by LC Champlin
“Whoever knew about the prisoner convoy is a suspect. Somehow the attackers knew well in advance when it would arrive.”
“Serebus, the DHS’s job is to conduct investigations of all kinds. You will not think up a novel angle. We follow process and procedure, and they’re thorough.”
“Well then, if my mind is of no use, then I offer up my body on the altar of the DHS.” He spread his hands the few inches the chain permitted. Director Washington would make a fine Amanda Waller for her one-man Suicide Squad: him.
The rays of curiosity broke through Washington’s overcast expression. “What are you talking about?”
“Use me as bait. Do your usual stellar job of keeping classified information classified, then schedule a transfer. When the perpetrators come to kidnap or kill me, you can swoop in and I capture them. In the meantime—and yes, I hesitate to offer advice on investigation—begin looking into LOGOS. If nothing else, perhaps you can uncover a few tax errors.” He smiled, saccharine.
“Perhaps. Now, this is where we part ways, Serebus.” Washington looked somewhat relieved beneath her continued annoyance.
“It’s been a pleasure, Director.”
She turned to leave, but paused. “I was surprised to see how you reacted to the news of your adviser’s death.”
Nathan swallowed hard. Electric pain sizzled across his chest, stealing his breath. “I have to live for us both. Why should I be in mourning? Can I bring him back again?”
“I see.” She shifted topics: “Officer Rodriguez will be assigned to you as your personal guard.”
“A body guard and probation officer all wrapped into one?” Raised brow.
“Don’t push your luck, Serebus.” The officer took a step forward, her bearing making it clear she would rather kick him in the groin than hear excuses about why he violated his probation conditions.
Chapter 34
Bad News
Can’t Go to Hell – Sin Shake Sin
Albin took advantage of the open spaces in the camp, walking the perimeter. The relief of occupying land overwhelmed much of the disappointment at being quarantined.
While Crevan disapproved of Albin’s choice to decline the flight, he had agreed to send the aircraft for Shukla and Kuznetsov. The jet would arrive at the Fort Bragg Airport in three hours.
Gazing into the tree line nearby, Albin sighed. If the agents from either the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force or the Department of Homeland Security failed to contact him soon, he would endeavor to reach them again. The sworn statements Albin had provided earlier would stand, but he could add extenuating explanations. Perhaps when deciding the sentence the court would take into account Mr. Serebus’s behavior at the end.
A Marine approached. “Albin Conrad, a call for you from Special Agent Greg Saito of the FBI.” The serviceman handed him a satellite phone.
Speak of the devil. “This is Albin Conrad.”
“Albin, Greg Saito. I have good and bad news for you. What do you want to hear first?”
“I leave that to your discretion.” Foolish man, wasting time.
“All right, the bad news: the trial was held while the episode on the ship occurred.”
As feared, they had decided to use the evidence they already held. The government moved with rapidity and efficiency when in pursuit of a scapegoat—or of gain at the citizenry’s expense.
Albin cleared his throat. “He has been sentenced?” As Mr. Serebus’s attorney, he claimed the right to consult with his client.
“Yes. Which brings me to the good news. We’re providing a flight to New York for you. Nathan will be serving his sentence at the federal prison in New York.” He considered this good news?
Depression settled over Albin like fog. “Of what was he convicted?”
“It’s a long list. We’ll give you the documents when you get to the plane.”
“Why New York?”
“California, New York, and the Federal government worked out an agreement for which facility they would use.”
“I see. You said there was good news?”
“Well, ah, I thought the flight to New York was good news.” Disappointment dampened Saito’s tone. His profiling skills could do with honing if he thought Albin would celebrate the news.
“I have five colleagues here who also require transportation. Will this flight carry them?”
“Yes, of course, if they want to go. It will be there in a few hours. We will be using a chartered flight to keep a low profile.”
“Is our destination Newark International?”
“I don’t have that information, but rest assured they’ll get you where you need to be.” The government appeared to have kept its word, truly an auspicious occasion.
“Very well.”
He pressed the End Call button, then handed the satellite phone back to the waiting Marine.
With questions swarming in his mind like wasps, Albin returned to his tent, where he gathered his companions. After he explained the situation, the group expressed approval of the idea. Behrmann appeared downcast at the news of Mr. Serebus’s sentencing, but she accepted the unavoidable nature of the outcome.
Amanda smiled in relief at news of the flight. “This is perfect. If they’d told you this earlier, you could have taken Crevan’s plane. You probably still can.”
“I prefer to see the government fulfill their word.” Albin smirked. He could not divulge the true reason for his favoring the FBI’s flight: addressing Mr. Serebus’s situation before reuniting with Janine and David.
++++++++++++
The DHS grunts marched Nathan out into the bright sun that turned the parking lot into a frying pan. He squinted as they directed him to a black Suburban.
They paused at the door to at long last remove his stylish bracelets and chain belt. Smiling, he massaged his wrists. Sweet, sweet freedom!
He climbed into the SUV, Rodriguez following. “Next stop, Los Alamos?” he asked, settling into the leather upholstery and fastening his seatbelt.
“Yes. And now we’re going to play Who Can Shut up the Longest.”
Still smiling, he shrugged. She couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm. Any increase in freedom brought joy. Then a cloud of sadness blotted out the sun of optimism. Albin would never see the outcome of Nathan’s struggles. He would not know the triumph of defeating LOGOS.
The vehicle set off down the ribbon of asphalt that snaked through the plains. He rode through the desert on a horse with no name; when would he reach the ocean?
The wasteland view held nothing for him; thus, he delved into the Water of Life, his Bible.
As he reached the middle of II Corinthians, the Suburban slowed. He leaned rightward for a view between the front seats. Rodriguez looked as well. Thirty yards away, a large-capacity livestock trailer blocked the road. Even in times of crisis, people still wanted their hamburgers. The back gates dropped open, forming a ramp. Black and red beef cattle trotted out, spreading into the road. They stared around and snorted at the unfamiliar territory.
“What the hell now?” Rodriguez snapped. “Go around.” She motioned the driver to take a side road on the right. Before he could, though, cattle blocked it.
“Officer Rodriguez,” the driver began, “what—”
Crack!
The driver-side window transformed from a sheet of bullet-resistant glass to a panel of white—micro cracks from a bullet impact.
Crack!
Red liquid exploded across the vehicle’s cab. Nathan’s jaw dropped. Two shots: one to shatter glass and one to punch through it. The second vaporized the driver’s head.
Chapter 35
Fly
Evil Walks – Slug Comparisson
“Get down!” Rodriguez and Nathan yelled as one.
“We have to get out of here,” he grunted as he threw his seatbelt off. Not waiting for a response from Rodriguez, he slithered up the center aisle.
The driver blocked the s
teering wheel and pedals. His foot slipped off the brake. The Suburban rolled forward. Shit. Seat belt buckle . . . There! It disengaged as Nathan jabbed the release.
“Serebus,” Rodriguez hissed, “what are you—”
“Give us some suppressive fire.” He couldn’t rely on the escort SUV for assistance. “Didn’t you people check this area?”
“Of course!”
Unlocking the driver’s side door—“I’m going to push him out.” Blood still pumped from the obliterated stump of a neck. After opening the door as much as he dared, Nathan rammed his shoulder against the corpse’s torso. The body slumped left. Another drive with feet against the passenger door jettisoned the corpse completely. Nathan yanked the door shut behind the unlucky driver. Now the hard part. Damn six-foot-two height. Rodriguez should do this, but she would never allow him to play gunner.
Speaking of which, Rodriguez’s MP5 hammered in reply to the sniper’s two rounds. Nathan grunted at the ringing in his ears.
Wriggling backward into the cargo area, Nathan put his legs forward. He slid into the cab. Thanks to the sniper, he had to keep below the level of the driver-side window. Feet into the well, he yanked the wheel rightward as he hit the accelerator. Not exactly comfortable lying across the center console. But it beat ending as a headless corpse like the driver.
The cattle vacated the road as the Suburban sped toward them. With a clear shot ahead, Nathan floored the accelerator. The V8 roared. It pushed the SUV a hundred miles an hour with ease.
He sat up. Any marksman capable of killing him now deserved his death as a prize for their superhuman abilities.
Now where to? Ah, a GPS in the dashboard.
Nathan gripped the wheel. “I know I said to use me as bait, but—”
“It wasn’t planned.” Rodriguez had her MP5 against her shoulder as she peered out the rear passenger window. “It was a leak.”
A cold smile formed on Nathan’s lips. “They either want to kill me or kidnap me. This proves I’ll make a fine Jonah for you. Throw me overboard.”
“Washington just wants to make sure you’ll come back after three days,” Roddy growled.
“I seem doomed to deal with Nineveh, so you needn’t worry.” When God sent His man, He would see the mission accomplished.
Nathan followed the recalculated route through the wilderness for ten miles. No vehicles tailed them, other than a lone escort Suburban, whom Roddy had reassured. No choppers appeared to harass them. However, a drone could hover as low as a hundred feet yet remain invisible.
Nathan brought the SUV to a halt. “I’m sure you want to take over.” He stepped out. Wasteland with scrub bushes and occasional outcroppings of red rock surrounded the travelers.
Rodriguez exited, then climbed into the driver’s side.
“I think I soaked up most of the blood for you, Officer,” he commented with a smirk. Already it dried, making the back of his scrubs stiff.
She gave him a baleful look. “Just get back in the fucking vehicle. Is nothing ever serious to you?”
“It’s deadly serious. All the more reason to find irony where I can.”
++++++++++++
The military provided transportation to the Fort Bragg Airport. There Albin and the others waited on the tarmac, their backpacks at their feet. Though Kuznetsov and Shukla stood with them, they would leave on Crevan’s flight.
Two men in nondescript black suits approached. They wore sunglasses and the clean-cut appearance of government agents.
“Albin Conrad,” the nearest of the pair addressed the attorney, “you and your associates are to come with us.”
Albin turned to the two engineers. “May you have a safe flight.”
The engineers bid their farewells and shook hands with him. The Musters, Behrmann, and Bridges also gave their regards.
As they did, a man in a pilot’s uniform and sunglasses trotted from the fixed base of operations building nearby. “I’m looking for Mikhail Kuznetsov and Badal Shukla. We were contracted by Neil Crevan.”
The group divided, each party proceeding to their respective aircraft.
Albin led the way onto the corporate jet, an off-white craft with a blue and black stripe running down the fuselage. One of the agents handed him a tablet. “This has the documents you requested.”
“Excellent.” Dread and anticipation mingled, making Albin’s jaw clench and his pulse rise.
The jet could seat eight passengers, enough for the civilians and two government agents. Judge lay on the floor.
“I’ve never been on a private jet before,” Taylor remarked as she took a seat in front of her sister.
Albin allowed a smile. “It is a vast improvement over commercial airlines.” He sat across the aisle from them, with Amanda facing him and his back to the cockpit. After clicking the seatbelt into place, he settled into the leather upholstery. Enough time had passed since his pneumothorax resolved that the flight should pose no danger.
Bridges and Behrmann found places across the aisle from each other, while the agents occupied the rear of the cabin.
Within minutes, the craft taxied down the runway. With engines roaring, it lifted off. The ground fell away, soon vanishing beneath the clouds. Safe in the sky, away from the earth and its monsters—human and cannibal alike.
The tablet lay on the table before Albin. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew Mr. Serebus’s wallet. He thumbed through the contents until he reached a photo of the Serebus family: Fiery-haired Janine, whose natural beauty rivaled the manufactured perfection of any Hollywood actress, held the young David, a maneuver which grew more difficult by the week as the boy matured. He shared his father’s unruly, obsidian hair and his mother’s cunning, emerald eyes. Mr. Serebus had one arm draped about his wife’s shoulders, while his free hand enclosed his son’s hand and wrist.
“What do you have there?” Amanda asked, leaning forward from her seat across from him.
He handed her the photo.
“Is this—”
“Janine and David Serebus.”
“She’s beautiful. And his son is adorable.”
Denver left her seat. “I wanna see!”
Albin nodded approval.
“Oh, you’re right. His little boy looks just like him.”
Taylor too studied the photo. “They look so happy.”
“They are,” Albin responded, “for the majority of the time.”
“Did they say anything about his sentencing?” Behrmann asked, coming to join them. “What’s on that tablet?”
“I am about to discover the answer to both questions.” With that, he powered on the device.
The group settled back to enjoy the comforts of the flight. Between scanning court documents, Albin watched the foreign landscape of clouds pass. How good it would feel to land in New York.
While Albin had studied criminal law, he had not specialized in it, which complicated the task of sifting through evidence, testimonies, charges, and proceedings. The government had marshaled its considerable forces against Mr. Serebus, making the case against him insurmountable. He on the other hand had little in way of defense. The multiple convictions came as no surprise. They ranged from colluding with terrorists to domestic terrorism to conspiracy against the United States government. As the list continued, Albin’s mind slid into the dark desert of analysis. The sand desiccated emotions—dread, depression, anxiety—that attempted to dominate his consciousness. The icy chill eased the ache in his chest.
Chapter 36
Homework Assignments
No One Will Save You – Aviators
Eventually, a convoy of coyote-tan Humvees met the Suburbans. The Army vehicles guided them along the winding roads, into the stark beauty of Los Alamos. When selecting a site for the Manhattan Project, General Groves and JR Oppenheimer chose the area partly due to its scenery. Oppenheimer wanted the scientists who worked on the atomic bomb to feel inspired. Though how lookin
g at the Martian terrain of the desert would help them create the world’s most destructive weapon remained a mystery.
The convoy entered the Los Alamos National Laboratory complex. White, hulking buildings held the research centers, while smaller, square barracks ran in rows, each holding its own secret. Or possibly Christmas decorations and potluck supplies.
As the vehicle forged deeper into the campus, Nathan’s pulse ticked up. At last he possessed not only the facilities but also the personnel to discover the solution to the cannibal contagion.
The sun would set in a few hours, but he would not retire for many more, no doubt. The government didn’t care that he’d just survived two brushes with the Grim Reaper. For that matter, neither did he. Time ticked. He either cleared his name by saving the world, or he spent the rest of his life in the deepest, darkest solitary-confinement cell the government had to offer. Or, depending on how deep into depression he sank, suicide. No pressure.
The SUV halted before one of the barracks-type buildings. Rodriguez pulled the vehicle’s passenger door open, acting as footman for Nathan. She kept a wary eye on him. Did she expect him to attempt to escape in the middle of a highly secure compound?
Two MPs approached. They escorted Rodriguez and Nathan to the nearest barracks. Low, white, and concrete, the structure hailed from the ’50s. Inside, the Soldiers led their charges to what once served as an office. The hospitality committee had added a cot and mini fridge. A large cardboard box occupied the desk that dominated the rear of the room. A window with reinforced glass overlooked a road, and beyond it, a building the twin of the one they occupied.
“This is where you’ll be working on the data,” Rodriguez informed him. “When you need to, you can consult with the researchers. In that”—she motioned to a black, rubberized case the size of a check luggage piece at the foot of the cot—“you’ll find a computer with the info we have so far. It’s organized, with text and voice explanations. Tomorrow you can meet the researchers.”
