The Gemini Effect

by Chuck Grossart

  Suddenly, she thought Australia would be a nice place to settle down.

  The tinny, electronic voice of Lieutenant Ewing filled their protective helmets. “General, the Eagle just touched down. The thing should be on its way down in about ten minutes.”

  “Okay, Carolyn, what do we do with it?” Rammes asked.

  “Soman. We expose it to soman.”

  “You don’t want to do any other experiments on it first? What if the soman kills it? Then we’ve lost the chance to see if there’s any other way to kill these things.”

  Carolyn sighed. “General, if I’m right, we’ll still have that chance.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The knock on her office door startled her.

  She quickly hung up her secure phone, rattling the handset against the cradle in her haste to terminate the call. “I thought I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed—”

  The door opened, and President Andrew Smith poked his head in. “Jessie?”

  “Mr. President!” She stood. She was flustered, not only because she’d just sniped at the president, but because she’d nearly been caught doing something that in the old days would’ve earned a quick trip to the gallows and a nice leisurely swing at the end of a rope. If, that is, they’d been able to decipher what she was saying to the person at the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “That’s all right. May I come in?”

  “Of course, Mr. President.”

  Andrew stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

  Jessie could see he was tired—extremely so—and he obviously needed to talk. Inside, she smiled at the opportunity being presented to her. She could almost visualize the president standing on a silver platter as he took his first few steps toward her desk. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  The president sat down on a leather couch placed to the right of her desk against the wall. The leather made a whoosh as his weight settled in among the comfortable cushions. “I wanted to get out of that situation room for a minute or two.” He rubbed his eyes. “And ask you a few questions.”

  Jessie walked to the couch, and stood. She didn’t want to appear too eager.

  The president patted the cushion beside him. “Sit down, Jessie. Please.”

  She moved with feline smoothness, nearly slinking onto the couch, sitting to his right. She immediately crossed her legs, right over left, being sure to allow her skirt to rest atop the middle of her right thigh, her right calf flexing as she pointed her foot slightly toward the floor. She was presenting herself in full splendor, and it took so little effort to do it. She was pleased when she saw the president quickly look at her legs and then look away. Like a shy schoolboy sneaking a glance.

  She tucked her red hair behind her left ear, making sure he could look unobstructed into her luminous green eyes. She didn’t speak. She wanted him to speak first. To give her an opening to exploit. A crack to reach into.

  “Jessie, I know this may seem a little out of the ordinary, but I trust your judgment. I wanted to talk to you alone, away from the situation room.” He paused, obviously struggling with his words. “I need some feedback.”

  “Sir?”

  “You and I—”

  She smiled inside as she saw the crack start to form.

  “—we’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Yes, we have.” No sir this time. No Mr. President.

  “You’ve been an incredible source of counsel for me, something I’ve appreciated more than you can know.”

  She knew he was thinking about his wife’s death. She’d been there for him, trying to comfort him in little ways, as he dealt with her death. Oh, if he only knew who was behind his wife’s death. “Thank you. I know it’s been hard.” Her voice was soft, smooth. As smooth as the skin of her delicate hand, which she placed over his. It was a bold move, but she knew it was time.

  She tried hard not to smile openly when he took her hand in his.

  “Jessie.” He was looking into her eyes as he spoke. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  Andrew was trying to fight back an urge he was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to ignore any longer. The last few days, he’d needed the kind of emotional sounding board his wife had provided for him throughout their years of marriage. Every struggle, every crisis, she’d been there. Her soft words and soft touch had kept him steady.

  Holding Jessie Hruska’s hand in his, he felt the same kind of attachment he’d once felt with his wife. Not just physical—even though the touch of her hand was having an electric effect on him that he couldn’t ignore—but emotional, as well. He’d come to realize that he wasn’t the same person without his wife by his side, and he needed that touch, that connection, if he were to continue to function effectively through this crisis.

  But it wasn’t just the crisis. It was his heart and soul. When he’d buried Kate, he’d buried a part of himself with her. A part of him was now empty, a black void in his being that cried out to be filled. To be alive again. To feel.

  As he stared at Jessie, sitting on the couch just inches from him, her warm, soft hand in his, he felt the void starting to fill once again.

  Maybe she was the one.

  Having a relationship with someone in his administration—someone in his direct chain of command, to use Navy terms—was not something he took lightly. Admiral Smith had kicked people out of the Navy for doing much the same thing.

  But now, things were different. His wife was dead and gone, even though he didn’t like to use those exact words. “Dead and gone” seemed much too harsh . . . but it was true.

  Jessie squeezed his hand, ever so slightly. Her eyes were soft, alluring.

  Kate was never coming back.

  Jessie’s perfume was pleasing, almost relaxing in a way.

  It had been a long time now—

  Her lips were full and red, slightly moistened.

  —and Jessie Hruska was right here.

  He wasn’t at all surprised when he felt the warmth of her lips against his.

  It was meant to be.

  He wasn’t surprised either to find himself leaning into the kiss, enjoying it, tasting it, feeling every single moment of it, and he wasn’t surprised when she responded to him, her hands stroking his face, sliding down his chest, her touch soft and gentle. Timid, yet purposeful.

  He felt an incredible sense of relief wash over him, as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  A part of his past life had quietly slipped away with a simple kiss; a part of his life that he’d so dearly loved and cherished, a part of his life that had choked him with unimaginable, unbearable pain, slid away into the past by the simple human touch from the beautiful woman sitting on the couch with him.

  He was no longer burdened.

  He was a man again.

  Their hands began to move within the restrictive folds of clothes, stroking, touching, exploring. Their mouths opened, tongues deeply darting and tasting, bodies pushing against each other with an urgency that was quickly rising in their breasts, hearts beating rapidly, lungs taking short raspy breaths quickly, when they could. Piece by piece, their clothes fell to the floor, to lie in a heap on the plush carpet in the office of the national security advisor to the president of the United States of America.

  To Andrew, the lovemaking that followed was one of the most moving experiences of his life.

  He felt free.

  To Jessie, the necessary physical act—although pleasurable—was the silver platter.

  He was not free. He was hers.

  As the president of the United States lay on top of her, sighing with an orgasmic shudder, Jessie knew he was pounding nails into his own coffin.

  She dug her fingernails into his back, like a lioness gripping its prey right before it sinks its fangs into the d
oomed animal’s neck.

  She climaxed quickly. More than once.

  CHAPTER 40

  The steel ammo box had served its purpose well but didn’t look as if it could hold the demon inside very much longer. Its sides were dented in places, but not like your normal everyday ammo box. It was dented from the inside out.

  The thing trapped inside had slammed its powerful body against the sides, trying desperately to escape, with enough force to bend steel. For the pilot of the Strike Eagle, who’d been forced to fly with the thing sitting in his backseat, just a few feet away from his own hind end, the flight had been just a little too long. Screaming along at over Mach 2 hadn’t been fast enough for his liking.

  Even through their protective environmental suits, they could hear it: talons scraping against steel, gnawing teeth clicking and clacking against the heavy lid, low grunts vibrating through the floor as it slammed its body against the side of the box.

  The thing wasn’t the least bit pleased to be stuck in the ammo box. As a matter of fact, it was downright pissed.

  The ammo box lay on the floor next to an open Plexiglas container. A ring of armed soldiers surrounded it, their rifles aimed directly at the padlocked lid. Just in case.

  Garrett asked the question that was surely in the minds of everyone in the clean room at that moment: “How the hell do we get it out of there?”

  He didn’t particularly want to be anywhere near the ammo box when the lid was removed, and he was pretty sure even the guys with the rifles felt exactly the same way.

  “Sergeant, is that box airtight?” Carolyn asked.

  Without taking his eyes off his sights, the soldier answered, “No, ma’am. Not completely.”

  “Then we’ll gas the little bastard right in the box.” She turned to Josh Ewing. “Josh, get the guest room ready for our little friend, will you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Will do.” Josh stepped to a touch pad at the far end of the clean room, pressed some numbers, and stepped back as the wall slid up into the ceiling, revealing a hidden chamber.

  It was a simple room: white walls, a stainless steel toilet in the corner right below a stainless steel sink. What looked like a hospital bed sat in the middle of the room, with enough space around it to handle all the medical equipment you would find in a normal hospital. The entire space was behind a thick wall of Plexiglas.

  To Garrett, it looked like what you’d find in a prison infirmary. Or a psychiatric ward. “Guest room, Carolyn?” he asked.

  “That’s what we call it. It’s a confinement chamber. Used for treating people who’ve been infected—or exposed—to something we don’t understand yet.”

  “Doesn’t look like you’ve ‘treated’ too many people in it.”

  “We’ve never used it. Never had to.”

  Garrett was surprised to see part of the inner wall slide away and see Josh Ewing step inside—he hadn’t seen him open a second door right next to the sliding wall. The entrance, obviously.

  “If that thing gets out, is the door strong enough to hold it?”

  “I hope so,” Carolyn said.

  “You hope so?”

  “Look, genius, we can either put the box in that room and gas it, or you can walk over there and open the ammo box yourself and try to put our little friend in an examination box, just like his dead buddies. Your choice.”

  “I think I like the room idea a little better.”

  “I thought you would.” She turned toward the general. “Sir, how are they going to deploy the soman?”

  “The Russians weren’t very complex in their delivery methods. The stuff is in a bomb—small explosive charge splits the casing at a preset altitude. A rainmaker.”

  “Concentration?”

  “Depends. Delivery radius—depending on the specific weapon—can extend from a few hundred yards to almost half a mile. The concentration will be heavier toward the center of the radius, diminishing as you move away. Most of what we’ve kept in ready-use status is the smaller-radius variety. There’s still a few of the bigger weapons, but not many.”

  “They’ll be air-dropping it?”

  “Yes. We’ve got a couple hundred of the bombs ready to use.”

  She quickly changed her plan. “We’ll have to get the thing out of the ammo box. If the creatures in the field are going to have this stuff rain down on them, then I want to expose this little bastard to it the same way.”

  “That’s not going to be easy.” After speaking those six words, Garrett knew he was now in the running for the Most Obvious Statement Ever Said award.

  “I can do it.” One of the soldiers with his weapon trained on the box spoke. “I can shoot the lock off. The thing will get out on its own.”

  General Rammes glanced at the lock on the ammo box—it was a typical US Army–issue combination lock. Nothing too substantial, and from the looks of it, about ready to fail. A well-placed round would probably do the trick. “Okay, trooper. You get the shot. If you miss, or if you hit the thing inside, I’ll—”

  “You won’t have to, General. If I miss, I’ll give you one of my stripes myself. I don’t miss.”

  “Hooah.”

  “Hooah, sir.”

  “Carolyn, how long do you need to get the room ready?”

  “Just a few minutes, General. They can take the box inside the room now.”

  “You heard the lady. Move!”

  The armed men slung their rifles over their shoulders—as best as they could, considering they were wearing the same protective suits as everyone else—and reached for the box.

  The sound was immediate.

  Garrett and Carolyn froze in place. The sound was one they’d heard before. In Kansas City. The same chattering and clicking. It was an evil sound.

  The soldiers hesitated for a moment, and then, as one, picked the box up and carried it toward the containment room entrance. They placed the ammo box on top of the hospital bed and left the room, making sure the lock was directly toward the small inner entrance door so their partner could have a clean shot.

  Carolyn moved to a control panel on the other side of the containment room’s transparent Plexiglas wall and started entering commands on a small drop-down keyboard. Garrett stood beside her. He could see the hospital bed bounce with every violent movement of the creature in the steel box, still desperate to get out and take a big, juicy bite out of whoever had put it in there.

  Without having to be asked, Carolyn explained what she was doing. “We can control almost any variable in this room. Temperature, humidity, light, airflow—any environmental variable we want to introduce can be entered here.”

  “Can you make it snow?”

  “It’s good, but not that good.”

  Two technicians carried a long, silver canister over to a receptacle in the wall just a few feet away. With a push of a button, the canister slid into the wall. Small locks snapped into place.

  “Is that the soman?”

  “That’s the soman. Enough to kill every man, woman, and child in the city of Los Angeles. If it’s delivered properly.”

  Garrett had been exposed to some pretty humbling weapons in his time, but nothing like this. He was amazed how a beautiful young woman like Carolyn could work in close proximity to such incredible evil and still be so alive inside. “Are you going to use that much?”

  “No. It’ll only take a small amount to duplicate what the creatures will actually be exposed to.”

  “Sorry. I’m new to all this.”

  “It’s okay. I wish I didn’t know so much about it myself.”

  But you have to, Garrett thought to himself. We all have to know things we wish we didn’t have to these days.

  It was a sad thought.

  The America he’d grown up in had changed in so many ways. America was no longer a peaceful place, where people could chase
after their dreams, raise a family without fear, and if they were lucky, enjoy the simpler things in life. Now, people had to think about survival. Twenty-four hours a day. They had to think about what they’d do if a terrorist attack occurred in their city—or small town—and how they would react. They had to wonder whether or not today would be the day that a mushroom cloud would rise into the sky. Maybe, they’d be lucky enough to have just time to squeeze their child’s hand a little tighter. One last time.

  It was a different world.

  And it was why he had joined the United States Army.

  Turning the other cheek had been tried for decades, and it had failed. The enemies lurking in the shadows had taken the time provided them by well-intentioned—yet incredibly naïve—politicians and used it to prepare. To plan. And finally, to act.

  Thousands had died in the war on terrorism. America had grown different. Harder, not happier.

  But still, even in the face of all the death and destruction that had been visited upon his country, America still remained the one place in the world where people believed in the meaning behind one single, simple word . . .

  Hope.

  Hope that things would get better. Hope that in the end, freedom would prevail and America—and the world—would be a safe place again.

  Hope was holding his country together. It was a tenuous thing, but as long as people believed hope was still alive, it was as strong as the most hardened steel.

  Hope was what Garrett saw when he watched Carolyn prepare the containment room for the soman gas. She still had hope. It was alive in her, in the way she spoke, in the way she moved. She was a beacon for others, a bright light that seemed to signal that all would be okay one day, as long as we didn’t give up. As long as we keep fighting until we can’t fight any longer.

  As long as we keep fighting for the future.

  Garrett knew every person on the Vanguard team was full of hope, in one way or another. Without it, they’d simply cower in a corner and wait for the end to come.

  As he watched Carolyn punch in more commands, he had a sudden sinking feeling that the end, in fact, might be coming. All the hope in the world might not be enough to stop these things, unless people like Carolyn found a way.