by Siegel, Alex
Carnival of Mayhem
Alex Siegel
Carnival of Mayhem
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2011 Alex Siegel
ISBN: 978-1-257-62823-0
For information about this book and others in the same series, please visit:
http://www.grayspearsociety.com/
Chapter One
Aaron looked across the kitchen table at Marina and smiled. Morning sunlight poured through the window and seemed to make her strawberry blond hair glow.
"Did you try the omelet yet?" she said.
He looked down at the eggs on his plate and his smile became brittle. "Just about."
He used his fork to cut off a small but respectable portion of the overcooked omelet. Rectangular lumps of blue cheese added unappetizing color and texture. Despite his unease, he put the portion in his mouth and chewed slowly as if he were enjoying it. The cheese smelled like an old gym sock.
"Well?" she said.
Marina was blessed with a long list of impressive talents, but cooking was not one of them. However, some relentless feminine instinct compelled her to prepare a meal for Aaron at least once a week. Today, unfortunately, was the day. Perhaps the experience made her feel like a proper wife, even though they weren't actually married and never would be.
"It's interesting," he said.
She furrowed her brow. "You hate it."
"I can taste the good intentions and love."
"I was just trying to be creative. A regular omelet is so... boring."
"I know," he said, "but boring isn't always bad. Breakfast doesn't have to be an adventure."
She took a bite of eggs, winced, and put her fork down. "But the cheese looked so pretty in the store. I love the blue color."
"Do you want me to make us bowls of cereal instead?"
"Yeah. And a big glass of juice to wash out my mouth. Yuck."
His thick, gray cell phone rang. He jumped up and grabbed it from the kitchen counter. "Hello?"
"Come to headquarters right away," Ethel said. "I have an important assignment for both of you."
"We'll hurry, ma'am. Bye." He closed his phone and turned to Marina. "Ethel needs us at the office. It sounds like we'll be working today."
They jogged through their cozy apartment to reach the dressing room. The walls were painted a cheerful, inoffensive yellow. The furniture was made of lightly varnished, plain wood. There was no art on the walls or knickknacks on the shelves. Aaron and Marina lived a life of total anonymity, even at home.
They had converted a spare bedroom into a giant dressing room. Marina owned far too many outfits to fit into an ordinary closet.
Aaron was building up a nice collection of clothes himself. Wearing just the right item on every occasion was an essential part of his job. He didn't know what challenges he would face today, so he chose a plain blue suit that was well worn and unremarkable. It would work for almost any social situation.
The only special feature of the apartment was a hidden door leading to a weapons locker. He pressed two particular spots on the wall simultaneously and the door popped open. He quickly pressed a third spot to disable the booby trap. Fluorescent lights inside the locker came on. He examined the many weapons, which ranged from knives small enough to hide in the palm of a hand, to sniper rifles that could kill from a mile away. He took a snub nosed revolver that fit conveniently into a jacket pocket. A machine pistol went into a holster under the back of his jacket. With the addition of two hunting knives, one for each ankle, he had barely enough personal protection to go out into public.
He turned to Marina. She wore a black dress with a long skirt and puffy sleeves, giving her places to hide weapons of her own. She selected four stiletto knives for close-in killing. For more distant targets, she put a light pistol with a suppressor into a soft holster on her inner thigh. A special slit allowed her to reach the gun without lifting her skirt. A .45 caliber revolver went into a holster on her other thigh.
They headed towards the front door, but Aaron stopped when he saw the dirty dishes on the kitchen table.
"We can't leave that mess," he said. "We might not be back for days."
Marina shook her head. "We don't have time to do the dishes. Ethel is waiting."
"But I don't want the apartment stinking of mold."
She took a large, black garbage bag from under the sink. She put all the dirty dishes into the bag and handed it to him. "Drop this in the dumpster on the way out."
"That will work." He swung the heavy bag over his shoulder.
Headquarters was just three blocks away, but it was a cold and windy three blocks. Winter had come very early to Chicago this year. They put on heavy coats and scarves before walking out.
Aaron's apartment was on the second floor of a much taller building, so they only needed to go down one flight of stairs to get out. This location had the advantage of turning every window into an emergency exit, while still keeping some privacy. There was also quick access to a basement that connected to a steam tunnel under the street. He had stashed extra weapons in the tunnel, just in case.
When he stepped outside, the brisk air startled him.
"Brrr," Marina said. "I wasn't ready for summer to end."
"Yeah. It's not fair. It shouldn't be this cold in October, even in Chicago. What happened to global warming?"
They started walking south, towards downtown.
"Glade?" a voice called out. "Aaron Glade? Is that really you?"
Aaron turned cautiously. His real name was a well guarded secret these days, and only members of the Gray Spear Society were permitted to know it.
It took a moment for him to recognize the face of the man calling Aaron's name. He was Pete Sanborn, a veteran Chicago police officer. Aaron had known him well back in the days when Aaron had also served in the force. Pete wore a police uniform with a blue ski jacket over his Kevlar vest. A badge was pinned to the jacket.
"Yeah," Aaron said. "It's me."
He glanced at Marina. Her face showed no expression at all, but her hands were held in front of her body in attack position. She had already taken off her gloves to expose her sharply pointed black fingernails.
Pete approached them. "Shit, man. Where have you been?"
"Nowhere special," Aaron said. "Why?"
"Your parents reported you missing. They even hired a high power private eye to find you. Everybody thinks you're dead."
The news about his parents pained Aaron. When he had joined the Spears, his identity had been erased and he had severed all prior relationships in his life. In a sense Aaron Glade really was dead. At least there was no official record that he still lived. He had never wanted his parents to grieve, but he led a dangerous life these days. It was much safer for them to think him dead.
"Everybody is wrong."
Pete glanced at Marina. "Obviously."
"But I appreciate the concern, really," Aaron said. "The truth is I'm working for the government now, and if I could tell you anymore, I would."
The lie was a standard one used by the Spears because it was so hard to refute. In fact he had no affiliation with any government on Earth. He served a much higher authority.
"Ah." Pete frowned.
"So, it would probably be a good idea if you forgot you saw me," Aaron said. "I don't want you to get into any trouble. You know how it is. I'm sorry everybody was worried but I couldn't do anything about it. It's just the nature of the business."
Pete tilted his head, his face showing doubt.
Marina shifted her stance, reminding Aaron that this situation was very problematic. She would not tolerate an old acquaintance interfering with important Spears business. Pete
was in real, physical danger. Also, Ethel was waiting, and if Aaron was delayed too long, she would ask why. Her solution to these kinds of problems was even harsher than Marina's.
"We really have to go," Aaron said. "Sorry. It was great seeing you. I wish we could talk more."
He walked away without waiting for a response. Marina joined him.
"That was bad," she said.
"I know. Is he following us?"
She glanced back. "No, but he looks pissed off. If we have to deal with him..."
"He's a good man and an old friend. Let's not pull the trigger too quickly. There are ways to deal with people besides killing them."
"Fine. He's your problem. Fix it any way you want."
They hurried south until they crossed the Chicago River and reached Lower Wacker Drive. Thick concrete pillars supported a road above, leaving only one side open to the river. This arrangement caught the air and created a wind tunnel that turned the already chilly breeze into a biting gale. Aaron stepped in front of Marina to shield her with his body, and she huddled against him.
Heavy traffic rumbled in both directions, delaying them even more. Chicago natives used Lower Wacker as a way to bypass the crowded streets above. The road was dirty, noisy, and dark, but it was fast.
Finally, the traffic light changed. Aaron and Marina ran across and walked west on a narrow sidewalk until they came to several garage doors. The basements of many large buildings connected to Lower Wacker, and as usual trucks were making deliveries. The odd spaces between pillars and walls served as cramped little parking lots in a city where every parking space was precious.
Aaron went to one garage door in particular. There was no sign on the door and the only distinctive feature was a little extra grime. A giant ventilation fan produced an unpleasant scraping noise that encouraged pedestrians to keep moving. He looked in all directions to make sure nobody was watching. Then he grabbed the handle on the door and twisted it back and forth like the dial of a safe. After entering the right combination, he felt a click. He pushed the door up.
The room beyond was empty except for an oil stain on the concrete floor. Aaron and Marina went inside and he closed the door all the way. He waved to a hidden camera in the ceiling. No doubt their security chief, Jack, was watching. It was impossible to enter headquarters without his help.
The floor descended like a giant elevator, lowering Aaron and Marina into an underground garage. They stepped off the platform. About twenty cars and trucks were parked in the completely enclosed area. The larger vehicles had the names of delivery companies printed on the side, and they served as transportation when travelling undercover, which was always the case.
Aaron and Marina proceeded through a heavy, watertight door to headquarters itself. They entered a small white room with a couch and nothing else that might serve as cover. Jack watched them from behind a thick wall of glass. Light gleamed from his pale, bald scalp, and his blue eyes showed concern.
"Ethel expected you five minutes ago," he said. "She's in the conference room, and she has that look."
"We got here as quick as we could," Marina said. "We were in the middle of breakfast."
He pressed a button and another door buzzed. Aaron quickly pushed it open before it locked again.
The interior of headquarters had a white, tiled floor and gray walls. A labyrinth of exposed conduits hung from a concrete ceiling. The air had a slight musty odor, the consequence of being below the Chicago River. No matter how carefully they patched the walls, water always found a crack to seep through. The battle with the river was perpetual.
Aaron and Marina hurried to the conference room. It contained a single large oak table and twelve antique chairs upholstered with purple velvet. Thick books bound in real leather filled a bookshelf that covered an entire wall.
Two people were seated in the chairs. Ethel was there, of course. Her chocolate colored skin seemed to make the room itself darker. Gray hair showed her true age, but there was nothing frail about her. She had the lean body of a fearsome fighter who still trained hard every day. She wore the soft, gray robes that were traditional for a commander in the Gray Spear Society. Braided hems and a layered hood gave the robes an air of formality. They also indicated this meeting was all business.
Aaron didn't recognize the second person, which shocked him. Strangers never visited headquarters. Only sworn members of the Gray Spear Society were allowed to set foot here. The knowledge that this facility existed was a secret worth more than the life of a man. Even within the Society, the locations of the various cell headquarters was highly protected information. There was no official directory that might fall into enemy hands.
"This is Filipe Ramirez," Ethel said. "Our brethren in Kansas City loaned him to us for the duration of this assignment. He's a doctor with particular expertise in exotic diseases, and he will provide technical support. However, he's not authorized to engage in combat, so he'll spend most of his time here, out of harm's way."
Aaron and Marina sat down.
Ramirez looked like he had a deep tan but that was probably his normal skin color. He wore a brown business suit, which fit his slender form perfectly. He sat very straight.
Ethel went on, "As you probably just guessed, we're going to investigate a suspicious disease. Mr. Ramirez, please tell them what you told me."
"Yes." Ramirez cleared his throat. "There have been several outbreaks of an illness that the federal government is calling a 'new strain of aggressive, antibiotic resistant tuberculosis.'"
"How many people have died?" Aaron said.
"Perhaps a few dozen, perhaps a few hundred. We're not sure. The government is using severe measures to contain the outbreaks and control access to information. Even the Army is directly involved. Our sources tell us the president himself receives daily reports, as if it were a national threat."
"Strange."
"Which is why the Gray Spear Society is interested. Tuberculosis can't possibly justify this kind of extreme, almost hysterical response. The government must be lying to hide the real danger. The first outbreaks were in Oklahoma, and they've been moving north ever since."
"This team—the four of us—will lead the investigation," Ethel said. "Our task is to determine the true nature of this illness. There are three possible causes. First, if the disease evolved naturally, then we won't interfere. Second, this disease could be a human invention, maybe a new biological weapon. If that turns out to be the case, then we will do nothing. We don't have a mandate to interfere with free will, even if the result is terrible evil. This tragedy might be part of God's plan to teach mankind a cautionary lesson."
Aaron furrowed his brow. "But, ma'am, if terrorists are responsible, we can't just let them kill innocent people."
"If we take any action at all, it will be my decision. You will do nothing without my prior approval. Am I clear?" She stared at him with her impossibly dark eyes. Her pupils were black holes that had no bottom.
"Yes, ma'am," He nodded. "Absolutely."
"The third and least likely cause is a supernatural agent," she said. "If God's enemies are behind this, we will act according to our charter. We will kill everybody involved and obliterate all physical evidence. The stain must be scrubbed until the world is pristine."
Marina nodded in agreement.
"One last point," Ethel said. "Until we can prove this case falls within our jurisdiction, we must assume that it doesn't. We will gather information quietly." She looked at Marina. "There will not be any unnecessary mayhem."
Ethel continued to gaze at Marina until she clearly nodded.
Aaron heard the message also. Marina had the skills of an assassin and the temperament of a grizzly bear. To follow this directive sucessfully, she would need his calming influence.
"I understand the parameters," Aaron said. "Now we need a plan. What else do we know?"
Ramirez leaned forward. "The latest outbreak occurred in Naperville, about thirty miles from here. The patients are kept
under heavy guard in Saint Athanasius Hospital. Security is so tight that getting inside may be infeasible. There are even tanks parked out front. Our colleagues in Washington identified one man as an interesting place to start our investigation: Captain Timothy Smythe." He pushed a piece of paper across the table.
Aaron read the paper out loud for the benefit of Marina. "He's a doctor in the US Army Medical Research Institute for Infectious Diseases. Served three tours of duty in Afghanistan. An impressive set of medals and awards including two purple hearts. Why him?"
"He's a lead researcher," Ramirez said. "He has access to all medical information, secret or not. The man is supposed to be absolutely brilliant. He'll know the truth, if anybody does."
"He won't volunteer to answer our questions. These military guys know how to keep their mouths shut. We may have to extract information the hard way."
"I can't authorize torture at this point," Ethel said. "Go to Naperville and get the information we need without hurting anybody. Understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," Aaron said.
Chapter Two
Captain Timothy Smythe looked down at the patient in the bed. He tried to smile in an encouraging manner, but the expression was inauthentic. He had no reason to be optimistic about the prognosis in this case.
"How are you feeling, Sally?" he asked.
The teenage girl with brown curly hair shook her head. "Not so good. I can't breathe right. I can't sleep. It's like my chest is stuffed with wool."
"We could give you oxygen. Other patients have reported it helped them rest."
"You want to stick a tube up my nose?"
We'll be sticking worse in you soon enough, Smythe thought, in a desperate effort to keep you alive. "It's not so bad. The oxygen is cool and refreshing."
"If you think it will help," Sally said.
"I do." He wrote a note on her chart.
"Is there some kind of medicine you can give me? A cure?"
"Not really." He shook his head. "But you're not alone. This ward is full of patients with exactly the same illness as you. I'm part of a team of top specialists, and we are working on this problem round the clock. The best doctors in the world are trying to save your life. You couldn't possibly have better medical care."
