Dark Cure: A Covid Thriller (Dark Plague Book 1)

by Bradley West

  She finally made it through the well-spaced line at the register. My goodness, REI’s products were expensive, but there weren’t many places where she could buy warm garments in July. At last the cashier rang up her two grand’s worth of clothes and camping accoutrements. She ripped off her mask as she drove toward the Mt. Tam Motel where she would spend a luscious two hours fornicating in glorious splendor with a man half her age and a quarter of her sexual expertise. Family landscaper Lalo Santander was a willing pupil. His big smile, calloused hands and sexual stamina made her feel three times as sexy she did during as her husband’s desultory by-the-calendar intercourse. Lalo appreciated the shape she’d kept herself in, took his time and always left her satisfied. As she pulled into the motel, she saw Lalo’s red pickup out front of the last room. She favored Room 7 because it was farthest from reception, where her cries of passion and his roaring climaxes wouldn’t be heard . . . well, not too much. She shed another blouse button, gave her pushup bra a manual assist, and wondered if she’d shortchanged herself with that boob job Sal had bought her for her fortieth birthday. What was the point of fake tits if you only ended up with 32Cs? She should have gone whole hog and got the Ds, gossips-be-damned.

  She walked on unsteady legs to the weather-beaten door that displayed her lucky number and gave it a quiet knock. She was giddy with passion and wondered what Lalo would say when he saw that she’d shaved everything down there? It felt so naughty, particularly with no underwear. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her. The door opened and strong hands snatched her out of the midday sun.

  * * * * *

  Jaime Gonzalez was of two minds over Sal’s choice of restaurants. Molcajete served great food, but Mexican cuisine was a little on the nose. If Sal were buying lunch for one of his Silicon Valley buddies, they’d be sitting outside the steakhouse next door chowing down on grass-fed ribeyes at five times the price. At least a Tex-Mex meal would end quickly, giving him less time to screw things up with his possible future father-in-law.

  Sal arrived and got down to business once they’d received their food at a shaded picnic table in the courtyard. “Our schedule’s set. At four o’clock we pick up the money in Corte Madera. I’ll store it in my car until eight, unless you can suggest a better place.”

  “I have a new weapons vault in our garage.”

  “Agreed. All right, next topic. Carla arrives around five. She texted a while ago that she’d bring a security guard with her. I think he’s the same person who owns the company that protects her lab. I haven’t met him, but she tells me he’s like you, ex-Special Ops.”

  “I thought you wanted me to handle protection?” Jaime’s gorditas lost their flavor.

  “I do, I do, but Carla suspects there may be several armed kidnappers. Greg is helpless; I’m not certain he’ll be able to walk the money around Niven Park unassisted. She believes another military man on our side makes sense, plus he can protect her on the drive over.”

  “That makes sense, I guess. But I’m still in charge, right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Let’s eat and drive over there to recce the site,” Jaime said. “I want to find a place where I can see the entire handoff area. The sun doesn’t set until 20:36, and last light will be after 21:00. I’ll want to locate a hide on the western side of the park with the sun at my back and near the ocean in case a boat’s involved.”

  “What’s your security plan?”

  “Shoot anyone who fucks with Greg or the money.” Jaime took a bite of a grilled ahi taco.

  It was Sal’s turn to lose his appetite.

  * * * * *

  Travis considered the reversal of fortune. Three hours ago, he’d felt sorry for himself, missed his kids and wondered if the drop in business meant he’d have to lay off staff. Now he was rolling west with his fantasy woman in a flame-red sportscar. Carla’s family drama had roused him from a stupor: stolen virus cures, an abducted baby, ransom demands, and armed kidnappers. When he entered the car, Carla had handed him the box with the legit merchandise. He’d meant it when he looked into those emerald eyes and promised her he would guard it with his life.

  “After we spoke, I looked up the best steakhouses in Marin,” Travis offered. “There’s a place called Belcampo that’s organic and open late with curbside pickup. We can have a picnic under the stars.” He wondered if he’d overdone it on the cologne.

  “My father grills the best steaks you’ll ever eat. I learned from him. You get Tyson back safe and sound, and we’ll eat dry-aged tomahawks and drink Silver Oak cab.” Carla said it with an inviting smile.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “What about your boyfriend?”

  “He’ll be there, too.”

  Behind his Oakleys, Travis’ dreams died.

  Carla burst out in laughter. “I was just fucking with you. We broke up in June when Henri’s father told him he had to self-quarantine in St. Tropez at the family compound. I said he had to make a choice, and he picked a billion euros over me. It was time to move on anyway.”

  Travis’ grin was a marvel to behold, but he suppressed it in a flash. “Talk me through the various personalities I’ll have to deal with in the Maggio family, strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Uncle Sal is solid. He’s smart and shouldn’t panic. He’s old enough not to try anything stupid. He has two daughters. Stephanie is a year younger than I am and used to be a great jock. She spent most of college with Epstein-Barr and then suffered two miscarriages. It’s only in the last year that she regained her health and was back in the gym looking good. Not surprisingly, this time her pregnancy went full term. Barb is three years younger than Steph and is an eco-warrior and left-winger who’s buzzed a lot, self-righteous and worries about her weight. Her boyfriend, Jaime, was a Marine in Iraq who’s originally from Mexico. Barb likes working class macho types, particularly those who read deep books.”

  “And he’s involved in this?”

  “Yes, he’s Dad’s muscle right now.”

  “What did he do in Iraq?”

  “Two tours in a special Marine unit and was in Mosul, but I don’t know the details. He doesn’t talk about it much but seems levelheaded.”

  “Aunt Pat is a big spender and a bit of a phony. She dresses like she’s in Desperate Housewives and likes men. Henri claimed she made a pass at him.”

  “Sounds like my kind of woman,” Travis said, then instantly regretted it. What on earth was I thinking? Being around beautiful women always disconnected his brain from his mouth.

  Carla laughed and shook her head.

  Two cars back, Ride Out Security’s best soldiers—and worst drivers—Arkar and Maung covered the Tesla’s six o’clock and maintained their distance. Maung, the younger of the two, harbored doubts that his boss was up this job if it went highly kinetic. At thirty-nine, Travis Ryder walked with two limps from grenade-shattered knees and an AK-47 round through his right hip.

  * * * * *

  My god, he has a pair of lungs on him. Clancy bawled and bawled as Lindy walked him around, warmed the milk and fed him a bottle, changed his jumpsuit when he upchucked, changed another diaper and scoured his butt with the aloe wipes . . . but nothing would shut that baby up. Finally, he fell asleep in mid-cry in her arms. She looked at the chubby pink face and surprised herself with tears of joy. She laid the baby in his crib and crept out of the back bedroom, A/C purring and drapes drawn. She hadn’t even had lunch, but what she really wanted was a cigarette. She sparked up in the kitchen, then hustled outside before she triggered the smoke alarm again and woke up the little guy.

  According to Fraser, later today she would hand Clancy to a mercenary and not see him again until Monday at the earliest. That might be what her husband wanted, but that didn’t make it right. However, Fraser was correct when he’d declared that they couldn’t take the baby to their home. And so long as Black Ice people guarded this house, she wouldn’t have freedom of action here, either.

  Years ago, she’d spent a weekend u
p north in Sonoma County, too high in the hills to qualify as wine country. There must be a house or a cabin up that way she could rent on short notice. She had lots of rainy-day cash in an airline carry-on bag in the storeroom at home. You don’t grow up orphaned and bounced from foster home to foster home without taking a vow never be far from your go bag.

  To hell with lunch. She needed to pack the car, roll by the house for the bug-out bag and a few changes of clothes, and hit the road. Once Fraser calmed down, he’d see it her way. And if he didn’t, well, he could screw himself.

  * * * * *

  Safely back in her Audi, Pat locked the doors and started the car with shaky hands. At the sound of the A6’s engine, the three men stepped out of the motel room and double-timed it for Lalo’s truck, one of them manhandling a camera still attached to a tripod. None of the three—not even Lalo—dared glance her way. Should she call the police? And tell them what? That she’d met her gardener at a motel for an afternoon of dirty sex, and he’d said he wanted to film her servicing his two friends?

  She backed the car out hard, then hit the brakes to avoid Lalo’s truck as it roared off. She’d need a new landscaper unless she really did move to Canada. At least she’d had the presence of mind to hit the panic button on the key fob in her purse. Otherwise, Lord only knew what would have happened. As it stood, her blouse was torn, she had fingermarks on her upper arm and her left cheek stung where the short one had slapped her. She checked herself in the rearview mirror and saw a mess of streaked mascara. She looked like she felt, a broken-down middle-aged whore. It was time to return home and hope to heaven that Sal was still out shopping for the big expedition. She needed a shower and lots of concealer.

  * * * * *

  “Uncle Sal? It’s Carla. I’m with Travis Ryder. We’ve crossed the bridge and are headed for Bon Air Center.”

  “Perfect. Jaime and I have just finished a circuit of Niven Park. He spotted a black Taurus on our tail. Let’s meet at the back of the mall at the far end. There’s a homemade ice cream shop called Graeter’s. I’ll find a table outside.”

  “Fine. See you in twenty or thirty, traffic gods willing.”

  Ryder texted Arkar their destination and instructed his men to drop back once they left the 101.

  * * * * *

  Sal and Jaime sat at the last table away from the door, alone as the day’s heat dissipated. Speed-eating ice cream with a facemask on was hard for adults—much less little kids—and most customers bought cups and pints to go. Sal called the home phone and Greg answered in a more animated tone than usual, a little tipsy perhaps. Steph had taken an Ambien and fallen asleep. Barb had left to collect an early dinner order. Sal told him to expect them to arrive after six o’clock to finalize tonight’s strategy.

  That call over, Sal redirected his focus to present company as his niece turned heads, joined by someone who looked like a high school wrestling coach. She gave Sal a welcome wave and the two took seats. Travis set a microphone jamming device on the table and switched it on while Jaime nodded in approval.

  Jaime showed the sketch he’d made of Niven Park and used his index finger as a pointer. “I can set up a hide either here or here. Either place is elevated and provides a clear field of vision with ranges from one hundred twenty to two hundred seventy-meters.”

  Travis looked up in alarm. “This is a ransom delivery, not a high value target terrorist snatch. No shooting unless you see weapons pointed at our people or hear gunfire. We’re there to observe and act as backup.”

  Jaime bristled. “Unless I have the deliveryman in sight, I can’t perform my mission.”

  “You can use binos to track Greg rather than a sniper scope. Let’s keep it low key and minimize the chance of gunplay.”

  “Less than three years ago, I led the Kurds into West Mosul where we fought house-to-house against the ISIS suicide brigades. What did you do?”

  Four years ago, I brought down the biggest cocaine trafficker in the U.S., but you didn’t read about it in the papers. Last year, I prevented terrorists from stealing enough nuclear waste to kill one hundred thousand people with a dirty bomb. You didn’t read about that one, either. His younger self would have responded, but there was an abducted baby’s safety at stake and that overrode everything else. “Why don’t you drive me around and highlight the kidnappers’ most likely egresses? We can figure out the best vantages to position vehicles to follow them post-handover.”

  A sullen Jaime nodded in assent. It was easier to take twenty minutes and drive around this washed-up SEAL than to admit he hadn’t realized they would track the abductors post-exchange.

  The departure of the two warriors left Sal and Carla alone. “Travis has the authentic vial and thumb drive,” she said through her medical facemask. “I have the phony duplicates. Are we being watched?”

  “Jaime picked out a man at the park,” Sal said.

  Carla put her handbag in her lap and rummaged through it, then extracted a cigarette-packet-sized case, flashed it about and offered it to Sal.

  “Don’t hand anything to me until Jaime and Travis come back. Otherwise, we won’t have any protection in case the kidnappers make their move.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s part of the plan Travis laid out on the ride over. He just wants to see if they’re being followed. If not, they’ll swing back, park offsite and watch us. If there’s a tail, they’ll survey the handover site. Either way, we stay put and see if anyone comes.”

  “I don’t understand. Without Jaime and Travis, there’s no one to stop the kidnappers from grabbing us here.”

  “Travis stationed two men across the parking lot. On the drive, he also called a contact in the FBI and put him on alert. With any luck, the Bureau will ID the men, and we’ll have arrests before the scheduled handover.”

  “Who authorized you to contact the FBI?” Sal said in a loud whisper. “The kidnappers said they’d kill Tyson if we bring in the police.”

  “I said the same thing, but Travis said to relax. The odds of recovering Tyson are way better with the FBI involved than out of it. Besides, I heard the whole phone call and the agent agreed that the Bureau does nothing until they receive Travis’ approval. He won’t move without your say so.”

  “Why didn’t he explain this to me in person?”

  “He needed to keep it brief to avoid making the kidnappers suspicious. You and I can talk all we want because we’re relatives. Plus, with Jaime and him gone, you’re more effective bait. Travis figures there’s a better than even chance that they’ll try to take the packet I just handed you.”

  “Fucking wonderful,” Sal muttered. “What does Travis want us to do now?”

  “Kill time for another forty minutes. By then Jaime and Travis will be back, and we’ll drive to Steph’s. Then we find out what everyone saw, and you decide how to play it with the FBI.”

  “You place a lot of faith in Travis. How well do you know him?”

  “Not very well. Just today, I learned he spent ten years in the SEALs and another four in the DEA in South Asia where he was part of the group that found MH370. Retired in 2016, married, quick kids and divorced. Why, what’s your impression?”

  “I spent less than five minutes with him. I guess he knows his stuff, but he seems, well, a little short to be a SEAL, and older than ideal.”

  Carla laughed. “Not every SEAL’s six-four and he’s probably in his mid-thirties. Killing terrorists in the desert is terrible for your skin.”

  It dawned on Sal that he’d outsourced his grandson’s safety to someone his niece had a crush on. At a loss for words, he took out his phone and unlocked it. Deadly Oakland Outbreak: dozens dead and 100s hospitalized the New York Times website blared. Covid-20 had come to town and civilization had finally hit the iceberg.

  chapter eight

  DOUBLE TAKE

  Friday, July 10: Corte Madera, Port Reyes, San Rafael California, afternoon

  Muller called Burns from the van outside the ice cream parlor. “Where are y
ou?”

  “I’m on the way home. I met my scientist and checked out the lab she built in a storage locker. I’ll have dinner delivered at 7:30 and Lindy and I will answer the door.” Burns heard the engine rattle as he pulled up to a stoplight. He slammed the dashboard in irritation as he recalled that the Jag was no longer under warranty.

  “My man will be maybe an hour late. He’s tracking Maggio’s hired guns around the drop site.”

  “All right. I’ll keep Lindy company until he shows up,” Burns said as the light changed. The tires squealed as he gave the pedal too much, increasing his irritation level.

  “Excellent. Text me when you’re all together. We’re about to kick off here.”

  * * * * *

  “He just hung a uey towards Drake Boulevard,” Jaime said from the driver’s seat of his F-150.

  Travis twisted around and confirmed that the black Taurus was but a speck in the distance. “Head back to Graeter’s.” His phone hummed and he saw that Maung had sent him photos of a van labeled “Keefer’s Pest Control,” its plates, and fuzzy shots of two occupants through tinted windows. Travis forwarded them to Myron Fillmore with the request that the Bureau ID them and continue to stand by.

  * * * * *

  Muller used a new burner to dial Sal’s mobile. Sal didn’t answer until Carla had turned off Travis’ fancy signal blocker. “I have good news about Tyson and need to meet in person.” Thanks to his ever-helpful SFPD informant, Muller already knew who Carla Maggio was. “Walk through the parking lot toward the ocean, nice and slow, and bring your niece.”

  “No, if you want to talk, you come to us.” Sal exchanged a look with Carla. She had her phone in her lap and hit redial. Travis answered her call but said nothing. He motioned Jaime to step on it: They were less than two minutes away.

  Muller struggled to keep his tone cordial. “It’s not a negotiation. Both of you head into the parking lot and I’ll flash my lights twice. Don’t hang up.”