. I’ll make that clear as well.” The president turned toward his SECDEF. “Tank, what have you got?”

  Tank leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. “Mr. President, activation orders have been issued to Guard units in Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Colorado, Iowa, Illinois, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. The first Kansas and Missouri units should be in position to enter the city within the next couple of hours. A Civil Support Team from Fort Leonard Wood is on its way as well. They’re one of our specialized Army Guard units outfitted for detecting NBC—nuclear, biological, and chemical agents. All active duty units in CONUS have assumed DEFCON 3. Combat air patrols have been initiated over all major cities, no-fly protocols have been initiated with the FAA, and anti-air batteries are on alert around DC, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. NBC detection teams are on the streets in our major cities. The threat boards are blank. No indication this attack is connected to any foreign troop movements or hostile action. If this is the first shoe to drop, Mr. President, we’ll be ready for the second one.” Tank turned and looked at General Rayburn “Scythe” Smythe, United States Marine Corps, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who spoke next.

  The general sat ramrod straight in his chair, always the Marine officer. His gray crew cut, jutting chin, and impeccable olive drab uniform made General Smythe look just right for the role—a perfect choice by a Hollywood casting director. The right sleeve pinned to his shoulder, however, removed any illusion of the sort. This man was a combat veteran, and he’d paid dearly for his service—an unspoken bond that he happened to share with his commander in chief. His booming, gravelly voice resounded around the room.

  “Mr. President, none of the fixed NBC detectors in Kansas City were triggered prior to, nor have any activated since, the start of this situation. This suggests there are no known radiological, chemical, or biological agents present in the city. It does not, however, rule out the possibility that there may have been something else released that our current suite of detection devices cannot pick up. As Mr. Stone mentioned, I have deployed a sniffer unit to the city, and they’ll be taking readings shortly.” General Smythe looked down at his watch, strapped to his one
remaining wrist. “They should be making their first report within the hour. If there’s something in the air that caused this, they’ll find it.”

  The president swung his chair toward the general. “Are you telling me you believe these animal attacks were caused by a release of some kind of chemical or biological agent we don’t know about?”

  The general shook his head. “No, sir, I am not. Right now, we’re faced with a situation that has no readily available explanation. I want to cover this particular base as soon as possible.”

  “I agree, General. Continue.”

  “We’ve established a cordon approximately forty miles from the center of the Kansas City metro area. Guard units have taken up positions on the major highways and are prohibiting entry to anyone other than official personnel. Other routes of ground transit will be covered as soon as we get more troops activated and on the move. The local police are covering until we get in place. The Guard units will also be available to handle any civilian personnel evacuations, if you deem it necessary, sir.”

  “Good work, Ray,” Andrew said. “I don’t know if this is some sort of terrorist attack yet, but we’re going to treat it like it is until we know otherwise.” Terrorists managing to release a rampaging horde of killer super-rats in a major city was . . . well, unlikely, but then again, flying hijacked airliners into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon seemed unlikely on September 10, 2001, too. The shaggy, one-eyed mullahs crawling around in caves on the other side of the world could be quite creative at times, especially when it came to killing innocent people.

  Andrew wasn’t willing to exclude that possibility. Not just yet.

  He turned to his national security advisor. “Jessie, what’s your read on this?”

  At first glance, Jessie Hruska didn’t appear as one might envision a senior presidential advisor. She was forty-three years old, much younger than the majority of her counterparts at the table. Her shoulder-length red hair, emerald eyes, and athletic figure were more fitting for a model gracing the cover of a fashion magazine than for the fiery, hard-as-nails political pit bull that sat three chairs down from the president of the United States. Many had underestimated her because of her youth and appearance, and they’d paid dearly.

  Glancing at her notes, Jessie summed up the facts. “We have thousands of citizens dead and missing. There’s evidence of animal attacks—rodents—that have wiped out a major American city. There’s no overt indication of chemical, biological, or radiological agents as the cause, at least not yet. No evidence of foreign government involvement, no evidence of terrorist organization involvement, no evidence of any nation making a move in another part of the world while we’re dealing with this situation, no evidence of anything.” She met the eyes of the other principals before continuing. “We don’t know a whole lot right now, and that’s not good. We’re going to be in front of the American people in an hour and forty-three minutes, and we don’t have any facts.” She shifted in her chair, turning slightly to face the president directly. “You said it yourself, sir. Public panic is a possibility we need to act to prevent immediately. We saw what happened in Cleveland. We waited to act, and we lost citizens because of it. We need to evacuate whoever is left in the city, and in the surrounding rural areas as well. Until we’re absolutely sure what we’re dealing with, we need to get our citizens out of there.”

  Hugo spoke up. “Ms. Hruska is right, sir. It would be prudent to isolate this region as best we can, to get our people out. People will start moving out of the area of their own volition as soon as the news starts to spread, and it is spreading. We need to manage it.”

  The president turned his attention to the screen on the wall. His vice president had been silent so far, listening and, he knew, analyzing every bit of information.

  “Allison, your thoughts?”

  “Sir, I agree with the actions that have been taken so far. I also agree with Ms. Hruska that we first need to figure out exactly what message we’ll be sending to the American people, and second, get our people clear of the Kansas City area. When you address the nation, sir, people are going to want to hear the facts. They’ll need assurances their government is in complete control of the situation. They’re going to want to hear what actions we’re taking, and they’re going to want to know what they’ll need to do. Instructions, sir, where to go and how to get there. I suggest Mr. McIntyre provide that information immediately after you finish your comments.”

  As always, he and Allison Perez were on the exact same page. “I agree, Allison,” Andrew said. “I’m going to tell them what we know. Kansas City, and the nation, has suffered a terrible tragedy. If we have evidence that shows this is not a biological or chemical attack by the time I go live, I’ll tell them that, too. If we don’t have evidence of what this is, I’ll tell them we’re doing everything possible to find it.” Andrew pushed his chair away from the table, signaling that the meeting was nearly concluded. “Hugo, you’ll follow my comments with instructions for our citizens still in the area. We need to get them out of there in an orderly fashion. The Guard troops moving into the area, along with local police, will handle that task.” He turned to his SECDEF. “Tank, as soon as we can, we need to get boots on the ground in there. I don’t know what has caused these . . . animals to start a massacre like this, but we need to make sure they’re contained. As soon as our citizens are out, I want these things dead. Bring me options as soon as you can.”

  “Roger that, Mr. President.”

  Andrew stood. “We’re facing an unknown here. Each one of you has to keep your ears open and your agencies moving. I’m not sure where this situation will lead. You’ll need to be ready to execute when I call on you, but be flexible. In twenty-four hours, we may be facing a completely different landscape of challenges. We’ll convene again following my remarks to the nation. I’ll expect more clarity on this situation by then.” He smiled, ever so slightly. “You’ve all done good work. Keep pressing.”

  With that, the president left the room.

  CHAPTER 8

  It took Carolyn fifteen minutes to travel to the surface from her subterranean work area, the normal time it took to travel through the decontamination chambers, the guard stations, the series of airlocks, and a long elevator ride two hundred feet up to the desert floor of the Dugway Proving Ground.

  Dugway was the US Army’s chemical and biological warfare proving ground; that part of its mission was public knowledge. The sprawling facility belowground, however, was another matter. Carolyn’s job was hidden from the view of most of the personnel working on the secure facility, some of whom held pretty hefty security clearances. Not everyone had a need to know, regardless of how high their clearance was. So, they didn’t.

  She and her coworkers were at the cutting edge of radiological, biological, and chemical warfare research. After the threat of America being attacked with these types of weapons became a very real possibility—and after the Cleveland attack, a sobering event—the government brought the best of the best from academia, from the scientific world, and from the military to the deserts of Utah and handed them a large chunk of the classified black world budget to build the organization that now existed two hundred feet underground. Their mission was not to develop these weapons for use by the United States, a course of action the nation had abandoned decades earlier, but rather to do everything possible to prevent their use through improved detection capabilities, negate their use through intensive study of foreign capabilities, and control the situation if they were used against the United States or allies by providing immediate expertise to an on-scene commander.

  Chemical weapons were once called the poor man’s nuclear weapon. They still were, but these days the poor man could also get his hands on some exquisitely nasty little viruses and quantities of deadly radioactive waste materials that served the same function rather well. They were the weapons of terror. And some were damned frightening.

&nbs
p; She sat near her favorite window of the dining facility, which offered a wide view of the desert landscape, while slowly sipping a cup of coffee generously sugared and creamed to her liking. As the caffeine entered her bloodstream, the throbbing in her head began to subside. Few people would admit it, but the guy with the donkey from Colombia was probably the most successful drug dealer on the planet.

  Having been born and raised in the green environs of Kentucky, Carolyn found the desert landscape surrounding Dugway quite difficult to warm to. It wasn’t lush like home, but in its own way, it was just as wondrous. Out on the desert at night when the sky was clear, she felt as if she were staring directly into the far reaches of the universe. It was the most beautiful nighttime sky she’d ever seen.

  After a while, she’d begun to look forward to making the eighty-five-mile trip from Salt Lake City, where she and most of her coworkers lived on the weekends, to the nearly 800,000-acre Dugway complex. The work was tough and demanding, and it required a meticulous focus, but the reward was more than enough to make it all worthwhile. She and the other members of the ultraclassified Vanguard organization were making a real difference. Through their hard work, they could save innocent lives. Nothing was more rewarding than that.

  As she took another sip of her beloved light brown fluid of life, she saw her reflection in the window staring back at her. Here she was, thirty-two years old, single, and by her own estimation very attractive, sitting in the middle of the Utah desert doing a job she couldn’t talk about. Not what she’d expected to be doing at this point in her life.

  She’d graduated near the top of her class at Bowling Green University, taken a job at a pharmaceutical research company, and even tinkered with the idea of buying her own house. Life was definitely good. But then came September 11, and the horror unfolded before her eyes on the television screen, as it did for millions upon millions of people across the globe. She watched as the second plane slammed into the doomed tower, watched as valiant firefighters and police ran headlong toward their deaths, watched as people made the unimaginable decision to leap to their deaths hundreds of feet below rather than be burned alive inside the upper floors of the towers.