Without Wrath (Harbinger of Change Book 3)

by Timothy Jon Reynolds

  “Where are they now?”

  “Getting an escort here.”

  “Will you wait for them for me?”

  “Of course. Should I brief them?”

  “If you could, Doug, it would help, I’m sure.”

  “Things are swelling outside. Everyone knows you’re here as one of the security people must have blabbed that you came in.”

  “Don’t tell me, it’s a lynch mob coming for me for causing all this.”

  “No, Matt, quite the opposite. It appears you have become the new gamer Messiah—on top of everything else you have going on. You went and lived the game, and now a third of that crowd have signs that read Holsinger/Hurst or are just bursting with some kind of support for Tom/Matt. It’s like you’re two people. I’ve never seen anything like it, Matt. They sure forgot about me in a hurry, let me tell you.”

  “Doug, I’ve been two people for so long now the lines are blurred. Please tell them thanks, but they need to be respectful and leave. My family is fighting for their lives here, Doug. What the hell is wrong with people?”

  “That’s just it, they’re not here to bother you, as they are here to prop you up. A lot have candles now and it’s turned into a huge prayer and support group out there. Of course, the media whores are there, but otherwise, it would appear people really care about what happens to you and your family.”

  “Well, Doug, I hope their prayers can be heard, we’re going to need them.”

  Just then a plump, professionally dressed woman appeared in the room. She had dirty blonde hair that fell shoulder length in soft curls that matched her beige skirt, a square body which Matt thought could block for any running back in the NFL, and sported flat shoes that fit very thick legs with cankles to match stuffed into some support hose. While she smiled, he could tell that that wasn’t her norm.

  “Hi Matt, I’m Patricia Sinclair, the hospital Administrator. I came up here to ask you a favor at a time when no one should be asking favors.”

  “And what favor would that be, Patricia?”

  “Could you please address the crowd and kindly ask them to assemble in the park just two blocks from here? It’s a very unsafe situation out there, and we are really concerned for our patients and visitor’s safety. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  Matt was going to answer her with a civil reply, although he considered the other route, when Dr. Singh went running by out in the hall at a good clip. Never one to waste time slack jawed gawking, he got on his feet, and with a noticeable limp, ran after the doctor, leaving the stunned Administrator to be the slacked-jawed gawker.

  * * *

  What a cluster fuck this was. Jim Jensen had never seen anything like this without a protest going on. The plaza square was besieged with people—virtually a person on every single spot one could park one’s butt. He was standing on the north side of the office that faced the entrance to the hospital and he noticed that the building had been locked up tight.

  To his right was another four-story building like the one he was in front of, and to the left was a five-story parking garage. There were people lined up on the railings for the garage, but not on the top as the setting sun was hitting that spot. People were filling the first three levels currently, but no one was lined up on the far end of the parking garage as the medical building had a few trees between itself and the garage, obscuring that view. Jim could get into the parking garage and find a spot, he was fairly sure of it, and by the look of things, that was the best he was going to get.

  He made his way around the back of the building with his odd-shaped pack slung over one shoulder. He observed the path that would take him into the parking garage and as he was walking through the landscaping he caught a break. A curious security guard had opened an exit door near the corner and was smoking as he watched the crowd of reporters talking to a passenger from the plane (at least that was Jim’s assumption based on the non-professional attire).

  The guard was tall, maybe six-foot six, and he had his left arm high on the door with his right shoulder holding him up on the wall. He had quite the wingspan and fortunately his back was to Jim. It was decision time and the decision was to go for it. Just like London Bridges when he was a kid, he slid right under the transfixed guard as the media show went on, much to the man’s entertainment. It was fortunate for the guard he’d made it undetected, otherwise it was going to turn into the part of London Bridges, where “they all fall down.” He then realized he was mixing up his nursery rhymes, but the point was the same, the guy would have been in a world of hurt.

  Jim silently made his way up the fire exit, finding the roof’s exit door unlocked and not alarmed. He was able to find the perfect spot up there to stay hidden while doing his reconnoiter. He first meticulously spied every vantage point for counter-snipers and then started checking the crowd. He was a bit frustrated as it was hard doing the work of a whole Secret Service team by himself.

  He turned on his tracking pad. Matt was still inside of the hospital, but his dot was moving fast, like he was running. Man, this guy never stopped. The beacon finally settled in the southwest corner of the building.

  He went back to scanning faces with his binoculars, and every time he saw one of interest he’d push the button and the face was digitally recorded and sent into TJAC’s mainframe computer. They spared no expense in their acquisition of data and therefore TJAC had access to some of the best face recognition software money could buy. So far nothing.

  To the right was the other building identical to his and true to form there was a guard smoking just outside of an exit door on the southeastern part of the backside. Jim could see from his vantage point that he was also crowd watching. It seemed that security was prepared for trouble, as many of the Anacortes police department were on hand and had formed up near the hospital entrance, as well as locking off these two buildings.

  At this point in the fall season, the greater Seattle area will stay light until nine o’clock or later, and that was a long four hours from now. Jim Jensen settled in, accepting the concept that he had known since his first minutes in the military, “hurry up and wait.”

  * * *

  Traffic finally cleared enough as they got out of the greater Seattle metropolitan area. Once that happened, sanity returned. Robert was still reminiscing about the phone call he received from the President shortly after leaving Portland. Melvin answered the phone, a number given for Robert, but which was really Melvin’s cell phone.

  He had answered and slightly stuttered, which caught Robert’s attention as Melvin stated, “I have the President on hold.”

  Robert had to ask, “The President of what?” It was a reasonable question, anyone would have asked it. Of course, not everyone would have gotten the answer, “The President of the United States, Robert.”

  Melvin simply handed his phone over and in a near whisper, Robert said, “Yes, Mr. President.”

  At first it was quite formal, as the President had no idea what his and Matt’s true relationship was all about, if Robert were a true friend or someone looking to cash in on Matt’s notoriety. Robert was looking at the change of scenery as Melvin exited I-5 and headed toward Anacortes. Once President Caulfield learned how close we were his tone sure changed, that’s for sure.

  President Caulfield was a smart man and Robert noticed that he asked very good questions, especially about the true nature of American Pride. Apparently his interest was sparked when he heard the premise, yet there was a long silence, and then he said coyly, “Special Interest will not like that very much.”

  Robert’s reply was a cool, “They’re not supposed to, Sir, as we’re going after them with both barrels.” He wouldn’t have described the President’s emotion as elated because it was hard to read people over the phone, especially a politician; but he would have said that the President sounded elated at the prospect of taking it to the greedy. This honestly surprised Robert, as he would have thought by now President Caulfield would have been in cahoots with the lot
of them, after all, he’d been there long enough now.

  And then a terrifying thought hit him as he looked at his only friend driving them to their destination, I’m way out of my league here and if I’m not careful, I’ll get us both killed.

  Of course, if the leader of the free world was a man of his word, then they had nothing to worry about, because he promised nothing. He offered no aid, just good luck, but the implication was, there would be no resistance either; no low-brow federal tactics to stall their growth or any such hindrances. By the results of the pre-release record sellout, Robert wouldn’t need luck, he just needed a few Americans, like their table of five, to stand up and be counted.

  Of course, if he was wrong, then he just tipped his hand to the enemy. Could that endearing Southern gentleman be a cold-blooded liar?

  Robert was still deriding himself when they made the turn toward the hospital and suddenly had to stop the car. The police had the street blocked off and were sending everyone back. Melvin deftly turned left onto a side street where they found a park not two blocks from the hospital. Every stall was taken, but Melvin made his own stall at the end of one row. As they walked through the lot, Robert spied something that got his attention immediately. In the last Handicap stall was a familiar GMC behemoth, and of course it bared no handicap placard, which he assumed it wouldn’t.

  As they approached the hospital grounds, Robert was having a walk through an acid trip ala Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. There was a very large number of what one would—for lack of a better term—call nerds here who were pouring in from Seattle, Bellingham, and even north of the border. All of them held some kind of support for Holsinger/Hurst, either in spirit or on some handmade sign in support of their hero warrior and game innovator messiah, Matt Hurst.

  It didn’t get less weird, it only got more like the song, as Robert was literally walking around inside an actual tipping point right before his eyes. It was happening and the thing they built was already taking on a life of its own right here. Once it did, they would be ready to take on the Special Interest Beasts, and Robert knew from every comic book he’d ever read that beasts don’t die easily, or fairly.

  He was a coward at heart, but actually seeing this kind of support gave him courage that he never knew he had. Then it happened—the signifier. He saw a poster that had a heart on it, and on the heart was written, “Hurst/Leme 2016.”

  Robert got more than a twang of guilt as he had created this. Regardless, he didn’t know that Tom was Matt, he simply wanted Tom so badly that he shucked convention and went to a reporter for help. Now he was in the middle of it, like it or not. Melvin elbowed him as a very hot nerd girl walked by wearing a Top of the Heap t-shirt. This was definitely getting interesting.

  * * *

  Dr. Arshad Singh was heading to his office to talk to his cousin as Matt caught up with him. Connected to Mansoor via Skype, they sat and listened to Arshad’s cousin from Brazil. The CDC had kept their word and sent him their data. Mansoor was the expert on this exact type of neurotoxin, and in fact, he had just published a paper on this type of agent not a few months before.

  He edified them that this type of toxin was one that breaks through the blood brain barrier. At that point, Dr. Singh side-barred and explained to Matt that this was why their cold medicine helped them initially, as antihistamines had been shown to help deflect toxins away from that blood barrier. Mansoor concurred and congratulated his cousin on the astute observation.

  Matt listened and wanted to shout, “Enough with the niceties already,” but wisely restrained himself. Mansoor got back on track, “Anyway, there is a group of former Russian and American weapons scientists who have gotten together to find a cure for Cerebral Palsy. During their research they stumbled upon an antidote for the nasty neurotoxin BoNT.

  “It is widely thought that our jihadist friends will most likely end up with this weapon one day and these scientists are trying to get out in front of it with the antidote. I know they were working off a grant, and I know they were starting their own company. Yes, here it is, I was pretty sure they were on the West Coast somewhere. Yes, it’s San Francisco. Their company’s name is CCP; no idea on what the acronym stands for.”

  Dr. Singh said, “We need to get a hold of these guys right away.” Then he addressed the Skype image of his cousin, “Thank you for giving us some hope here, Mansoor.”

  Matt extended his sincere thanks as well and then Mansoor was gone after his final condolence to Matt and his family.

  Dr. Singh looked at Matt and asked, “Do you have some favors you can call in?”

  Matt nodded, “I can definitely do that.”

  Agreeing to meet in his family’s room in a few minutes, Matt stepped out to make the call he’d been avoiding since Chase handed him a dossier a month ago. He was supposed to do a job, but he refused, and ever since, his life had been on a continued downward spiral.

  Somehow in the midst of it all, he’d forgotten to be loyal. He should have known that Chase would never have set him up, or tried to harm him in any way. His leap of faith was activating the locator, and his reward was melting the world’s smartest man—and biggest killer—even though activating that locator conceded a point and he had to bow his head to his master in the process. It also wasn’t the same as a phone call.

  The phone rang and Chase picked it up on the second ring. “The prodigal son returns.”

  “Yes, I guess I had that coming. Sorry for not initially believing in you.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology, Son, I owe you. Our counsel at TJAC wanted a test, they thought you were too likely to have a predisposition for unnecessary violence.”

  “What kind of test, Chase?”

  “In Mexico, the bullets had no primers. There was a sensor in the trigger as well. We even knew you were practicing the night before.”

  “So if I pulled the trigger on a drug lord, I’m out? What happened when I didn’t?”

  “Well, first of all, he wasn’t a drug lord, Matt, he was an actor. It was the only way, Son. The only way the Board would accept you back and I let them do it. For that, I am sorry. If I might ask, what changed your mind about coming in?”

  “Whoever attacked me at the hospital missed the shot. I knew that if it was you that wanted me dead, Jim Jensen would not have missed.”

  “I can’t argue with that logic. Now I assume you have another reason for this call?”

  Feeling slightly bashful for being as easy to read as if he were Chases’ teenage son, Matt told him the story he’d just heard from Mansoor and like all good father figures, Chase was on it before they hung up. But before they did hang up, Chase gave Matt a solemn promise, “I will never turn my back on you, Son. If you can count on nothing else in this world then you can count on that.”

  Tears running down his face, Matt said, “Thank you for believing in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

  He hung up the phone and turned around to find Doug and his parents standing there. His face was a mess and he really didn’t want them to see him like this—he honestly could not remember the last time he’d caught a break. They hugged for a very long time, tears fell, and the phrase, “I love you” was used so many times Matt felt he was breaking it.

  Matt let them know that they needed to be prepared because it was not easy to see Jan and Jon as they were. Dr. Singh had been able to set it up so they could be together in ICU. As they turned to leave, Matt’s hospital administrator friend, Patricia, was there, apparently persimmons were on sale and she had a hankering, as her mouth was so taut it was puckered.

  “Patricia, I’m sorry to have run off like that; but as you could see, Jan’s doctor ran by out in the hall and I needed to speak with him.”

  “I know, Mr. Hurst, and we would normally never broach a subject like this to a family under duress such as yours, but I don’t think you really understand how serious this has become.”

  Patricia gestured for them to head over to a window in the hallway and Matt
looked out on a scene that he couldn’t believe. It was evening, but not quite near sundown yet. The shadows were falling on the square below and it gave an odd resonance to the overall hue of the atmosphere; it was like he was wearing sunglasses, but he had none on. There were so many people that they flowed all the way down the street he’d come up earlier. They numbered in the thousands, maybe five thousand or so; it was crazy.

  “You understand our concern now. There’s a park two blocks over that way, if you could just address them and ask them to please have some compassion and move over there.”

  He looked at his Dad for guidance, “What do you think?”

  “Go take care of it; we’ll stay and watch Jan and Jon.”

  Matt looked at her and capitulated, “Okay, Patricia, let’s go take care of this quickly.”

  * * *

  The information was coming in from so many places that a man with a lesser mind would be going nuts. Ray Callahan was still trying to piece it all together, but for some reason the President needed Director Barnett to play ball about Manuel’s death.

  Information was on a need to know basis, and not all information was necessary for Ray to know, so he knew he had been kept out of the pieces that would have glued it all together for him. But one thing was for sure; it was a very odd day when General Steve Hatten agreed or conspired with President Lawrence Caulfield. It was well known that the two disliked and distrusted each other very much.

  Of course, he could pump his wife for this info, she’d be in the know. The way he’d caught himself saying that, it didn’t sound healthy. Ray knew that he needed to keep his compulsion in check. He was a big enough boy to know that one was not invited to every party, and no one liked a “party crasher.”

  His secretary’s phone buzzed; it was Eric Barnett, and he wanted to see Ray in his office right away.