by Rounds, Mark
June 8th, Sunday, 11:05 am PDT
University of Idaho Campus, Moscow, ID
Chad and Dave entered Capt Nesmith’s office. They had been separately put off when they attempted to talk to the Captain about a collection of issues he had concealed from Col Antonopoulos in their initial briefing and about the mess that was student housing. It turned out that several of the Captain’s staff knew about some of what was going on, but their attempts to remedy the situation had fallen short, primarily because their commanding officer was focused elsewhere.
In frustration, Chad and Dave contacted Capt Nixon, their control, who informed them of the changes at Fort Lewis and also suggested that they play this by the book and take their complaints to the Inspector General, which he facilitated. As this was a serious affair, they did their best to scrounge appropriate uniforms and formally request a meeting with their commanding officer in writing. Nesmith prevaricated until it became clear that his staff had stopped supporting his efforts not to meet with the newcomers. So at 11:00 am they filed into Nesmith’s office and came to attention. Dave, being senior saluted.
“Intelligence detachment reporting as ordered, sir,” said Dave.
“You haven’t been here two days and already we have problems,” said Capt Nesmith attempting to take charge of the meeting. “What happened at the dormitory, captain?”
“While I was arranging storage space, my family went out to the athletic field in front of the dorm,” said Chad. “When they were threatened with violence and rape, they tried to deescalate the situation, but they were pressed by several young men, some of whom were later found to be infected. They responded in kind.”
“There are conflicting reports …” began Capt Nesmith.
“Sir, it’s ‘Lord of the Flies’ down there,” said Dave interrupting. “There was a hierarchy in those dorms where perhaps seventy five athletes and hangers-on have committed rape, intimidation, and murder.”
“Those are some pretty strong accusations,” said Capt Nesmith. “Perhaps your family became overly excited in the heat of events …”
“Sir,” said Chad, visibly restraining himself, “there are over a hundred witnesses who have come forward. In addition, there was an attempt to kill my son while he was in the hospital. Only the last minute intervention of Sayla kept it from becoming violent. With respect, sir, if you mean to keep the peace, you must respond.”
“We will do something of course,” said Nesmith back-pedaling, “but there are political realities, we must respond to this slowly and carefully to …”
“Sir, we were informed that you might have that response after you were ‘unable’ to speak to us yesterday,” said Dave. “Your staff is restive to say the least. I have called the Inspector General at Fort Lewis …”
“And just what can he do here!?” demanded Capt Nesmith with panic in his voice. “You are out of line, captain! Rescind that complaint immediately!”
“Sir,” said Dave carefully, “that is an illegal order and you know it. Any service member not in a direct combat situation can file a complaint with the IG. This matter is serious enough that they have authorized Major Tippet and myself to ask that you step down from command temporarily while there is an investigation into …”
“Oh, and I suppose they made you commander,” retorted an angry Nesmith.
“No sir, Lieutenant Colonel Amos is senior,” said Dave. “Sir, there is also a PJ outside who is going to test you for the Plague. This is standard procedure since …”
The rest of Dave’s words were lost as Capt Nesmith bolted for the door. The PJ outside the door slowed Capt Nesmith down long enough that between the three of them, they were able to subdue him. The test took only a few seconds but the results were positive, Capt Nesmith had the Plague. He also tested positive for Slash. He was placed under arrest and escorted to Pullman General Hospital where the rest of the Plague sufferers were kept.
LTC Amos was waiting and when he heard the news, called a staff meeting of all the military officers in the area for 1:00 pm. Before anyone could enter, they had to be tested. One National Guard officer and another ROTC cadre member tested positive for both Slash and the Plague and had to be removed.
“Well,” said Amos, “we have a problem. Our senior officer is infected and was covering it up with Slash. We think he was being blackmailed by his supplier who resided in the dorms. He has been relieved. There was no chance it was a bad coincidence, I was in the room where the connection between the Plague and Slash was briefed three weeks ago while we still had some communications with the rest of the world. I believe it was a deception and intentional. This information was forwarded to the I Corps headquarters. Accordingly, Captain Nesmith was relieved and I was put in command.
“Captain Nesmith was also covering up the extent of the deterioration of law and order in the dorms. We all knew some details but he had been keeping the extent hidden, propagating disinformation, and downplaying what we did know. A raid at oh six hundred hours this morning by militia troops accompanied by members of the Pullman police found the same situation at WSU dorms where the remaining students from that university had been quartered.
“The mayor is complaining that there were jurisdictional issues and this obviously complicates matters between us, the mayor, and the Pullman police.
“The Air Force PJ’s have been quite busy and have trained several local medical professionals in administering the blood test for the Plague, so our combined staffs have been testing everyone we can get to. The results are not good. We have identified over a hundred individuals who were covering their infection with Slash, and we have yet to look into the civil non-university population. The testing over in Pullman has been more haphazard as the Mayor is obviously resisting the testing. The Pullman Police are caught in the middle.
“I am going turn this over to Captain Strickland for what this might mean in terms of the bigger picture.”
“Thank you, LTC Amos,” said Chad “I suspect what we are seeing is common. The Plague testing is slowly working its way into to enclaves like this. Because of the stigma, many people have been hiding their infection with Slash. That means every community like this probably has a hidden, infected, cluster of people who are susceptible to blackmail or influence, such as was happening with Captain Nesmith. His supplier was the student we detained after our altercation at Theophilus Tower, whose source seemed to be pretty nearly inexhaustible. He was supplying people Slash for a very low price, even as money lost its value. We think that he is following a standard scenario we have seen elsewhere. Some local drug dealer is coopted by the opposition which supplies him his drugs in exchange for information and the ability to use the drug users for various clandestine operations.
“That being said, we can’t discount the possibility that our opposition knows your disposition, defenses, and, obviously, the very fact that we are here. That means someone may come looking. In the past that has meant bands of drug users and other petty criminals who are also on Slash. they tend to be violent and will take hostages or do whatever it takes to reach their goals.”
“Not to be indelicate about this,” said Maj Freeman, a recently promoted Air Force Major in the AFROTC program in Pullman, “but couldn’t you just call your pretty green helicopter and just leave? Would that reduce the risk?”
“Probably not,” said Dave. “These folks seem strongly motivated. They would likely come here in force, just to make sure we are gone. I am sorry, but we appear to have put you at risk. That was not our intent.”
“What’s done is done,” said LTC Amos. “We have the problems we have, let’s start solving them. The first on the list is cleaning up the dorms. Does anyone have an idea about how to deal with fifty or sixty college students who have likely committed multiple felonies? There were extenuating circumstances, but we can’t turn a blind eye …”
Chapter 13
June 9th, Monday, 1:31 pm PDT
City Hall, Pullman WA
Mayor
Henderson sat in his office on the verge of panic. The arrival of the mission from Fort Lewis had put his entire plan in peril. Due to the lack of communications, he had successfully been able to parlay his civil authority in Pullman into a regional power grab. The people in Moscow had been suspicious of his rightful ambitions and so had followed the misguided ramblings of that crank Nesmith. Now his informants confirmed that Nesmith was infected and using Slash to cover up.
On the one hand, it reduced the confidence in the official presence by the military in the local area. On the other hand, it exposed something he already knew, that many of the people with connections in the area were using Slash to cover up their infection and that the dealers for those drugs wielded enormous influence over local political figures, like him.
Henderson was waiting for his connection to meet with him to provide him the Slash he needed to pass in everyday life and, frankly, give him instructions. It hadn’t started out that way. He had been really trying to hold things together and help people get through difficult times as the Plague unraveled society. Then he became infected. He hid it from everyone, including his wife. Then Phillip appeared in his office with the perfect solution, a small dose of Slash, and he was no longer contagious, his symptoms disappeared. He didn’t even charge that much.
He even thought that he might be cured because of the rumor that Slash was a cure, so he told the pusher to take a hike. Then his symptoms came back with a vengeance and he had to beg the young man to come back and talk to him. Now he got his Slash, but sometimes the cost was too high, something he dreaded. The door to his office opened and in stepped a thin young man with long light brown hair queued up in a ponytail.
“Do you have it?” asked Mayor Henderson nervously. His current supply was almost gone.
“Jumpy, aren’t we?” said Phil.
“I am almost out,” said Henderson. “I worried you wouldn’t come.”
“Things have changed,” said Phil. “The militia and the cops rounded up a bunch of my best customers. I need you to stop the testing here in Pullman.”
“I have complained and I have a lawyer working on …”
“They aren’t going to listen to a lawyer,” said Phil, using the tone that a parent uses with a child caught in a lie. “You will need to use the police.”
“They won’t obey!” said Henderson desperately. “They pay me lip service but they do whatever they want.”
“Listen, old man,” said Phil who was now serious, “you had best do something because too many of my customers know me. If they get busted, they’ll sing like canaries and then the cops will find me. I will do the same to avoid jail or whatever it is they do these days. The cops will find you. I might go to prison, but you have been a real pain around here. Things will go much worse for you.”
“But I only did the stuff you told me to,” wailed Henderson.
“Like they would believe that,” said Phil with a sadistic smile. “Remember; don’t let them test in Pullman. If they do and they catch me, they catch you; or if I am lucky and get the word, I will be gone and you will be without Slash. The number of resellers in this area is decreasing the longer the new military is here. You likely will not be able to find a new supplier fast enough. Your symptoms will show in hours and you will be dead in days.
“I’ll try,” said Henderson.
“Do or do not, there is no try,” said Phil sardonically as he tossed a balloon of Slash onto the Mayor’s desk. “Remember; use the police and no more testing in Pullman.”
June 9th, Monday, 2:53 pm PDT
A compound north of Winifred, MT
Macklin had been up before dawn. His protestations that his master was coming soon and he needed to prepare fell upon deaf ears. After a quick breakfast of yogurt and toast, he warmed up with some calisthenics and then his keepers, the large black man who Macklin came to find out was named Ngengi and was born in Kenya before the British colonized it, and Carlos, who lived in Spain before it was called Spain, took him out for a run.
Macklin had prided himself on his running. Even when he was on the road, he ran four or five miles a day. When they started out, it was clear that Ngengi and Carlos had done some running. After the first couple of miles, Macklin wondered if they did anything else. It must have been especially difficult for Ngengi to run at that level with his huge musculature but he appeared to just pile on the miles and not even sweat. Then they had spent two hours in a very well appointed gym, lifting free weights using a program designed by Carlos that mimicked, or was mimicked by, some of the best powerlifters in the world.
Just when Macklin thought his heart would burst, they stopped and began a class on cleaning and field stripping half a dozen different pistols. Macklin was a quick study, which was good because every time he got something wrong he was chastised with a punch, kick, or blow delivered with amazing precision and control. Everything hurt, but there wasn’t a mark on him.
Then came an hour-long bout of hand-to-hand combat training. It was not a specific martial art but rather gleaned from a thousand years of training in all the major ones. Macklin thought he could recognize moves from Judo, Ringen, and even some Karate moves that Chad Strickland had shown him in their little altercation in the jail in Tri-Cities.
Lunch was again light with cheese, fruit, and fish and then another run followed by rifle maintenance this time. There was another run and then an improvised explosives course. It was all he could do to stay awake. The class suddenly got quiet, so Macklin turned around to see Nergüi approaching. He hoped his ‘Master’ was coming to rescue him from this torture course that he had been on the last two days. But such was not to be the case.
“Macklin,” said Nergüi. “I will be gone for a week, perhaps two. There are other Masters here at this compound so your infection will remain under control. I trust these gentlemen will improve your skills while I am gone. Listen to them carefully. If you don’t, they have my permission to kill you.”
Macklin stopped breathing from the shock. It must have shown in his eyes, for his two trainer/tormentors broke their stony expressions with a subdued chuckle.
“Understand this, former Special Agent Macklin,” said Nergüi. “There is only one way out of this organization; death. If you serve well, as these gentlemen have, you can expect a very long, very well rewarded life. But you must be on the top of your game. Second best will not do. So train hard and learn from your mentors here, because what they are teaching you will literally determine how long you live.”
Nergüi turned and walked away without a backward glance. Macklin’s despair was palpable. His trainers only laughed harder.
June 9th, Monday, 7:47 pm PDT
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, WA
There was a knock at the door of his new office and Gen Antonopoulos was not amused. He was working late to try and catch up on all the operations his predecessor had going. He was going to have a staff meeting in the morning and he felt he had to know at least something about all the irons they had in the fire.
“Come,” said Gen Antonopoulos irritably.
Capt Whipkey came in, carefully closed the door, and snapped to attention in front of Gen Antonopoulos’s desk. After Gen Antonopoulos returned his salute, Capt Whipkey spoke.
“Sir, I have that intercept data we discussed,” said Capt Whipkey. “You said to come to you, anytime of the night or day if it came in. Is this room secure?”
Gen Antonopoulos shook his head silently and gestured for the captain to follow him. They went around the corner into a briefing room with a two layer door.
“I have been assured that this room has an air gap from all walls and the only lights shine from outside the gap, so there are no wires that can conduct an information flow. It is electronically swept at random intervals during the day. It’s the best secured briefing room on post,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “What do you have?”
Sir,” said Whipkey, “the exchanges were encoded of course but we have had some luck in penetrating their ciph
er. We have the code name they were using for Harðnefr. The frequency of its use all over their net has jumped a great deal. That jump was preceded by a single cell phone call that we localized to this base that used that specific code phrase. That transmission was made in the last hour.”
“Where on base?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.
“The call was too short, sir," said Capt Whipkey quickly. "We theorize that a report was encoded and then burst transmitted over a cell phone. The number was traced to a disposable pre-paid phone sold before the Plague in Tacoma. We were able to localize it to the built up part of the base before the transmission cut off. But that’s all.”
“So one of them is likely passing off the information then?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.
“Seems so, sir,” said Whipkey. “What are you going to do?”
“Good spy craft means keeping you in the dark too, captain,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “Anything else?”
“Nergüi’s cell phone made a couple of calls from central Montana, sir,” said Whipkey, “and then a few hours ago he made a call from the Spokane area. He is on the move.”
“Any coded phrases we know?” asked Gen Antonopoulos.
“Nothing, sir,” said Whipkey. “I do have one other concern though; right now I have two jobs, either of which could demand my full time. What is the long term plan for me? Do I go back to commanding an infantry company or am I your aide and clandestine intel officer?”
“You will have to keep doing double duty a while longer yet,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “Your cover is still useful, but it will end soon.”
“Yes, sir,” said Whipkey.
“I am supposed to meet with Lassiter at twenty hundred hours,” said Maj Gen Antonopoulos.
“He was cooling his heels in your outer office when I came in,” said Capt Whipkey.
“Send him in here on your way out,” said Antonopoulos, “and thanks, this bubble will burst soon.”
Maj Gen Antonopoulos collected his thoughts for a couple of moments, but due to the pace of work, he actually dropped off to sleep and was startled when CAPT Lassiter opened the door.
