Another shotgun blast tore through the rear passenger door. Paul got small in the driver’s seat, face pressed hard into the backrest. Then another shot ripped open the walls of the van as the man with shotgun honed in on Jake, who had scrambled to the rear of the van.
The third blast peppered the walls as Jake tucked into a ball. Paul threw his arm out over the backrest and fired. The shot caught the assailant in the right shoulder, sending him off balance. He dropped the shotgun, dragging the barrel on the pavement with his right hand.
Jake scrambled to his feet, clutching the M-16.The man tried to raise the shotgun to his hip. Jake opened up, firing a three-round burst. The man spiraled to the ground.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Jake yelled grabbing the two full magazines off the front floor.
Paul could only nod as he slid out the driver’s side door. Jake tossed the black gym bag out to him and then bailed out the driver’s side door behind Paul.
*
Folkstone and Toombs repositioned themselves where they could read the battlefield.
“Borda! You have a shot?”
“They’re on the other side of the van. They took out four.”
“Goddamnit!” Folkstone screamed. But he respected this Jake Miller more every day. It was going to be a pleasure to take him down, almost sporting.
“There’s still two guns to their north, two or three on the roof and we have two more coming up the street from the east. They appear to be pinned down.”Borda reported.
“I’ve heard that before,” Folkstone spat. “No more help from the local yokels. Let’s bring the target to us. Take out the one on the north side of the street and clear the roof. The men east of them should flush them right to us. If we let this go, they could make Fourth Street, and you know what that means.”
“What’s that, sir?” Borda asked.
“You’ll be sucking your meals through a straw, asshole! Fourth is the only way out!” Folkstone yelled. “You have a shot?”
“Got one to their north in my sight.”
“Take the shot. Then rake the roofline.”
Borda rested the folding bipod on the window sill and concentrated on his breathing. Long deep breaths. Long fucking shot.
He exhaled, his chest still. A single shot left the 20” barrel at 3005 feet per second. Blood splashed from the man’s back as the 5.56 NATO round tore through him. Without pause, bullets ripped up the roofline of the flower store.
The woman to the north looked west and so did Jake. Someone else was coming to the party.
“Folkstone,” Jake said aloud.
He thought he’d heard the reverb from a helicopter earlier but dismissed it.
“Why is he shooting at them?” Paul asked.
“He’s clearing a path. Hoping we’ll come to him. We have to go.”
“Where?”
“North on Fourth Street.”
Jake fired west at the building where he would shoot from, then he turned and laid down some cover fire at the approaching men to the east.
“Move!” Jake said, shoving Paul in front of him.
They took off running. The woman across the street was frozen, afraid to move. She knew the shooter didn’t have a shot and she wasn’t about to give him one.
Borda was already gone.
Chapter 33
Jake and Paul ran through the pedestrian shopping area, heading north on Fourth Street. It looked like it had been a peaceful area about a thousand years ago, pretty with interlocking stone walkways lined with beautiful shade trees and trendy cafes.
Most had been torched.
The branches on the trees were curled up from the heat of the fires.
Jake was formulating a plan in his head. It was a real long shot. They turned left on Copper Avenue and headed toward Fifth, toward Folkstone.
“Where are we going Jake? Folkstone is this way.”
“I know.”
“Folkstone,” Paul screamed, pointing up the street.
Jake didn’t bother looking. He just ran faster.
“Into the parking structure.”
They ran to the third floor of the four story parking tower and collapsed with exhaustion. Their backs were pressed hard against the cool concrete. It felt good after a hard run.
Jake’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath. His legs were burning, and he was starting to feel the bumps and bruises from being thrown around in the crash.
He’d heard it in a thousand movies and always cringed at the cliché, but he really was too old for this shit.
“I think they saw us come in here,” Paul gasped, fishing out the berretta and some spare 9mm magazines from the black gym bag.
“You’re turning into a real gun nut, boy,” Jake said, still gasping for air.
“Jake, did you hear what I said? They know we’re in here.”
Jake smiled. “That’s the idea. He reached into the gym bag for another magazine.
“Are you fuckin’ crazy?”
Jake slapped the mag onto the M-16. “Shhh.” He got to his feet and peered over the center concrete wall.
“Jake Miller! Paul Sardis!” Their names echoed through the concrete structure.
Jake and Paul were ready, crouching behind the chest high concrete wall. There were lots of cars and trucks for cover. The only downfall was that they could only retreat one floor.
“Where are the girls Jake? You left them alone?”
Folkstone’s tone was mocking.
Jake moved down the wall to a better position.
“I guess I can see abandoning the women, Jake. But the children? Rather cold, don’t you think?”
Folkstone’s voice echoed through the parking structure. The exterior walls were quite open, concrete and steel structural with guardrails running from beam to beam. Jake hoped the echo of Folkstone’s arrogant voice would carry out into the streets.
A shotgun blast filled the tower.
Borda dropped to the cold concrete with a hole the size of his head in the middle of his chest.
Toombs and Folkstone moved fast, running for cover behind the abandoned cars along the outer wall. They were no more than a hundred yards from Jake and Paul. Goddamn locals!
Folkstone called out to them.
“We’re with NSA. We’re here for the men from the van!”
“They don’t care about that, Folkstone. Your sniper took their man out!” Jake screamed.
“I had Michaels killed, Jake. Like your buddy Rolston. Just so you know.”
“Shut up!” yelled one of the men from the ambush party. He shot at a car near Folkstone. “Where’s your vehicle mister NSA agent?”
Toombs loaded the XM 320 grenade launcher.
“It’s close by,” Folkstone yelled. “We can arrange to get you out of here if you help us kill these two men.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Jake countered. “He was dropped in by helicopter.”
Jake and Paul moved each time Jake spoke, not wanting to give away their position. It was a huge parking tower taking up almost the entire length of the city block.
“What you got to offer mister?” asked one of the ambushers.
“I won’t kill you like he will.” Jake answered.
There was complete silence for a moment, as if the ambusher was considering that information.
“He got a point mister NSA. You killed my brother!”
Everyone was fine tuning their position. Moving in or out.
“Why don’t you ask him why he wants to kill us?” Jake shouted.
“He’s not buying it, Jake!” Folkstone yelled. Jake and Paul moved along the wall. Jake knew the locals would wonder about that, too. “How about a truce, Jake? Four against six, or two against eight. Then we can settle our little problem.”
“Folkstone, on your flank!” Jake yelled.
One of the locals had scaled a light post from the ground that ran up the side of the structure to the fourth floor. The man had both hands wrapped around the post
and was stretching his foot out, reaching for the edge of the wall. He didn’t stand a chance. Folkstone peeled him off the post with a barrage of gunfire.
It was on. The act signified that the terms of the truce had been accepted. Toombs lined up a minivan where he had placed the voice of the leader. He pulled the trigger on the grenade launcher. The blast lifted the van off the concrete floor, destroying everything around it. Cut off the head to kill the snake.
Two down, four to go.
Gun smoke wafted in the breeze.
Toombs reloaded the XM 320 and unleashed another punishing explosion. He hit the car the woman had repositioned behind, blowing it and her out of the opening in the exterior wall.
Three down, three to go.
Toombs had the same thought Jake did. The truce was over. Jake walked swiftly. He only had seconds before Toombs would reach the opening in the center wall and climb the ramp to the third floor, leaving them completely exposed.
Toombs was picking his way along the cars to where Paul had been firing from, but he had no idea Jake had passed by, telling him to reposition and hunker down. Jake had run at least 150 feet from the last position Toombs had seen Paul firing from. He hung onto the grill of a truck pinned to the exterior guardrail, stepping out just as Toombs passed.
“I’ll take that gun, Sonny.”
Toombs held the XM-8 out in his right hand, shoulder height. He wasn’t raising his left hand from his waist.
“Thought we had a truce Jake?”
Jake saw the radio in Toombs’ ear. He was sending a message.
Toombs spun around, raising the Glock 17 he’d been hiding, but Jake was ready.
He squeezed the trigger of the berretta and put two bullets dead center in Toombs’ chest.
“That’s Mr. Miller to you, Sonny.”
He scooped up the XM 8, Glock 17 and the radio.
The gun fight continued, but now Folkstone knew he was on his own. Jake ran to a position up the wall from Paul straight across from the three remaining locals. He studied his new weapon, in particular the grenade launcher.
A volley of shots was exchanged between Folkstone, Paul and the locals. Paul was doing well, firing just enough to keep them honest but not exposing himself. He’d make a hunter out of that kid, yet.
The locals were unaware that Jake was now right across from them. He rose during a lull in the shooting and pulled the trigger on the XM 320. His aim was true.
He caught one of the men reloading beside a shot up Chrysler. They were done. Man and Chrysler. Jake followed with a rapid burst from the gun, and the two remaining men retreated, running full out for the lower levels and into the street.
“Toombs?”
Folkstone’s voice was tentative in his ear, as if he knew in his heart that Jake would be the one answering.
“Nice hardware, Folkstone.” Jake said, admiring the weapon. “XM-8.”
“He was like a son to me, Jake.”
Paul came into view at the tail end of a car. He motioned to Jake that he had hit Folkstone, and then slid back into position.
“He was fast. I had my gun trained on him and he had to draw from his waist and spin and he nearly beat me.”
“He was a good soldier, Goddamn you!” Folkstone sputtered.
“You hit, Folkstone?” Jake asked as he repositioned himself again.
“Don't worry about me, Jake,”
“Paul says you’re hit.”
“Went clean through. Not even close to any vitals. You want to come have a look?”
Jake chuckled but kept moving, not wanting to give up his position.
“You kill Leslie’s father, Folkstone?”
“That was another team.”
“But you would have?” Jake asked, his voice betraying an edge.
“I’m a soldier, Jake. I just follow orders.
“What about the doctors from Panama?”
“Some of them my team took out. Why did you quit the military, Jake? You appear to be an excellent soldier.”
“Got tired of following the wrong kind of orders, Folkstone. Innocent doctors? When did you first cross that line, Folkstone? How’d you live with it?”
Folkstone thought of his daughter, Emily. What will happen to her, now?
“You still think this is over Panama and us acquiring the mouse pox Jake?” he shouted, finding new strength in his helpless rage. “I would have thought two award-winning journalists could have pieced this fuckin’ thing together.”
Jake repositioned, moving closer to Folkstone.
“Jake, I want you to do me a favor,” Folkstone said, sliding his M-16 out onto the concrete floor.
Paul and Jake exchanged glances over the hood of the three cars that separated them, staring at the weapon on the open floor.
“You’ve got a set, I’ll give you that. Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you?”
“Because I’m beat, Jake. You won, I lost. We both know what that means to a man like me.”
Jake did, indeed.
“You gonna save me the trouble, Folkstone?”
The Major laughed, then started to choke, spitting up blood. The bitter sound seemed to swell until it filled the entire garage.
“I’ll fill in all the blanks, Jake. Paul and Leslie can write it up. One day it will be part of our history. They’ll be famous.”
“We don’t need to be famous, you fucking asshole!” Paul yelled.
Jake motioned for him to calm down.
“What do you want, Folkstone?” Jake asked.
“I have a daughter. Her name is Emily, which is also the password for the computer in the helicopter. That is what this was about, wasn’t it, Jake? Luring me in here, using those fuckin’ locals so you could take the chopper? Brilliant plan by the way.”
“Go on, Folkstone.”
Remember Emily and Candlestick Asylum. They’ll prove useful. My daughter is waiting for me at Fort Carson in Colorado. Your friend Dr. Evans is there, too.”
“That’s where he got to?” Jake snorted in disbelief.
I’ll have my daughter get him for you if you like. As long as you take her with you.”
“Why me?”
There was a brief pause. Jake could hear Folkstone spitting.
“Because.”
He paused again, hacking and spitting. Long ropes of blood and drool ran from his mouth and pooled onto the concrete floor.
“Because you have a plan. Men like us always do. But mine’s finished, so you’re my backup. You were my target, Jake but I find myself admiring you and your family. I believe you’re a man of your word and if you agree to take care of her… I’m dead after I tell you what I’m about to tell you.
“Two bonuses then.”
The major chuckled. Coughing and gagging on Jake’s statement. Funny, honorable and tough. In different circumstance, we might have been friends.
“Go on Folkstone.”
“I need to hear you say it, Jake.”
Jake didn’t hesitate. “You have my word.”
The major took the small win. “Back in Panama, we acquired the virus as well as patient zero. The mouse that bit the cook. We contained the flow of information by enlisting the doctors from Panama to work on the virus, and we were successful in formulating a vaccine.”
“Let me guess. Around 2004?” Jake asked. “When they were no longer useful?”
“We had a super virus and a vaccine. There’s always sacrifice!” Folkstone yelled back. A mist of blood and spit flew from his mouth, and his breathing was labored. He took a moment to regain his composure “My daughter and I were chosen to receive the vaccine, but the disease has since mutated. Now, no one is safe. The government and everyone responsible have gone underground.”
“What are you telling us? We did this?” Paul asked.
“Caracas, Venezuela, 1999 torrential rains caused a mudslide. Thirty-thousand dead. Earthquakes in Turkey, Mexico, and Kashmir, more frequent and severe. Sumatra on December 26th, 2004, a quarter million
deaths, another 200,000 killed in Haiti and Japan. Wildfires, tornadoes, drought and food shortages. Hell, Lake Chad is going to disappear in one lifetime. Then 2.7 million people died in China alone when the continental shelf collapsed. Get the picture?”
“This is about climate change? You’re telling me you may have destroyed humanity to combat global warning?” Jake asked, incredulous.
“Not exactly.” Folkstone paused again.
Jake and Paul could see he was struggling.
“Have either of you heard of Malthus’ Theory on population?” Folkstone continued.
“Enlighten us,” Jake said.
“I’ll keep it simple for you Jake.”
This time it was Jake’s turn to chuckle.
“Take 100 rabbits and put them in a lush paradise. Their population will grow exponentially, but sooner or later, the population will decline. Finite resources. They’ve become pigs. Steroids and growth hormones in their food to keep up with demand. Shitting all over their paradise. Overpopulation stresses the planet and climate change is simply one of the consequences of those stresses, like food shortages and fresh water shortages, not to mention dwindling oil supplies forcing deep offshore drilling or building nuclear power generating stations on a fucking fault line. We’re done like the dinosaur. Past the tipping point, past the point of saving our planet without major change.”
“There had to be other options. We could have developed alternative energy, built more desalination plants to increase irrigation of arid lands for food production,” Paul yelled.
“Those solutions are all well and good but they would only delay the inevitable and give the poor nations of the world more time to breed.”
“That’s a bit of an elitist attitude. The little guy wants to change but governments and those with money implement change,” Paul yelled back in disgust.
Talk turned heated and adrenaline pumped through the major.
“Change costs, Paul. America’s economy runs on oil, coal, and natural gas. Our houses, cars, our industry and without the tax dollars it generates, our nation and others like it would collapse. It just wasn’t possible to balance such drastic change and keep the world’s economy stabilized. So ask yourself. What if three quarters of the world’s population suddenly vanished? We commissioned studies. It was a viable way, a global reboot. China was overwhelmed after the collapse of the shelf. They had no choice but to reach out to the UN. We agreed to spray for Malaria. It was the perfect delivery system.
Playing God Page 21
