STEELE: Discovered what exactly?
DAWSON: That the complex housing you was always intended to serve as Moreby’s American center. Latrobe was Moreby’s acolyte, and designed much of the underground system working from detailed plans they created together when Latrobe studied with Moreby in London. Later, Latrobe adjusted the plans on-site, to accommodate certain geological features of Washington. Unfortunately for Moreby, when Latrobe disappeared soon after construction was completed, he took the final plans with him.
STEELE: So Moreby knows about the underground facility, but not exact details like how to get into it?
DAWSON: Correct. He knows the ground-level entrances are located somewhere on this base, but he knows neither their exact locations nor how to access them.
STEELE: Why hasn’t he attacked Bolling, then?
DAWSON: Oh, he will, Director. He just plans on attacking it in a way that leaves those entrances undamaged and open to him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“MR MOON, I’M so pleased to meet you. And you must be Maximiliano.” The President took Maxi’s hand as the boy looked away shyly.
“Everybody just calls me Maxi.”
“Well, Maxi, I know you’ve had a long trip, and I’m glad you could join us.”
“Where’s Mr Dawson?”
An uncomfortable silence passed among the adults – Steele, Ty, Kevin, the President. Finally Kevin said, “He’s okay, Maxi. They can’t bring him down here because he’s . . .”
The boy filled in the gap. “Dead. But he’s an okay dead. He knows all about my Mom and Dad.”
Steele found herself responding to the boy on a primal level; she wanted to keep him safe and comfortable. She knew Moon felt the same way – he’d refused to leave Maxi’s side since they’d arrived. Whether it was some latent parental instinct, or something even deeper – guarding the future of the species? – she didn’t know. Perhaps she just liked Maxi because he was street-smart and tough without being cruel.
The President smiled down at him. “He did a good thing in saving you, and we’re going to take very good care of you. You’ll be safe down here.”
Maxi shrugged and glanced around. “I guess, but . . . don’t you miss the sun?”
The others were rendered as dazed by that simple question as Steele was. She realized abruptly that she did miss the sun, and the sky and trees and clouds and grass underfoot. From the silence of the others, she knew they felt the same way.
“Yes, we do,” said Ty. “But we know it’s only temporary. We’ll get it all back someday. And soon.”
Maxi looked unconvinced.
The President motioned at Ty. “Ty, could you take Maxi out for a few minutes so we can talk to Mr Moon?”
“Sure—” Ty started to leave, but stopped when he realized Maxi wasn’t following. He was standing rigidly by Kevin’s side.
“I’m staying with Kevin,” Maxi announced.
Kevin clamped a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Dude, it’s okay – I’ll just be a minute. I’ll bet they’ve got some radical candy bars down here.”
Ty grinned. “I’ve even got ice cream.”
Kevin gave Maxi a gentle push and the boy acquiesced, although his expression made it clear that he wasn’t especially interested in candy or ice cream. “It’s probably that fake ice cream that comes in a little silver pouch.”
Ty grinned. “Guilty as charged. It’s still pretty good, though . . .”
“This won’t take long, I promise,” Kevin said, as Ty led the boy out.
The door closed behind them and Steele said, “He’s really bonded with you.”
Turning back to her, Kevin smiled warmly. “He’s a great kid. We’ve both been through a lot, so there’s that in common.”
The President returned to her desk chair and, as she seated herself, said, “Kevin – if I may . . .?”
“Of course.”
Steele indicated a chair and Kevin sat. He was still shaky from what he’d been through – he’d filled them in briefly on his ordeal at New World Pharmaceuticals – but he was recovering and Steele sensed he was a genuinely decent man.
“Kevin,” the President said, “we know a little of what you’ve endured, and so we hate to ask this, but we have to . . .”
“You need my blood,” Kevin guessed.
“Yes. Our own doctors assure us that just a sample will do. There’s a medic up at Bolling who can take it. The doctors have already been through the files you provided and believe it will be enough to recreate NWP’s success in generating an antiserum. I want to assure you first, though, that you will be treated with kindness and respect here. You’ll be free to come and go, to do what you like, although we will ask that if you choose not to stay here that you understand and respect the delicacy of our position . . .”
“I’m happy to stay here and do whatever I can to help. Which probably isn’t much – I was just a waiter before.”
“I’m sure Steele can find a job for you.”
Steele smiled. “Of course, Kevin. I’ll talk to you about it more later.”
“Good.” Kevin hesitated, before adding, “Oh, one thing: I’d like to take care of Maxi. I mean, as an official guardian or whatever.”
For a second, Steele felt a pang of regret; she’d been ready to make the offer herself. But there was no denying the boy’s connection to Moon, and a male authority figure would probably be better for him.
“Of course,” the President said. “That’s very kind of you.”
Kevin started to rise, but remembered: “Oh, and I don’t know how good your intelligence on NWP is, but . . .”
Steele stepped in. “What’ve you got?”
“There was this guy there – Landen Jones – who I think is planning to use the antiserum as a pretty big bargaining chip with you. I didn’t get all the details, but . . . well, he may not know I’m here, so maybe you can use that.”
The President answered first. “Yes, Kevin, maybe we can. Thank you.”
Kevin left. As the door closed behind him, the President released a long sigh. “So the question now is who’s the bigger enemy: cannibalistic zombies or a multinational drug company?”
Steele couldn’t answer.
REPORT FROM COL. PAUL F. MARCUS,
BOLLING AIR FIELD
Re: Incident involving R. Delancy and H. Dawson
As you know, earlier today I passed on a request from detainee Harland Dawson to visit detainee Bob Delancy. The request was approved by Ty Ward, provided the meeting was secure and under observation.
At 14:30, Dawson was accompanied by guards to Delancy’s cell. Delancy’s cell is equipped with functioning security cameras; and, since both detainees are already infected with HRV and dead, they were believed to present no threat to each other. The guards placed Dawson in Delancy’s cell and locked the door.
The following is a transcript of what occurred between the two detainees:
DELANCY: Well, if it isn’t the traitor himself. To what do I owe the honor, General?
DAWSON: It’s no honor, Delancy. And you’re in no position to judge someone else as a traitor.
At that point Dawson moved towards Delancy, who backed away. Dawson abruptly punched Delancy in the temple, then grabbed his head and pounded it against the wall. By the time the guards were able to unlock the door and re-enter the cell, Dawson had broken Delancy’s skull against the wall and damaged the brain, which as you know terminates the living dead.
As the guards entered, Dawson finished, turned to them calmly, and held up his hands, which by then were considerably stained with Delancy’s remains.
DAWSON: I’m done here. Gentlemen, as you’re still among the living I’d advise you to proceed with caution in escorting me and cleaning this up.
He was then returned to his own cell. A medic was called, who determined that Delancy was truly dead.
Although Dawson’s visit to Delancy was approved by Ty Ward, I accept full responsibility for this incid
ent.
Submitted by:
Col. P. F. Marcus, Bolling Air Field
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WASHINGTON WAS IMPLODING and Ty Ward was in the black hole centre of it.
He’d spent the morning trying to keep angry Congressmen away from the President. Word of Delancy’s (second) death had spread fast, and every member of his party seemed to think the killing had been an act of partisanship. They demanded to know why Dawson had done it, how he’d been given access to Delancy, when his trial would begin and who would preside over it. The other party, meanwhile, stayed quiet but, behind closed doors, they snickered and celebrated and toasted Dawson.
Ty himself had interviewed Dawson after the . . . what, murder? Execution? Termination? Dawson had stated that not only had Delancy committed an act of high treason, but he knew that Moreby had been planning to use Delancy to infiltrate the human government. Dawson claimed his action had saved them all. Ty believed him.
That didn’t help when trying to fend off three-dozen angry politicians. He knew the President needed time to prepare her response to what Dawson had done, that it was his job to give her that space, but he had little patience for these senators and representatives who, only a day ago, had been worried about banning gay marriage in order to “keep America fruitful and multiplying”.
He’d been trying to calm down a senator from Florida when a young woman he knew as an aide to a representative from California had run up and told him she’d seen blood pouring from under the door that led into the CIA offices. Even though blood was seldom a good sign, Ty was secretly relieved to be pulled away from the shrieking middle-aged Floridian. He followed the woman through corridors and around corners until they reached the office with a hand-written sign that read CIA DIRECTOR AARON GILLESPIE.
There was a large amount of blood pooling out from beneath the door.
Ty told the woman to leave, which she did, quickly. He knew he should wait for help – preferably armed help – but if someone was still alive, bleeding to death while he stood by outside . . .
He tried the door, which was unlocked. Heart hammering, he looked in, moving cautiously.
There was a body on the floor just inside.
Ty knelt, trying to keep one eye on the surroundings – but when he saw the knife still clutched in one of the dead man’s hands and verified that the blood streams were pouring from slit wrists, he put aside caution. The corpse lay face down, and even though he knew, he put two fingers beneath the chin and tilted the head up enough to verify the identity: It was Gillespie. Dead. Suicide.
Rising, Ty stepped around the blood and body, making sure there was no one else present, no signs of struggle, nothing out of the ordinary.
That was when he saw the gruesome message written across the walls, three red words scrawled in blood atop layers of taped-up printouts and articles:
WE CANT WIN
“Jesus,” he muttered to himself.
He found a tape dispenser on Gillespie’s desk, a blank sheet of paper, and a Sharpie pen. He used the pen to write DO NOT ENTER on the paper, then left the room, stringing tape across the opening and attaching his handmade sign. He’d worry later about cleaning up. Maybe he’d tell the shrieking Florida senator to do it.
In the meantime, he’d have to tell the President that whatever little intelligence Gillespie had recently been supplying would now be gone.
From:
Dr Willson Armitage
To:
Sandra Steele
Sent:
THU, Nov 14, 4:27 PM
Subject:
HRV antiserum
Please advise President that attempts at creating HRV antiserum from files of G. Singh and blood of subject Moon completely successful. Expect to be able to produce large quantities shortly. Complete report to follow.
W. A.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“YOU’RE NOT GOING to believe this, but . . . Landen Jones is requesting a video conference.”
Steele looked up from a report on human casualties incurred in the previous week to where Ty stood in the doorway of her office. “With the President?”
Ty nodded. “She wants you present.”
Without another word, Steele rose and headed to the President’s office with Ty. “Do we have any idea what this is about?”
He shook his head. “No, but . . . wild guess here: it ain’t good.”
As they reached the President’s office and entered, she looked up wordlessly, only nodding. Ty opened a program on the President’s computer and Jones’ face appeared on the screen, looking as immaculate and falsely amiable as ever. “We’re ready, Mr Jones.” Ty stepped back. Steele joined him at the edge of the President’s desk, where they could be seen.
“Good morning, Madame President,” Jones started, and Steele remembered again how much she loathed this man.
“Why are you calling, Landen?” The President’s voice was firm, with just a hint of anger.
“Well,” Jones said, his expression never changing, “I see the gloves are off. Good – it should make this move a little more quickly. Here’s the deal: New World Pharmaceuticals has successfully created an antiserum that counteracts HRV. We’ve already begun mass production, and have shipped several thousand vials already. We are prepared to work with your people on distribution of the antiserum, which I think we all agree could turn the tide of this war. However, we have several non-negotiable requirements.”
“I’m sure you do. And what are they?”
If possible, Jones’ smile grew broader. “Effective immediately, the United States of America will become a subsidiary of New World Pharmaceuticals.”
The President burst into laughter. When she stopped, she stared at Jones on the screen. “Are you telling me that NWP is now a country, Landen?”
“No. Countries are a thing of the past. The United States operated more like a corporation every year, didn’t it? Well, NWP is just taking that to the obvious next level and saying it’s time for the real corporations to take over. It’s simple, really: the world is dying and we have the cure. We should be the ones in charge. And you should be happy to work with us towards that goal.”
Jones looked down for a second, punched a few keys, and then returned his gaze to the camera. “I’ve just sent a comprehensive proposal package. You’ll see that you would all be treated as top-level executives with excellent compensation, including profit participation. Of course we recognize that we have a long road ahead of us, but together we can rebuild.”
An icon appeared on the screen, and the President said, “Your attachment has come through.”
“Excellent. Oh, and let me just add: any attempt to retaliate against NWP with any police or military action will result in the immediate destruction of all materials related to the antiserum. You would be damning the world, should you make that unwise decision.”
The President’s next words jolted Steele like an electrical bolt. “We’ll need some time to go over this, of course.”
“Of course. But we need to move quickly, so we are calling for an answer in three days. Any failure to respond in that time will be interpreted as an act of aggression, and our numbers are growing.”
“We’ll get back to you.” The President closed the call and logged off the computer for good measure. Once the screen had shut down, she turned to Ty and Steele, speaking with urgency. “Ty, get as big a force assembled as you can immediately and hit New World’s main facility outside Baltimore. If we can get Landen Jones alive, so much the better. They obviously don’t know yet that we have Kevin Moon and our own antiserum, and I want them shut down before they find out.”
Ty grinned, a wolfish look on his lean face. “You got it, Madame President. We’ve got a couple of boys in that area just itching to fight something other than zombies.” Ty strode out.
The President smiled bitterly. “I’m not sure whether to call this secession or a hostile takeover.”
Steele said, “How about just extraordinary assholery?”
The President agreed.
Chapter Forty
TY’S INSIDES FELT like a Gordian knot.
As he sat in the back of the truck with the rest of the troops, heading towards NWP’s headquarters, he was surprised by his own reactions. The rush of adrenaline – related for a change to real action, not emotional situations – was even refreshing. And the part he’d dreaded (image of a dead boy with a gun) hadn’t surfaced. The dread he felt was only what any soldier experienced going into a potential combat situation. He joked with some of the other soldiers, easing tension; he laughed when one of them called it “a drug bust”. He shared a bottle of water, and teased the one man who lit a cigarette.
Still, he was relieved when the “battle” turned out to be brief. There were a few brief exchanges of gunfire, but New World’s hired security forces gave up easily when faced off against eighty heavily armed soldiers. Only one – a tattooed brute whose name was apparently Joker – had tried to keep firing and he’d been taken down before he’d hit anyone.
An explosion startled them, but it came from the other side of the facility. Ty realized that Landen was living up to his threat – he had apparently just destroyed the labs where the antiserum was produced and stored.
Jones surrendered shortly thereafter, telling them they’d made a mistake but there was another lab somewhere else producing the antiserum, and he was still willing to negotiate. When Ty stepped forward, Jones openly smirked. “Ah, I see it’s the office boy. You might want to get your boss on the phone pronto, Ward.”
Ty motioned two of the soldiers forward, who frisked and cuffed Jones. “Landen Jones,” Ty said, relishing this moment, “you’re under arrest on charges of sedition and treason. Oh, and by the way – you’re also an idiot, because we’ve got Kevin Moon and our own antiserum.”
Washington Deceased Page 24
