The Ares Virus

by A P Bateman

  “But Isobel did take the drives.”

  “No, she took the flash drives from Professor Leipzig's cabinet. One half of both ARES and APHRODITE. And she'll admit to that in a court of law. But she had nothing to do with the disappearance of the drives from your safe.” Stone stared at him icily. “You took those drives and were then going to take the set from Leipzig's cabinet. She merely beat you to it. After hearing your conversation with Tom Hardy in the restroom, that is.” McCray looked shaken. He was obviously unaware that Isobel could have identified him. “Ah,” Stone mocked. “Sound familiar now? And what if I said that she was under your personal assistant's desk when you took the flash drives from your own safe? What if I said that she would be willing to recite that in a court of law as well?”

  McCray smiled. “Well, let's just say you're right, Agent Stone. Let's just say, for the purpose of hypothesis, that you are quite correct and that Isobel had nothing to do with the second set of drives going missing. And that I was involved and that I intended to ransom APHRODITE off after releasing ARES all over, say, Europe. Or China. Or the West Coast. How would that affect the outlook on everything?”

  “Hypothetically?”

  McCray smiled. “No. Actually, you’ve got me. I intended, or still intend to make billions from this. Sure, I need both sets of drives, but I do have the next best thing,” he smiled at Isobel. “I have the woman behind most of it. You’ll know where to fill in the blanks, won’t you? I bet you could come up with the product given enough time and resources…”

  “Go to Hell!” Isobel snapped.

  “Oh, most probably dear,” McCray smirked. “But you know where the information is. And there are very effective methods for getting somebody to talk. So I’m told.”

  Stone took a mini digital recorder out from his jacket pocket and put it down on the desk opposite McCray. The recording light was flashing red. He then took out the Glock 9mm pistol and held it loosely, its muzzle aimed at the doctor's midriff. “I'd say that enough, Doctor McCray.” Stone paused. “I'd say that the game was over, and that you're under arrest. We still have both vital drives and as good as a confession on tape.”

  “You've got nothing, Agent Stone. Nothing but overconfidence and a big gun pointed at the back of your neck.” McCray smiled. “The old look behind you trick. I know it's a tad clichéd, but I can't resist. Its simplicity is its complexity.”

  Stone stared straight ahead, his pistol unwavering, but Isobel turned around and let out a gasp. She turned back to Stone, her face ashen.

  “He's right,” Isobel stammered.

  Stone smiled. “Tom Hardy, I presume?”

  “It's all over, Stone,” McCray paused. “Put the gun down and give me my fucking virus.”

  “You'd expect us to bring the drives here?” Stone said quietly. “Anyway, last time I checked, this gun was still pointed at you.”

  “And that's where it will stay,” Hardy said from behind, the heavy Colt .45 a mere two feet from Stone's neck. “Get a shot off and I'll take the top of your head clean off. And then I'll blow the bitch's head off her shoulders too. Put the gun down, Agent Stone. It's over.”

  “What's wrong Hardy? Can't find someone to do your dirty work a11 of a sudden? I thought you had a man for that sort of thing?” Stone lowered the pistol and then dropped it onto the desk in front of him with a clatter. “I retired him, Hardy. Now your game is over.”

  “Funny? I thought it looked like I was winning, or at least it does from this angle,” Hardy sneered. He stepped around them and stood a few feet away, almost alongside McCray. He aimed the pistol at Stone. The hammer was cocked and Stone knew that the trigger was light. Hardy looked at Isobel and smiled. “Now, little lady, I'm going to count to three and then I 'm going to blow most of Agent Stone's head off with one squeeze of the trigger. Understand?” His eyes flickered momentarily and he flung his face into hers. “Fucking understand?” he bellowed. Isobel flinched, nodded. “Good. Now don't worry about anyone hearing, the staff have been given the rest of the day off. Nobody will hear a thing. One... Two ...”

  “Please...” Isobel stammered. The pistol was unwavering, completely steady in the man’s hand.

  “Don't!”

  “Three...”

  “Alright!” Isobel screamed. “They never left!”

  “No don’t!” Stone shouted. “Don’t tell them anything!”

  “Oh very gallant.” McCray sneered. He looked across at Isobel and glared. “Where are they?”

  “Don't clam up on us now,” Hardy sneered. “I can count again. And I mean it, I'll shoot him in the head.”

  Isobel slouched, crestfallen. “I took the two flash drives out of here, but they were blanks. They were my personal USBs. I wanted to be seen with a set of drives on camera. I didn't know where half the hidden cameras were, but I knew that they weren't in Leipzig's office ... in here ... or in the restrooms.”

  “Clever girl,” McCray said wistfully. “Then where are the real drives?”

  “Still in Leipzig's office,” she conceded. “Hidden in the lining of his chair.”

  “Where do you hide a needle?” Tom Hardy smiled. “In a haystack? No. In a box of fucking needles.” He moved the gun in his hand and did a sort of makeshift round of applause. “You've given us the run around, that much is true.”

  “What now?” Isobel asked.

  “You don't need to know that.” McCray snapped. He looked over at Hardy, who kept his eyes on Stone and the gun reasonably steady, despite his blood-alcohol level. “I'll go and check. You keep them covered. Let's not burn our bridges just yet.” He walked briskly out of the office and they heard his footfalls echoing hurriedly down the corridor.

  Stone looked up at Hardy, his eyes cold and hard. “You're finished, Hardy. You're a dead man walking.”

  “Idle threats.”

  “The agency is on to you. And the government. Right up to the oval office. Why do you think I'm on the case? The President doesn't trust the CIA as far as he could piss up the walls of Langley.” Stone chuckled. “They know all about Janus. They have your accounts under investigation, and your assets. They’ll seize them when they don’t hear from me. They'll even have the body and DNA of that Janus assassin I killed up in Vermont.”

  “You think I 'm bothered?” Hardy wobbled slightly on his legs, he was still suffering under the effects of alcohol. Only his professionalism, experience and twenty years of alcoholism enabled him to cope with the drink in his system. He perched himself in McCray's chair. “After I've released ARES on the fucking country I'll be long-gone.”

  “They never give up hunting one of their own,” Stone paused. “They'll take you down eventually.”

  “We've all got to go some time,” he smiled. “Thought I’d release ARES in Virginia. That should slow the boys at Langley down some.”

  “They’ll catch up with you sooner or later. But maybe they won't take you down,” Stone smiled. “Maybe a bullet’s too good for you. Maybe they'll get a file on you so thick and so damning, they'll try and make a lesson out of you. Take you to court for Lord only knows what, sentence you to two hundred years with no chance of parole. That's what they do to people, for treason. You'll die old and scared and lonely in some bad-ass prison with your ass for rent and your head full of memories you'd have willingly killed your mother ten times over to forget.”

  Hardy smirked. “Shut your mouth, boy. I've been an agency man since before you were an itch in your mother's crotch. I've talked the talk, walked the fucking walk, fucked more whores around the world and pissed more napalm than you could ever imagine. I was taking Vietcong prisoners out into the jungle and popping a bullet in the back of their heads before breakfast and not losing my appetite, or so much as a minute's sleep at night. I was doing that at nineteen. By the time I was twenty I had killed little girls just to get their Vietcong daddy's to talk. I threatened to shoot a baby to get its mother to talk, and then when I suspected she was lying, I shot the little slit-eyed fucker in th
e head. Do you know what a forty-five bullet does to a baby's head at close range? Do you? Of course you don't. You couldn't even possibly imagine. So don't pretend you know what goes on in my memories and don't assume I have any trouble living with them or sleeping at night. Because I don't. I manage just fine.”

  McCray walked back into the room. He was out of breath and carried the two USB flash drives in his left hand. He waved them in front of both Isobel and Stone. “Very clever, Isobel,” he said coldly. “And very fucking stupid. You've lost your bargaining chip, you're out of the game.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” Isobel said quietly.

  McCray smiled. He reached across the desk and picked up Stone's pistol. There were numerous scratches on the frame but it was well oiled. McCray looked at the weapon, turned it over in his hand and then pointed it at Isobel. “You are going on a trip with Mr. Hardy. I've decided to make use of your skills in a positive way. You are going to manufacture ARES for us at our little temporary laboratory.”

  “Go take a hike!” Isobel snapped.

  “You'll do it, or you'll take a bullet in the head!” McCray retorted. He looked at Stone and smiled. “You? Well, you're coming with me.”

  Stone glared up at him. “Have you got what it takes?” he asked coldly. Then he looked across at Hardy and smirked. “But then again, it doesn't take much to pull a trigger.”

  McCray smiled. “My dear man, I'm not going to shoot you. Not unless you give me good reason to on the way.”

  “On the way?” Isobel interrupted.

  “Yes,” McCray nodded. He turned back to Stone and smiled. “Shooting you will be far too messy. And besides, I'm not embarrassed to admit it, I've never actually used a gun before.” He pointed it at Stone's head and held it steady. “But I imagine it doesn't make any difference at this range, does it?” Stone simply glared at the man, didn't comment. “No, I didn't think so. No, what I've got planned for you is quiet dull and uninteresting. You see, we have this room here, in a part of the facility that has been left only part developed. The funding was pulled for some reason or another and there is nobody staffing a whole fifth of the building. This room is lockable, airtight, even. You won't get out, and you certainly won't live longer than a few days without food or water or a regular air supply. But I'm not leaving you for a few days. You see, after Mr. Hardy leaves with Isobel, I'm tidying a few loose ends and putting one or two files into the accounts department, and then I'm leaving for good. It may be weeks, or perhaps even months before you're discovered. Tell me, Agent Stone. Are you scared of the dark?” McCray smiled, somewhat sadistically. “Because you soon will be.”

  SIXTY

  McCray held the pistol firmly in his right hand and walked several paces behind Stone. Hardy had previously searched him whilst McCray had kept the gun trained on Isobel. Stone had been tempted to make a move on Hardy's pistol, but he couldn't run the risk, Isobel was directly in the line of fire and McCray's finger need only to twitch and Isobel would have been shot.

  McCray gave curt instructions to Stone as they walked, tellinghim which walkway to take and which doorways to go through. Stone had planned to take McCray down in the elevator, make a move on the weapon where space would be at a premium, but McCray had been smart and they had taken two separate stairwells to the other floors and McCray had been able to keep at least five paces behind Stone at all times.

  The part of the building they had now entered was clearly unfinished. The walls were stucco clad, but were yet to receive either a coat of plaster or paint, and the floor was still covered with building dust from the original construction. Trestles still held planks of wood off the floor for sawing and there were even food wrappers, empty soda cans and other pieces of trash piled up high in the corners where the contractors had taken lunch breaks.

  “You see what I mean?” McCray said, his voice echoing around the sparse walls like a huge chasm. “Nobody to hear you scream for help. And nobody to come and save you.”

  “What makes you think I'll scream? And what makes you think I need saving?” Stone replied. He had slowed his pace a fraction, hoping that McCray would gain ground on him. “You haven't got the stomach to shoot me, you'd only be kept awake at night by the images of what you saw. And leaving me alive in a room isn't going to give you much sleep at night either. You'll never know if I managed to escape, never know when I'm going to turn up and surprise you.”

  “I'll sleep just fine.”

  “You'll never sleep again,” Stone sneered. “You’ll have to sleep the rest of your days with one eye open.” He lessened his pace some more, but kept talking so as not tobe too obvious. “The powers that be are on to Tom Hardy have him marked. Within a week of me going off the chart, they'll send someone else. And another. And then another. They'll have you marked as well. For as long as you're alive, they'll continue to hunt you down. If the US government can find Osama Bin Laden with all his support and his kind’s hatred towards the west, you’ve got no chance. Technology and money make the world a small place.”

  “Then maybe I won't be alive,” McCray snapped. “Maybe I'll just have to fake my own death.”

  Stone laughed. “Maybe Hardy will make it more convincing than you can possibly imagine.”

  “What?” He stopped walking and Stone stopped in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

  Stone turned around slowly and faced him. There was no more than three paces between them now. “You don't know Hardy as well as I do. I've studied his file so deeply, I probably know more about the man than he does.” He kept his eyes on McCray, didn't take his eyes away from the other man's face. McCray's eyes were big and brown and docile. Stone's were cold blue and hard, like glacier ice. “The man has killed before, plenty of times as a young CIA operative in Vietnam. He was part of the whole Phoenix thing out there. The black-ops. It was an assassination program. Assassinations and interrogations. There were no survivors of the interrogations.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I'm just saying that he is probably one of the coldest bastards alive. Forget ISIS or Al Qaeda, Tom Hardy would think they were pussies. He won't find it a problem to remove you from the equation. Hell, he's killed a hundred times before, he wouldn't find it a problem again,”

  Stone smiled. “Tell me, McCray ... Where are the drives? You left them in your office, right?” McCray said nothing. His hand was shaking slightly, but the weapon moved no more than a fraction of an inch and they were far too close for a shot to miss. “You know, I bet when you get back to your office, you won't find the flash drives where you left them. Come to think of it, I bet Hardy has the other set as well. Probably convinced you that it would be best if he had them for safe keeping.”

  “He could keep them for all I care, he’ll never have a chance of deciphering what's on them,” he snapped.

  “No, he won’t,” Stone smirked. “But then again, he didn't have Isobel Bartlett. And now he does. I hear she had a lot to do with the development of both ARES and APHRODITE. I gather she was pretty much a driving force behind the project, especially once they discovered how beneficial APHRODITE would be to the rest of the world. You spent a lot of time in your office, I understand,” Stone watched the man intently, studied his expression and minute body movements. He knew he had struck a chord with him, but he had to dig deeper. “While Isobel knew all there was to know. That would come in very handy for someone like Hardy. Should anything happen to you, he gets the virus made regardless. Maybe he gets a new business partner.”

  “No.” McCray shook his head disbelievingly, glared at him. “Hardy needs me…”

  “Past tense, McCray. Needed,” Stone said coldly. “Now he's got everything he needs. He's got both sets of drives, the person to make the virus complete and he's banking on having you taken out of the picture as well. Without so much as lifting a finger.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Pretty obvious really, isn't it?” Stone tensed his legs and the muscle
s in his arms as he talked. He wanted to be free and loose when he made his move. “You're a scientist. You have no affinity with guns or killing. I'm ex-military, a bodyguard to the most powerful man on Earth, and have killed in the line of duty. He was banking on me taking care of you. In the meantime, he would be making his getaway with Isobel.”

  “You're wrong!” McCray held the weapon higher, pointed it directly at Stone's forehead. “Turn around and keep moving! Do it!”

  “No.”

  “Do it!”

  “Make me.”

  “If you don't move I'll blow your fucking head off!”

  “Try it,” Stone stepped a pace closer. Less than six feet separated them. “Just try it. Did you check the weapon? Maybe you did, but I didn't see? I don't remember seeing you check the chamber for a round. Have you taken a look at the pistol's safety? Does it even have a safety? There’s a safety built into the trigger, but the Glock safe action usually requires specialist training in law enforcement. You get certified Glock competent. I usually carry a Sig Sauer. Secret Service issue. Much nicer weapon. That was my brother’s FBI piece. But hey, take a shot, if you pardon the pun. That is if there's even a round in the chamber ...”

  McCray looked indecisive for a moment, then glanced down at the weapon, twisting it slightly in his hand to get a better look for the safety catch. Stone charged forward and caught hold of the pistol with his left hand and hammered a punch into the side of McCray's jaw with his right. McCray reeled back but as he did, he kicked out and caught Stone in the groin with his right foot. It was a completely unskilled, lucky, yet agonizing blow and Stone gasped for air, but he managed to keep hold of the pistol. McCray found his footing and charged into Stone with a flurry of punches to his head and face. Stone dropped in a low crouch to avoid the blows and kicked a roundhouse to McCray's knee. The man dropped and Stone kicked again, this time hitting him in the side of the neck, forcing him down onto all fours. It was a wholly scrappy affair and Stone rolled backwards across the floor to give himself a little distance. When he came up in a crouch to face his opponent, McCray was on him again, like a ferocious wildcat. It caught Stone by surprise that a man with a manic temper who attacked and hit with all the control and forethought of a hysterical child had brushed his training and professionalism so precariously to one side. The pistol was still in his left hand, held by the barrel and unusable as McCray's punches were raining down on him like a tempestuous squall. Finally, he saw an opening through the barrage and punched McCray on the nose with a straight right jab. He followed up with another, harder right cross and then as McCray stood stunned and wobbling on his feet, he bludgeoned him across the temple as hard as he could with the butt of the pistol. McCray was lifeless and already falling to the ground when Stone sent another right, this time a powerful hook with a twist of hips and a dropped opposite knee to drive through the power. His knuckles hit directly on McCray’s left temple and he watched as the man fell, pole-axed to the hard tiled floor, breaking his fall with the back of his head.