by Michael Bray
Fitzgerald smiled, the rage inside making him tremble. "You mean the fact my decision to scale back on our occupation of foreign countries didn’t suit your idea of what should have been done?"
"Not just mine sir," Carter fired back, some of the arrogance replacing his discomfort, "But for the record, yes. I think you made the wrong call. I didn’t want to call you back from your holiday unless it was absolutely necessary."
"So I see," Fitzgerald sneered. "Look, Paul, I get it. I know how ambitious you are, and I know you think you can do a better job than me."
"No sir, absolutely not, I-"
Fitzgerald raised a hand and went on. "No need to deny it. I always suspected it, and it was confirmed when you and I got into the near argument about the foreign occupation policy. Be that as it may let me make one thing crystal clear to you." Fitzgerald leaned forward in his seat, pointing at Carter as he spoke. "Until the day you sit in my seat, until the day something happens to me and you get to hold the reigns, this is my horse. The responsibility to make the right call is mine to make. You don’t get to decide what's good or bad for me, what I should and shouldn’t deal with. You might think I’m an old fool who doesn’t know any better but don’t make the mistake of confusing my kindness with weakness. I'm more than prepared to make the tough calls as and when they need to be made. Understood?"
"Look-"
"I said is that understood?"
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry." Carter said, lowering his eyes to the table top.
"Now because of you trying to decide what's best for me, we're already on the back foot. I need options. I hope you have some."
"We could engage them at street level. Small arms fire, keep it controlled. We need to take into account the public perception of this." Morrison said.
"All due respect," Carter cut in, giving the chief of staff another sour glare, "I think we need more decisive action here."
"What did you have in mind?" Fitzgerald asked.
"I can’t stress enough the need to contain this quickly. If the reports of these individuals being contagious are true, we need to destroy them immediately."
"That seems a little excessive," Morrison cut in.
"It has to be. Just imagine how quickly this could escalate. If our experts are right and these things can infect someone with just a bite, we could be looking at an army of these things in a matter of weeks."
"Mr. President, it’s important we don’t overreact to this situation. Although Vice President Carter has a point, right now it's too early to tell what will happen, if anything. As we said, intel is still hazy on this. I genuinely think small scale ground forces in the affected areas to restore order is the best move right now."
"Come on Eamon," Carter said, taking off his glasses and setting them on the polished oak table top. "This isn’t something we can afford to get wrong. If we wait too long and these things start to spread, it will be almost impossible to stop them. Remember, this isn’t just an isolated incident in one location, we're talking about mass uprising across multiple countries. We need to act now to avoid paying the price later."
"What do you suggest Paul?" Fitzgerald asked.
"Well, for me, the preferred action is targeted air strikes. Civilian casualties will be minimal and we are assured of a swift and, more importantly, permanent solution. As you know, the traits of these Apex soldiers mean ground based combat is less effective than with regular enemies."
"Mr. President," Morrison said, finding his voice at last, "With all due respect, surely you can’t see this as a viable option. The loss of life would be astronomical, not to mention the structural damage to the target locations."
"This is bigger than structural damage," Carter spat. "This could be a global level disaster. A few dead civilians and damaged buildings seem like an acceptable level of risk to me."
"I've heard enough," Fitzgerald snapped.
They waited whilst he came to a decision.
"Alright, here's what I want to do. I want to go with Morrison’s idea. Small arms teams, keep it subtle."
"Ron, come on, you're making a big mistake here," Carter whined.
"Maybe so, but it’s my mistake to make. The last thing I want is to frighten people by sending in goddamn air strikes and potentially causing more tension with the other nations of the world. Those acceptable casualties you mentioned so off the cuff are people with families. I won’t put the people I’m sworn to protect under threat unless it’s as a last resort."
"This is just like last time, you're making the wrong call, Ron," Carter said.
"And I say again, it’s duly noted. Do we have an understanding?"
Carter shuffled in his seat. He wanted to say more but knew he had already overstepped the mark. "Understood, Mr. President," He muttered.
"Good. Now I want action on this right now. We are already behind, so I want teams pulled together who are the best fit for low key small arms fighting."
"What about the media sir?" Morrison asked. "Speculation is rife. News outlets are already covering the situation."
"Well, we can’t do anything about that now. From here on in I want a full media blackout. We need to limit the damage as much as we can."
"Yes sir," Morrison said.
"These experts you mentioned, with Genaro missing they are our main source of knowledge on this. We need them involved every step of the way."
"Do you want them brought here sir?" Morrison asked.
"No, not here. They're in Virginia right now, correct?"
"Yes sir, they are."
"Okay, tell them to wait there for further instructions. Have Homeland coordinate with them and feed the information through to us. I need to speak to the rest of the world leaders to discuss our options within the global community."
"Understood sir."
"Alright then, let’s go. Update me hourly."
"Yes sir," Morrison said, gathering his things and leaving.
Fitzgerald also stood, and turned to Carter.
"Paul, consider this a word to the wise. Don’t bite the hand that feeds, and never assume you know everything."
"Yes, Mr. President. Apologies for my outburst." Carter said the words sour tasting.
"I’m not a man to hold grudges, Paul. I'm sure you know I’m disappointed with your actions. Now all I care about is you doing everything you can to put it right. You're a good man, even if you can be a hot-headed asshole sometimes. Just remember, we're on the same side here."
Fitzgerald waited for a moment for a response, and when none came, left the vice president alone in the meeting room. Carter watched the older man leave, and promised himself even if it was the last thing he did, he would prove the old bastard wrong at least once. Gathering his papers, Carter followed the president out of the room and went directly to his office.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ADIRONDACK STATE PARK
SANTIAC RIVER VALLEY
NEW YORK STATE
KNOWN AS THE SILOHOME, the innocuous looking building nestled in the barren Saranac valley held a secret. The isolated home offered breath-taking views of the valley from all directions and was the ultimate in privacy. The real secret, however, was what lay underneath the building. Accessed through a discreet interior door, a staircase leads directly to a nine storey two thousand three hundred square foot decommissioned underground Atlas-F missile launch facility. Purchased by an ambitious property developer in the mid-nineties, the underground facility had been renovated into multi-level living quarters accessible only by passing through several steel blast doors. Deeper still was the missile launch area. A relic of the cold war, the immense launch bay offered another 12,000 square feet of space. Completely secure and undetectable, it was a perfect base of operations, the house above ground giving little clue to the sheer scale of what lay beneath. It was here where Joshua and his men had set up home. The building security had been laughable at best and were quickly dispatched. It was on the second underground level where Genaro's new lab had bee
n set up. Joshua's men went about their business with frightening efficiency, some working at renovating the missile launch bay, others stocking weapons and supplies as per Joshua's instructions.
Genaro ignored the noise as best he could and concentrated on his work. His injured arm had healed in just fourteen hours, and now there was little evidence of Joshua's bite, although he could feel its effects surging through him as his body adjusted to its new parasite. As a man who had never done drugs, he had no idea how it felt to be high, yet was sure the pure euphoria he experienced during those first few hours was close. Subtle things made all the difference. The nagging pain in his knee as a result of early onset arthritis was gone completely. As was the dull ache in his wrist following a break when he was seventeen and came off his motorbike and slammed into a tree. In fact, he had never felt stronger or more aware of the world around him. It was as if a veil had been lifted from the life he used to know, and he had been ushered into a new place where the possibilities were endless.
"Addictive, isn’t it?"
Genaro turned to see Joshua as he walked into the makeshift underground lab. He looked quite regal with his hair tied back, arms clasped behind his back.
"It's incredible. I could never imagine it would feel this way."
"Now do you see? Now do you understand?" Joshua said, smiling at the scientist as he stood at his side.
"Yes, I don’t think it's something you could ever express in words. This feeling is one which has to be experienced first-hand to truly understand."
"And many will," Joshua replied, his eyes sharp and aware as they scanned the myriad of equipment on Genaro's workstation. The scientist saw where he was looking and stepped aside.
"The work you asked me to do, the work I said was impossible..." Genaro trailed off and lowered his head.
"You are able to do it now, correct?" Joshua said.
"Yes, I don’t understand how, though. The equations and methods which seemed alien to me just a few days ago now make perfect sense. The work is almost racing ahead on its own. In truth, I feel like I’m hanging on to the handlebars of a runaway motorbike with my legs trailing out behind me."
Joshua clapped a hand on Genaro's shoulder and widened his grin, immediately making the scientist feel better. "Don’t worry about that, it’s just the adjustment to the change. You are still growing into the man you will become. I have every faith you will do as I ask. I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise."
"And I promise you I won’t stop until it's done. I won’t let you down, Joshua."
"I know you won’t. I have every faith in your ability."
Warmth rushed through Genaro's body. A euphoric adrenaline rush of pure devotion to Joshua. Love was a word he didn’t like to use, however, it was as good a description as any for the emotion he felt. He knew then and there that he would, without question do anything Joshua asked of him, even to the point of giving his own life.
"Are you alright?" Joshua asked.
"Yes, I’m sorry I was just overwhelmed for a second. My brain is alive with thoughts, ideas. It's quite remarkable."
"And it will only get better. These new emotions will grow as your body adjusts to the gift."
"I wish everyone could feel this way."
"I’m afraid that’s not possible."
Genaro hesitated, and then looked Joshua in the eye. "Can you live with the guilt Joshua, of what you have to do to the world?"
"I feel no guilt. I do what I have to in order for humanity to survive. And you are a key part of that process. A brilliant mind further enhanced by our special gift. You can make our task easier."
"How will you do it? Surely we don’t have enough men. We’re outnumbered by far."
"Indeed, we are. But remember, one man alone can create an army."
"An army?" Genaro said, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.
"Yes. An army. A force to usher in the new world and rid it of the cruel, barbaric creatures which inhabit it." The bitterness in Joshua’s voice was hard to ignore, and Genaro felt a stab of fear.
"Is that necessary? I mean, is there no other way?"
"Do you remember, Doctor Genaro, way back at the start of all this when you asked me to trust you?"
"Of course I do. I was impressed by your courage." Genaro said, meeting Joshua’s eye. “If not for you, my work would never have started.”
"Then I ask you to remember that and give the same courtesy to me. Trust me when I tell you there is no other option. We have to purge the weaker species. It's nature’s way. The strong survive, the weak become extinct."
"But Joshua, there are over seven billion people on the planet. Surely it's impossible."
"Some will be shown the light. Some will join us. Some will be spared from death to work for our cause."
"You will never convince them," Genaro said. "I've worked for the government for long enough to know that anyone different will be perceived as a threat, and threats are often crushed before they can gain a foothold."
"And who will crush us?" Joshua said with a smile. "Do you think a soldier will stay loyal to his country when he sees his bullets penetrate us and we still don’t stop? Will his love for his country be enough to keep him fighting when he knows he can’t win?"
"What are you saying?"
"I’m saying the physical fight, the warfare, the dirty work, isn’t where the battle is won." Joshua tapped his temple with a bony index finger. "Winning the psychological battle is the key to victory. First we break their spirits, and then we purge their physical form."
"And how will we break their spirits?"
Joshua smiled and clasped his hands behind his back. "Don’t worry about that. I have something in mind that will show our intentions to the world. Something that will turn the current confusion at street level into terror."
"It sounds like something Hitler would have said," Genaro replied with a nervous snort.
"Yes, it does doesn’t it? He had the right idea. You see, he knew fear was the key to success. He only failed because he made a couple of small but critical errors. We will not repeat them."
"When? When do we put this into action?"
"My friend, it’s already started. The world doesn’t yet know it, but it is enjoying the final days of life as they know it."
Genaro nodded, feeling a mixture of pride and fear racing through his veins. Breaking away from the hypnotic gaze of Joshua, the scientist returned to his work.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DHAVARI SLUMS
MUMBAI
INDIA
YOU COULD NEVER FORGET the smell. Food waste rotting in the gutters, stagnant sewer water running freely down the same roads people walked, baked into a disgusting throat burning stench by the intense pollution heavy air. And the desperation. The helplessness. That was a smell all of its own. With a population of up to a million, the almost unbearable living conditions were a way of life many of the areas would have to endure until their death – an event which could happen at any time through starvation, conflict, or from one of the countless epidemics which scourged the closely knit ramshackle dwellings. Flies and rats thrived in abundance amid the haunted faced people for whom just making it through the day was seen as a huge achievement.
Thirty-nine-year-old Suvari Tam grew up on these streets. An exception to the rule, she had been one of the few lucky ones to find a way out and make a life for herself, to flee to America and find a good man who she loved dearly. Even though it was to help, she found it incredibly strange to be back. She wasn't sure what to make of the whirlwind of emotion she could feel stirring inside her. Part of it was a deep sadness that nothing had changed. Some of it was fear that she had come back to the place where so many memories were bad. Another aspect was the conversation she had with Marcus just before she left. He had sounded distant and withdrawn, and although they had both tried to forget it, she couldn’t help but compare his mood to the immediate aftermath of the incident at the school which had changed him fo
rever. She also thought of her sister for the first time in years, the guilt of that revelation cutting deep. Like Suvari, she had wanted out and shared the same determination to make a difference. However, like many of the residents of the slums, she was sold into a prostitution ring at just eight years old and spent the next three years being forced to endure horrific sexual acts from men who would gladly pay the minuscule fee her owners would charge, knowing nothing was off limits as far as what they would be allowed to do to the fragile young girl. Suvari last saw her sister on the day of her eleventh birthday. She was emaciated and her once bright eyes were dead and devoid of hope. She had asked Suvari for a few rupees to get some food and disappeared off into the maze of buildings. Two days later her body was found by the river with her throat cut. It was a ghastly end to a pitiful existence, and the worst part of it for Suvari was that nobody cared. One dead underage prostitute in a community full of them wasn't news. It was part of daily life.
What it did, was give Suvari the extra motivation she needed to ensure her own life wasn't wasted in the same way. Knowing it was a case of either die in the slums or take a chance by moving on, she chose the latter, and with nothing but the clothes on her back, set off as a thirteen-year-old child into the world with no clue how far she would get or what the future held.
Now here she stood, back where she started, an educated woman who against all odds had found a loving family in Bangladesh who took her in and gave her all the tools she needed to make the most of life. She was never the brightest and sometimes struggled to keep up with her classmates who had been afforded the luxury of education from a much younger age. However the desire to be a success burned inside her, and drove her to make as much of a success of herself as possible. She had moved to America, hoping to find the path to whatever life intended for her and in doing so met her future husband, Marcus. They had met by chance at a local bar and immediately hit it off. She was taken in by his good looks and sharp personality but never anticipated that he would feel the same way, even less that they would go on to marry and have two wonderful children. Now working as an aid worker, she was determined to help as many children as possible to a better life and ensure as best she could that they avoided the same fate as her sister. She walked through the crowded streets, surprised at how little she had forgotten about how awful it was. Her internal navigation took over, guiding her down alleyways and through the winding, filth-laden roads. Outwardly she showed little emotion. Inside she wanted to weep for the horror of an existence these poor people had to endure.
