by Nick Thacker
He was on the ground, groping around in the dark, looking for the gun he’d felt slip out of his hands. The second man to enter the room was on him in a heartbeat, wrestling Ben to the ground.
Ben was helpless. The man on top of him was larger, heavier. He wrestled Ben’s hands behind his back and grabbed a fistful of Ben’s hair.
Another gunshot.
Ben flinched, but the man’s hand released his head, and he felt the weight lifted off his back.
He rolled over, raising his arms to defend a blow he knew would come, but instead he heard another gunshot.
This time, a cry rang out from the third gunman who’d entered, and he watched as the man fell to the ground. A third and fourth gunshot sent Ben’s wrestling partner into the filing cabinets against the wall.
Ben looked up to see Julie standing over the third gunman’s body, her jaw clenched in rage, holding a gun.
“You okay, ranger?” she asked.
He did a mental check of his muscles and bones. Finding everything to be in working order, he sat up and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “Thanks for throwing the gun my way. Good thinking.”
He stood. “Uh, yeah. No problem. Where’s Malcolm?”
“The door hit him when that guy busted it open. I think he just got knocked out.”
“Same thing happened to this guy. He’s probably going to wake up soon, though. We’d better get out of here before he does, and get you back to your office.”
She frowned at him as he walked over to check on Malcolm. “Ben, we’re not going to the office. Didn’t you see those other two guys?”
Ben suddenly remembered that there were five men in the hallway pursuing them. Three were sprawled out on the floor in front of them, but the other two…
“Who were they?”
“It was Livingston. And Stephens.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“WHAT’S NEXT?” JULIE HAD ASSUMED her usual air of confidence as she looked up at the two men.
Malcolm and Ben stared across the table at Julie. They had just stopped at a hotel near the hospital and were sitting in a room Malcolm had booked under his assumed pseudonym, ‘Roger Ebert.’ The fact that Roger Ebert was the name of a famous movie critic who’d died only a few years before elicited only a shrug from Malcolm. “I’d always thought his reviews were terrible anyway,” was his response.
The plan was to stay there until they’d formulated a better plan.
“We need to get a bomb crew out to Yellowstone,” Malcolm said.
“Whatever other departments are on this have most likely already done it, so it would be a waste of time to try to call it in and set one up ourselves. Julie can call and make sure on the way.”
“On the way where?” she asked.
“We need to get you help. Obviously we can’t go back to that hospital, but there has to be somewhere else that’s set up a quarantine.”
Julie looked down at her arms, then over at Ben’s. “You’re in the same boat, Ben. And besides, it doesn’t look like it’s gotten worse.”
Ben frowned. “You’re right,” he said as he scratched at his forearms. “This is about what it looked like before I got to the hospital.”
“Mine got a little worse while I was there,” Julie said, “but it hasn’t spread since then. Hey, what about you?” Julie looked at Malcolm.
“What about me?”
“You’re fine. No virus, no rash.”
Ben also turned to scrutinize the older man. “You have some explaining to do, Dr. Fischer. Showing up out of nowhere and telling me about that Dragonstone company. How’d you figure all this out?”
Malcolm sighed. “Yes, you are correct, Ms. Richardson. I have no rash, and I won’t get it. I believe the virus, while highly contagious, is non-recurring.”
“Non-recurring?”
“It means it won’t come back,” Julie said. “Like chickenpox.”
“But that means…”
“Right. It means I’ve already had the virus. I believe I was subjected to the virus six months ago, while I was comatose. I believe I contracted it then, as they were testing treatments for it. I’m not sure they succeeded, but I did overhear them say the virus had ‘run its course through my system,’ and that I was immune.”
Julie was bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Malcolm began, “about a year ago I was on a research trip with some students from my university, up in the Northwest Territory —”
“You’re that professor!” Julie said. “Those students…”
“I am. The team disappeared, and news agencies rode the media wave for months after we disappeared, but no one from the expedition was ever found, as you remember.”
Julie’s eyes were wide as Malcolm continued. “But it wasn’t an innocent accident, like many thought. We didn’t fall through a frozen lake or get eaten by bears. My students were murdered.”
This revelation took Ben by surprise as well. “Murdered? What do you mean?”
Malcolm swallowed, trying to summon the words. “I… I haven’t spoken of it since then, but… there was a helicopter. We’d made a discovery, and I assume one of the students was working against me. They must have alerted the murderers to our location, and what we found.
“It was a powdery substance, some sort of whitish powder that had the consistency of sand. And coins. Strange coins we’d never seen before. My guess is that they were tokens of some sort used by the indigenous tribe from that area, likely the same people who created the powder.”
“Created?” Julie asked.
“Yes, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I believe the powder was the remnants of a native plant, the decayed remains of the dried leaves. They may have used it during its original life, but after decaying and drying, and lying undisturbed for so many years…”
“You think it’s somehow related to the virus?”
“I believe it is the virus, at least in part,” Malcolm said. “Anyway, I’ll get there. So we found these things in a cave, but we did not get to excavate. When we got back to camp…”
“The helicopter,” Ben said.
Malcolm nodded, swallowing again. “Yes. The helicopter came, and took me with it. The rest of the students…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“Whatever company massacred my team must have cleaned up well. The search parties that went out found our tents and equipment all set up and staged miles away from our actual location. They left nothing that would have pointed to any suspicious activity.”
“But the whole thing was suspicious,” Julie said. “It was a big deal. Every news outlet in the country was reporting on it, and there were conspiracy theories about it too.”
“I know, I know. But like I said, the company did their job well.”
“You keep mentioning a company,” Ben said. “How do you know?”
Malcolm nodded. “They took me somewhere that had state-of-the-art medical facilities and questioned me. They didn’t torture me, as I doubt they thought I would ever leave the facility, but they weren’t satisfied that I knew next to nothing about this powder. They put me in a medically-induced coma, only bringing me out of it after months of being under.”
“My God,” Julie whispered.
“I did have plenty of time to think — it was odd, being in that state. I could sort of form thoughts and run through the things that I could remember, though it was a slower process than if I had been lucid. But it was when I was awake, or at least mostly awake, that I tried to piece together the information. The doctors working in my room each wore the same logo on their coats, and they worked in regular shifts — a large operation. Eventually, I caught a glimpse of the company’s name. ‘Drache Global.’”
“Drache?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said. “Drache Global. A pharmaceutical company, based in Canada. I’d never heard of them, but I promised myself that I would
get out of there and figure out who they were. I had plenty of time, remember, as I was basically lying on a hospital bed for months. I formulated a plan, and I got out one night.” Malcolm looked at the wall, examining the lattice-shaped wallpaper.
Ben could tell there was more to the story behind the man’s escape, but he didn’t press him about it.
“I got out, and I ran. I ran for my life. I wanted to hide, but I wanted more than anything to right the wrongs done to my students and their families. I had to figure out what Drache Global was.”
“And did you?” Julie asked. Ben noticed she had placed a hand on Malcolm’s forearm on the table.
“Sort of. That’s what led me to the hospital you were brought to, Julie. Drache Global, like the hospital, is owned by a group of shareholders. It’s a corporate conglomerate. Publicly listed, but not easy to piece together who the real owners are. I researched and cross-referenced as many of their board members as I could manage, but found very few promising leads.
“I spent many hours in the depths of libraries and scouring the web, and all I was able to figure out was that they’re semi-legitimate, at least on the surface. They’ve worked on countless grant proposals, major nonprofit medical research projects, and more public goodwill campaigns than a politician. But I think there’s a simple thread connecting them to some other organizations with bipolar personalities.”
“What thread is that?” Julie asked.
“They have the same names,” Ben said.
“Yes,” Malcolm said, smiling. “Very good. Dragonstone, Drache Global, Drage Medisinsk. They are all very similar, using different languages that all mean ‘dragon.’”
“Why would they broadcast that? If they were trying to operate under the radar, why share a common name?” Julie asked.
“Plenty of companies borrow that name. It’s not particularly unique, even within the medical and pharmaceutical research industries. And I believe it’s more like a calling card. A brand, if you will.”
“So you think this ‘dragon’ company is working across its sister organizations to create a worldwide virus?” Ben asked. He scratched his forearms. While still itchy, it did in fact seem like the virus had slowed to a halt.
“No,” Malcolm answered. “I believe it’s the work of a handful of people, not a worldwide corporate effort. Secretive or not, I cannot believe something that large-scale could go unnoticed by world governments. I also believe they aren’t targeting the entire world, but the United States. Through the spreading virus, the bomb at Yellowstone…”
“Okay, but what’s the big deal about the bomb? Shouldn’t we focus first on the virus?” Julie asked, impatient. She dialed Randall Brown’s number again, but it was still off.
“We can’t focus on the virus now,” Ben said. “The bomb is a larger threat. Much larger.”
“Why?”
“Because of where it’s located. If it is, in fact, where they said it is, it’s sitting on top of the largest active volcano in the entire world.”
She looked at him incredulously.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “The Yellowstone caldera is an active volcano, lying directly underneath the park. Scientists have argued about it for decades.”
“What about it? That it’s an actual volcano?”
Malcolm answered. “No, that’s a scientific fact. It’s actually considered a ‘supervolcano.’ What they’ve been arguing about is exactly when it’s scheduled to erupt again.”
“Right,” Ben said. “Some say it’s ‘due,’ while others just say that it’s a complete mystery. What I don’t think they’d argue about, though, is that if there were a bomb underground, anywhere in that area, and it went off…”
“It would cause a chain reaction?” she asked.
“To say the least. The crust there is thinner than most other places on Earth, and it wouldn’t take much to upset the enormous mass of molten rock below it.”
Julie thought about this for a moment. “What would the blast radius be?”
Ben and Malcolm looked at each other, but Ben answered. “I’m not exactly sure, but the last time it blew, it apparently shot ash about twenty miles into the air, and was somewhere around 1,000 times more powerful than Mt. St. Helens.”
“So, total destruction.”
“Total destruction, at least for the western United States. But that doesn’t even account for the fallout afterwards, with the ash settling.”
Julie whistled. “So we’ve got a mystery organization trying to blow up Yellowstone and half the United States, while also working on spreading a virus to the rest of the United States.”
She had summed it up pretty well. Malcolm nodded. “It’s the destruction of an entire nation, within the span of mere days.”
“And you think Stephens and Livingston are somehow involved?” Ben asked.
“No, I don’t. They were just following protocol back there. Trying to keep it contained. But Livingston’s actions from earlier — blocking Stephens’ emails from getting through, preventing me from getting them altogether — that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“But I thought you said it sounded like him to do something like that. That he’s a paranoid freak?” Ben asked.
“He is,” Julie answered, “but he’s not that bad. I would have expected him to log in once a week and read the emails that have been sent back and forth, but not actually re-route them.”
Ben and Malcolm listened as she explained the situation and personality of her boss.
“Do you think he suspects you’re involved?” Malcolm asked.
Ben and Julie looked up sharply.
“Hey, no harm in asking,” Malcolm added. “I’m just wondering if he’s got it out for you. Thinks you might be involved, or at least know something he doesn’t. If your description is accurate, he sounds like the kind of person who needs to be in the know.”
“Yes, he definitely is. And now that I’m thinking about it, I was already near Yellowstone when the bomb went off. I was supposed to be working on a surveying project in the area, but for all he knows, I could have been here for… other reasons.”
She paused. “But still, he’s not stupid. He has no reason to think that I’m involved other than my proximity to the blast. Why would he jump to that conclusion so quickly?”
The two men shared a glance. “Julie, how well do you know your boss?” Malcolm asked.
Again, she paused before speaking. When she did, her jaw was set and her eyes steady. “Not well enough, I guess.”
As she finished, her phone vibrated on the table in front of her. Unknown. She frowned, but answered it anyway.
“Hello?”
She waited.
“Randy! My God, are you okay? I’ve been trying —”
She turned on the phone’s speaker function so Malcolm and Ben could hear.
“—Fine. I didn’t want to call on my phone in case it’s being tracked. Anyway, I saw an email thread between Livingston and Stephens. They said you were in a hospital? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. It’s the virus, but it seems to have slowed down for the moment. I’m with Ben…” she wasn’t sure how to explain Malcolm’s presence, so she moved on. “Listen, Randy, I — I don’t know for sure, but I think Livingston might be involved in all of this somehow.”
No response.
“I know you’re already under fire for this, but I really need eyes on him. And keep sending me anything you find on Diana Torres and what she was working on.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot of ones.”
She hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
DAVID LIVINGSTON FLICKED OFF THE 75-inch curved television in his living room. Brand new and still priced like the novelty it was, the Samsung was his pride and joy, at least for this month.
He had satellite and cable television, Netflix, and an action movie collection of over one thousand titles, and he still couldn�
�t find something to watch. He tossed the remote control to the other side of the couch. Unsure of how to satiate his desire for entertainment, Livingston sat in silence for a minute.
Juliette’s involved in this, he thought. He knew it. It was stronger than the standard pang of paranoia that constantly plagued him about each of his employees; this was real. He had proof.
Stephens believed him. Both men had been at the hospital, planning to interrogate her after she’d failed to turn over the information she’d acquired during her “stint” in the field. And after Livingston had discovered that Randall Brown, his own IT technician, had helped Julie, it was enough for Livingston to convict her.
He didn’t know exactly how, or why, but he knew Juliette Richardson was involved in this mess. He’d spent enough time in government to know that careers were made or broken by the men who went the extra mile to prevent mutiny within their ranks.
And his career would be made. He just needed a little more proof, and a motive wouldn’t hurt, either. He had ordered Randall Brown to record and send over to him any conversations Julie had with him, but he’d also placed a few IT bugs of his own on Brown’s network. Any calls the IT tech made or received would be immediately recorded and emailed to Livingston.
It was these types of plays that Livingston knew would eventually get him noticed in Washington. He wasn’t naive enough to think that those in power got there by cashing in on their good deeds.
He rose from the couch, pacing once before moving toward the office. The foyer of his house was immaculate, smaller than he would have liked, but impressive nonetheless. He paid a few hundred dollars a month to a maid service to keep the place clean enough to meet his standards, and another couple hundred on the side to the maid herself for “on the side”-type activities. It had taken a few months to find a woman agreeable to his terms, but as he’d discovered in his own career, a bit of cash went a long way. The companionship did little to satiate his loneliness, but it helped make his large house feel lived in a little.
He entered the great office at the front of his house, admiring his decorating job. A huge bust of an elk or moose — he wasn’t sure which, and he hadn’t shot it anyway — smiled down at him from the far wall, hanging directly above a large fireplace with an ancient-looking mantle. He’d placed a few picture frames, the stock photos still inside, on the mantle and around the room on floating shelves.
