Dead Man Running

by Davis, Barry

  Mookie shook his head. "No, child, I'm not." But her granny, if she was truly elderly, likely was and after her Wiley Warrior training would return to the apartment to find her still human granddaughter. Mookie cringed – the reunion would not be what the child expected.

  "Fact is, child, your granny wants me to take you to the police station." He searched his memory for an Oakland police station that had not been co-opted by Wiley's converts. There was none.

  He would have to leave town – Daly City's PD was next on their list. The child would be safe if left at one of their stations.

  "She tole me to stay here," the girl said. She shook her head, her braids flying.

  Mookie crept closer. "I lied. I have to tell you something pretty bad and I need you to be a big girl. Can you be a big girl for me and your granny?"

  The girl nodded. "I have to tell you something, child. The monsters have got your granny. All the older women here have been taken – dead or converted. I need to get you to safety."

  "My granny won't be back?"

  "If she comes back she'll be a monster now," he said gently.

  The girl cried once more and Mookie held her in his arms. After several minutes she quieted.

  "We need to go," he said.

  "How we gonna get out with all these monsters?"

  "We gonna just walk outta here," he said. With Wiley occupied by his feast, no one had the authority to stop him.

  Mookie and Tamesha took the elevator down to the building lobby. He took her hand in his. He was careful to hustle the child through the lobby lest he encountered the girl's grandmother, who certainly would raise an alarm.

  They cleared the lobby and stepped outside into the crisp, cool Northern California afternoon. The girl had no coat and her hand became cold in his.

  One of his men – Orem Barksdale – stood outside Wiley's limo. It was parked in front of Mookie's Crown Vic. Barksdale smiled as he saw the pair approach.

  "Where you heading boss? I hear the party is inside."

  Mookie stopped. He caressed the girl's head and eyed her hungrily. "Just a little something for later," he said. "Gonna take her and stow her in the hotel."

  The girl remained quiet but tears filled her eyes once more. She remembered her grandmother's words, about how a male stranger would save her, and she gained strength. She would not run. Everything will be okay.

  Orem Barksdale approached, slid his ice cold hand along her arm. "This here is choice," he said. The child recoiled from his touch.

  "It certainly is," Mookie replied. He opened the back door to the Crown Vic and guided the girl inside.

  "Be back in a few," he said as he closed the door. "Might be a little longer if I get hungry on the way." With one more lascivious glance at his underling, Mookie climbed into the driver seat. He fired up the engine and drove away slowly.

  "Everything's gonna be alright," he said.

  "Was that a monster?" she asked minutes later, as they hit the Bay Bridge.

  "Yes it was young'un. But you don't have to worry about monsters anymore."

  He drove her to the Daly City police, telling them a story about how he found her wandering around town. As she was coached, the girl gave the police a fake last name and address.

  That night she would spend the evening in an orphanage run by social services. There were no monsters there.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Wiley's private plane – a Gulfstream II donated by admirers – taxied onto the El Paso runway. This was an unscheduled stop – Wiley had told the White House that he would come immediately back to DC to meet with diplomats ahead of the Ahmedinajad visit. They didn't realize that Ben Wiley had made all the preparations that he needed to make for the bellicose Iranian and their advice would fall on deaf ears.

  Besides, Wiley was curious. What could the Tea Party possibly have to say to him?

  A Lincoln Town Car waited on the tarmac and minutes later Wiley stood at the edge of an uncompleted road.

  "Literally the road to nowhere," said his host, West Texas Tea Party chairman Bernard 'Bucky' Weatherly. Dry desert winds roiled the tumbleweeds across the six lanes of blacktop. Between the grit filled wind and the unforgiving midday Texas sun, the environment was uncomfortable for Weatherly and his vice chair Mary Lou Poteet. Their guests – the slick Easterners Wiley and Mookie – did not seem bothered by the conditions. Weatherly hurried to the point of the meeting.

  "This road was funded by earmarks – placed in a military funding bill by our Republican representative. This road was to lead to a new bedroom community west of town. They started building then the bottom fell out of the real estate market. They stopped building and the bedroom community became a ghost town. That was in 2008."

  Wiley looked around. There was construction equipment and supplies scattered everywhere. The equipment looked new – it certainly did not appear to have been abandoned for over two years.

  "They started building this road after the collapse?"

  "They used the earmark money to kick 'er off, then they got more money from the stimulus," Poteet replied. "We tried to tell anybody with ears that we didn't need this danged road but they wouldn't listen. They was hell bent on spending money." She waved one of her short arms toward the wide expanse of asphalt.

  "I thought Democrats were responsible for the budget deficit," Mookie said with a smile.

  "Us, too, mister," said Weatherly. "Turns out all of DC is at the trough and we be danged if'n we can get their snouts out."

  "Looks like someone got it stopped," Wiley said.

  "They just temporarily ran out of money. They plan to slip an earmark in the next military appropriations bill."

  "You know, we gotta support our troops," Poteet sneered.

  Wiley nodded. "I'm outraged about this waste, also. I just don't know what you want me to do."

  "Fair enough, Secretary Wiley. You are looking at this tremendous waste of taxpayer money because you, sir, are the only hope that we in the Tea Party have of stopping this and other waste of taxpayer dollars. Mary Lou?"

  "My 'day job', gentlemen, is IT Director for a midsized firm here in El Paso. We saw the 60 Minutes report regarding the work you are doing with HUD. Our members were impressed but I was asked to verify the claims made in the story. You see, we in the Tea Party do not trust the liberal media for accurate and unbiased information. Especially as far as it concerns the Great Satan, Mr. Obama."

  "Mary Lou…"

  "Sorry. I did my research. I have back doors into government data bases and found that your monthly departmental expense and capital outlays have dropped in excess of thirty-nine percent since December of last year. You have decapitated the upper management at HUD, flattening the organization. You have reduced force by twenty-seven percent overall. I even verified your claim of having eliminated the security force."

  "I believe in good government," Wiley said.

  "The funny thing is, the downsized have fallen completely off the government payroll. In other words, I expected a shell game – the players simply moved to another government job or set up for two years of unemployment. But these folks have moved on to the private sector or something. The bottom line is, they no longer are taking money from the taxpayer. My biggest surprise, with all due respect, was that you did not spare minorities. In fact, minority workers were targeted at a higher rate than whites."

  Wiley nodded. "HUD has long been perceived as belonging to black folks. This has been a patronage pit for forty years."

  Mookie looked at his watch. These people weren't telling them anything he didn't already know. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.

  "You haven't told us why you wanted to speak with Mr. Wiley," he said.

  "Mary Lou's research also uncovered that you have created a super PAC. We can only assume that your PAC will be an instrument of supporting like minded folks or perhaps a future candidacy of your own."

  Wiley nodded and the man continued.

  "The West Texas T
ea Party has sent your PAC a contribution of fifty thousand dollars. That is merely a token of intent. If, sir, you do plan on running for national office, the West Texas Tea Party is prepared to fully support you. We have shared Mary Lou's data with the other Tea Party branches nationwide. It is safe to say that our peers are as excited as we are."

  "I appreciate your support," Wiley said. He shook their hands. "For now I'm working for this president."

  "Can you convince him to do what you've done at HUD for the entire government?" Poteet asked.

  "I'm a loyal man, Ms. Poteet. You can't get me to say anything bad about the man I work for. All I can say is that I'm committed to ruthlessly eliminating waste in government. And I don't intend to let any party or person stop me."

  The Tea Party regulars smiled at that. In less than one hour that statement would be in an email that would hit every Tea Party branch nationwide.

  Ben Wiley would achieve thousands of converts without killing a soul.

  Mookie Sills sat on the luxurious jet as it climbed above El Paso. While Wiley was excited after the meeting, Mookie was decidedly nonplussed. They were converting thousands of people. What did they need with the Tea Party? Ma and Pa Kettle down there didn't realize that Ben Wiley was downsizing government through mass murder. Would the Tea Party care even if they knew the real facts? Mookie rolled that question around in his head for a few minutes.

  Probably not, he finally concluded. Those people were so fanatical they made Wiley's undead legions look like slackers. They wanted smaller government and they wouldn't be bothered about a little blood being spilled.

  In the Oval Office President Obama read the Top Secret memo from his National Security Advisor. It was two pages long and had been delivered by secure messenger. It detailed a criminal conspiracy unlike any the nation had ever seen. The conspiracy reached high in his government and directly threatened his life and that of his vice president. The memo described mass murder on a level not seen on this continent since the war against the Plains Indian.

  He got to the last two paragraphs:

  "The objective of the abomination calling itself Ben Wiley is world domination. He, it, is a monster beyond the most evil men that have walked the Earth. Even the most evil, Hitler, Stalin, Columbus, wished to sustain and perpetuate humanity. Wiley wants to exterminate mankind. His plan is to slaughter billions, leaving only enough humans to act as feed stock for his population of zombies. As the Palestra video shows, he has developed a weapon of mass destruction. He is clearly deploying that weapon in the guise of better government. He cynically touts his downsizing of HUD while murdering hundreds, if not thousands, and converting thousands more. He is gaining in financial, political and popular support with a grassroots movement among some in the Democratic Party to draft him for president in 2016, if not 2012.

  "In short, Wiley must be stopped. He is a domestic terrorist of the first order and, as such, should be killed. The secret presidential Executive Order attached to this memo authorizes Wiley's destruction by dismemberment. It also authorizes a literal dismantling of all the zombies calling themselves Wiley's Warriors. I strongly recommend that you sign this document forthwith so that the work may commence."

  The NSA Director's signature was on the bottom of the document.

  Obama retrieved a manila envelope from the Resolute desk. His noted WILEY on the envelope with a Sharpie and stuffed the memo and Executive Order inside. He had not signed the Executive Order.

  He opened the bottom right hand drawer of the desk and found the President's Book of Secrets. It was less a book and more a file folder. The folder was thick with over two hundred years of the nation's secrets, beginning with George Washington's death during his second term and his subsequent impersonation by a mulatto blacksmith from Norfolk. Obama placed the envelope in the folder between the story of how Kennedy was murdered by his father due to his desire to divorce Jackie and marry Marilyn and the transcript of the conversations between the USAF and the sixty foot tall aliens who landed near Roswell.

  He closed the folder and laid it back in its place. He stood and made his way to the president's living quarters. Following dinner with his family he entered the bedroom of his youngest daughter. In one corner of the room was an ancient telephone, installed in the White House for Garfield in 1881. Given its historical value none of the White House remodels have touched the object. Obama's daughter often picks up the receiver and pretends to call characters from the "Box Car Kids" novels she enjoys so much. No one answers her because the telephone has not worked since the early 1930's.

  That was what Mrs. Obama and the children were told.

  The current master of the White House, Barack Hussein Obama, knew differently. He shut the bedroom door. He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a business card from the wallet. It was black with gold writing; there was only a twelve digit number shown on the card. He held the receiver to his ear and placed his mouth close to the mouthpiece. He cranked the phone and spoke the number.

  Someone answered immediately. Obama did not know the identity of the person who answered, he just knew that the person would do as ordered, no questions asked.

  The number and procedure had been created by his predecessor's vice president, another tool in the war against terror. This was a call using ancient technology that none of the president's own snoops could tap or monitor. It went through no switches – this was a direct line the length of which the president could not discern. The men at the other end could be in the basement or Topeka.

  The world's greatest spy supercomputers were being defeated by the equivalent of a length of string and two paper cups. The conversation was completely secure.

  "How may I help you sir?"

  "The NSA Director had a top secret memo delivered this afternoon."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I need anyone who possibly had eyes on that memo eliminated."

  "Yes, sir. The NSA Director also?"

  "Yes. Him especially. Use any means necessary to determine who was involved and dispose of them."

  "Yes, sir. We'll torture them all. Contrary to public statements, that works best."

  "Okay, whatever. You'll need to find the messenger, too."

  "Yes, sir. We'll shoot the messenger. Anything else?"

  "They have a video of a demonstration involving Secretary Wiley. Find it and destroy it. You'll need to identify if they made copies. I want anything and anyone investigating Secretary Wiley eliminated. Dig deep on this with the other departments."

  "Yes, sir. Anything else?"

  "No. You have a good evening." Obama placed the receiver on its cradle.

  He then joined the rest of his family as they watched an episode of 'Dancing with the Stars'.

  TWENTY

  COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY CAMPUS – NEW YORK – DECEMBER 2011

  The operating theatre at Columbia Medical School spread before Mira Hidar. There were two operating tables set up, each fully staffed with surgeon, anesthesiologist and nurses. They were scrubbed and masked and awaiting the bodies of Mira and her grandfather Hamid. Two men sat in front of them, each with a metallic blue handgun pointed at their hearts.

  Mira forced her mind away from the guns to focus on Wiley's words.

  "This is a loyalty test," he said and Mira's mind drifted again. Hamid's decision to reanimate Congressman Ben Wiley had been about commerce – a quick ten grand. His decision to create Ben Wiley as something more than a mindless zombie – a living undead – was done out of the hope that any evil done would be to Hamid's and the world's enemies. The idea of Wiley becoming president was ludicrous. Maybe as a powerful congressman he could be a voice for the Palestinians. But something went wrong – this Ben Wiley was smarter, more ambitious, and more dangerous than Hamid anticipated. So he and Mira began to play along, helping him construct his zombie bombs while at the same time raising the alarm bells in the government to Wiley's true intentions.

  Why hadn't anyone listened? Where was the caval
ry?

  She had been directed to meet Wiley at this place for "consultations". It was the first time in weeks that Wiley had requested her input. His plans seemed to be moving on without her. She heard rumors of his bringing in other purveyors of magic – from Cuba, Haiti, New Orleans, even Africa. Until the phone call, she had been placed on the outside looking in and she wanted in desperately so she could report to her father, and he to his government contacts regarding Wiley's plans.

  Ben Wiley stood. He gestured with his hands and a group of women stepped into the theatre and descended the steps. The women stood on the steps.

  "Once you helped me regain sentience, I realized my vulnerability. My new life depended upon the continuation of Hamid's life. If he dies, I no longer exist. He, in essence, controlled my existence. If he decided to commit suicide or even if he was hit by a bus, I would be no more. My work – all that I plan to do – would disappear like an iceberg drifting near the equator."

  He waved his hands toward the women standing on the steps. "I've scoured the world for people who could help resolve this dilemma. Before you are some of the world's most talented purveyors of the so called 'black arts'. Although they have helped my organizations in numerous ways, they have not been able to un-tether my existence from Hamid's."

  Hamid opened his mouth and Wiley raised a hand to silence him. The man – and Mira determined quickly that the two who sat in front of her and her grandfather were human, not zombie – jabbed the blue gun into Hamid's scrawny chest.

  "There is another issue that has recently come to light. I have spies in my organization. Someone has been reaching out to the federal government with intimate details of my activities. I suspect the involvement of one or both of you since one piece of evidence was a video of the demonstration of the zombie bombs in Philadelphia."

  "It was me, I did that," Hamid said.

  Mira looked at her grandfather, tears suddenly in her eyes. She opened her mouth but her grandfather subtlety shook his head.