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

by Bradley West

  “That’s very kind from the man who kidnapped him,” she said as her anxiety morphed into anger.

  “Don’t thank me, thank Melvin. He’s a former paratrooper, a big black guy you wouldn’t expect to be gentle.”

  “I met him earlier tonight. That bastard hit my mother in the face with his gun.”

  Muller stood in the gap between the tarps and monitored the room. “We need to shift locations,” he said to Katerina. “I was surprised Melvin didn’t shoot us and take the baby. That’s what I would have done, but he lacks balls. If he can recruit more gunmen, he’ll be back.”

  “Don’t forget he has a million dollars and a gassed-up vehicle. He could be headed for the hills. That’s what I would do.”

  “He’s plagued by a Baptist guilt complex. He cried when he found out the office Burns hired us to torch had two people in it. Why the fuck should he care? He didn’t even know them. Now he’s decided that he’s Tyson’s protector and he’ll be back to claim him.”

  “He’s not my favorite moon cricket either, but if we move, he might track us.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, a darkie.”

  Muller pursed his lips and shook his head a little. “Horne brought C-4, timers and detonators. I’ll leave a flannel-wrapped bundle of high explosives for him to hug. You monitor Burns and the hostage while I talk to Bomber.”

  Muller and Horne conversed for ten minutes and agreed on the spec. Muller supplied the name of their next destination to his new assistants and they loaded the lab equipment and drove off. The former CIA scorpion fashioned the booby trap as per the Mad Bomber’s instructions and left it out of sight.

  Muller returned to find Katerina huddled with Burns on the couch as they watched a video on the laptop. Stephanie was kneeling in thrall over the box. She was harmless, but Muller was less sure about what to make of Burns. The man should be dead, which made his sitting there in apparent good health disquieting. He was now likely immune, an enviable position that Muller ached to share. Katerina would set aside a dose for each of them before they shipped any product, making five in total after adding Shuckies and Horne and deleting Melvin.

  “It’s brilliant,” Katerina said. “You missed your calling. You could have worked at Sterling Cooper, the ad agency in Mad Men.”

  “And your camera work and lighting are worthy of Roger Deakins,” Burns replied, amused by the insincere flirtation.

  “Shouldn’t we advertise on sites other than Pirate Bay? I’m partial to Cyber Souk.”

  “Never heard of it, but let’s see how this one plays out. Tomorrow I’ll post on the dark web forums on the public internet. As of last week, there weren’t any credible treatments online. I think the Dark Cure will have scarcity value. The real momentum starts when we build a track record.”

  “Is Rolf right and we can ask for half a million a dose?”

  “Like a lot of what he says, you have to take it with a grain of salt, but if we can provide delivery within twenty-four hours, we can charge a few hundred thousand a shot, or even conduct auctions. My question is, how much can you make and when?”

  “Depends on whether the mother’s antibodies work like her baby’s. I’ll check her blood, platelet and plasma type once we relocate. Rolf wants us ready to roll in thirty minutes. Your buddy Melvin held us at gunpoint and stole the money and the SUV.”

  “That’s not wholly surprising given that you two wanted to kill him. Where are we headed?”

  “I don’t know, but not far.”

  Katerina’s words calmed Muller down to where he could talk in a near-normal tone as he spoke up from just a few feet behind them. “We’re headed back to the high school where I scored the food. It has what we need.” From his tone, the conversation was over.

  * * * * *

  Travis and Jaime returned within half an hour. Sal jolted awake at the sound of the Ram’s door latch but saw that Maung’s pistol was at the ready.

  “Jaime almost slid off the next-door rooftop and broke his neck,” Travis said, “but we can enter via the third-floor back bedroom window.”

  Jaime scowled. “I was fine, but it’s an angled roof and tricky.”

  “Any way we slice it, it’ll be loud. Maung, Jaime will belay you from the roof and follow you in. I’ll come in through the front door and cover the front of the house. Sal will stand outside the back door with an M-4 and shoot anyone strange who comes out the back.”

  At the sound of his name, Sal froze. An M-4? Until two months ago, he’d never fired even a pistol. What would he do if a kidnapper came out with a gun to his daughter or grandson’s head? His heart raced and he felt faint. “Travis, why don’t we swap? I’ll shoot out the front door and you work the alley? They’re less likely to bring Steph and Tyson out the front than the back, and I’m better with a pistol.”

  “I’m fine with that,” Travis said, “but you may have police to deal with. You’ll be arrested or shot if they see you. For your protection, work your way inside and stay out of sight. Shoot anyone armed you don’t recognize.”

  Sal reflected on two choices, both bad. “I’ll take the front,” he said, his unfamiliarity with the M-4 swinging his decision.

  “Then it’s settled. Maung, Jaime and I saw a chimney you can tie off on.”

  “No problem,” Maung said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sal Maggio was standing on Sacramento Street and facing the three-story building. Travis’ instructions were both detailed and straightforward: Stand to the side of the door and wait for breaking glass or gunfire; hold the pistol slightly above the doorknob at a forty-five-degree angle. Travis had recommended two shots to be doubly sure, followed by a hard kick. It seemed easy just a few minutes ago when Travis had gone through it up the street, but now he wasn’t confident he’d hit the deadbolt.

  From the back alley, Travis saw that the internal lights were off. Someone was home. He had the M-4 and his trusty Glock. He heard noises from the next-door roof as Jaime and Maung negotiated the treacherous slates.

  Maung landed with the grace of a cat burglar on the house’s roof, a much heavier Jaime less so. Maung winced and froze. Jaime hotfooted it over to the chimney and secured the rope. He met Maung at the edge and used a carabiner to attach the former Burma commando. From thirty-five feet below, an invisible Ryder didn’t need the night-vision scope to discern his short friend’s silhouette against the moonlit sky. Jaime fed the rope as Maung walked down the wall until he was next to the window, an old-style casement crank with a single large pane. He used the gun butt to break the glass and swung in feet first. Jaime retrieved the loose rope and tied himself off.

  In the alley, Travis waited for gunfire from above and the front of the house. Instead, he heard nothing. Jaime rappelled down and through the window only seconds behind Maung. Where in the hell was Sal?

  * * * * *

  Melvin heard glass break upstairs and sprang into action. He grabbed the Sig off the nightstand, slipped on his sneakers and headed into the darkened hallway. There was another clump upstairs, followed by the sounds of doors opening. That makes two. How many more? In briefs, he was okay so long as he had the keys. Dammit. He returned to the bedroom and tucked his wallet against one instep and his keys into the other.

  Before lights out, he’d confirmed that there were staircases at the front and rear. He reached the front stairs and paused: The first tango could be at the end of the hallway. He entered the front room to find the blinds open and a moonlit piano, big-screen TV and couches. He rested the pistol on the sill and quietly opened the window, leaving him with no more than a fifteen-foot hang-and-drop.

  Sal heard the glass shatter at the back simultaneously as two figures on the sidewalk stopped in front of the home. He couldn’t make out who they were, but he ruled out law enforcement when a conspiratorial voice asked, “Elroy, is that you?”

  “Elroy’s around the back,” Sal replied. “We locked ourselves out and he broke a back window to let us in.”

 
“You two want company?” the first man asked.

  Sal had heard enough and drew his weapon. “No, we don’t,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Run along and come back another time.”

  The two men muttered angrily as they hurried off.

  Maung and Jaime alternated rooms and had the third floor cleared in under a minute. Whoever lived here was a rich pervert, based on the bondage gear and the paintings. Maung descended the front staircase while Jaime doubled back to the rear. A figure bolted out and headed to the front. Jaime tackled a panicked Dr. Elroy Heath and asked, “Where are they?” as he pressed his Berretta M9 to the back of the man’s head.

  “My ex-wife and kids are at South Lake Tahoe. She has a summer house in Tahoe Keys.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your wife. The mother and the baby are who I want. Where are the Maggios?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about. The only other person here is a large African who’s been holding me hostage. He’s across the hall, last door on the right.”

  An automatic rifle opened up at the back, two bursts of two or three rounds fired. That would be Ryder breaching the door. Two more shots emanated from downstairs. Sal, at long last. A gunshot from the front of the house reverberated and then the sound of a high pitched Asian voice. “Stop! Lie flat! Lie flat!” Muang shouted. Jaime left Heath and ran while the noise of the back door splintering reverberated upstairs.

  Melvin Robinson lay on the floor next to the open window, his right shoulder blade pierced by a single bullet. Maung stood nearby with his weapon pointed at Melvin’s head.

  Travis cleared the downstairs and found nothing in the kitchen, dining room, study and living room except deviant art and a semi-clad bald man headed for the back door. Travis turned him around with a rap against the doorframe with his M-4.

  At the front of the house, Sal squatted and pointed his revolver up the staircase. Ryder saw an outline in the night-vision scope and hissed, “Sal? It’s me.” Sal turned toward the sound and gave a thumbs-up to the darkness.

  Upstairs in the entertainment room, Jaime applied the zip-ties to Melvin’s wrists. In short order, Jaime and Travis met at the foot of the front stairs and compared notes: nada. No Tyson, no Steph and no sign of the abductors other than the armed man upstairs.

  Travis climbed the stairs to investigate, but Maung was ahead of him. “He was at park Friday night.”

  “We’ll have company pronto,” Travis said. “Get him up. We’ll sort it out later.”

  “Who are you?” Jaime asked Heath.

  “This is my house. That man broke in earlier. Who are you? What do you want?”

  Maung led Melvin downstairs. He struggled to speak through the pain. “Need a doctor. In a bedroom upstairs, there’s a suitcase and my clothes. Bring ’em.”

  Travis shut the remains of the front door and turned on the entryway light.

  Melvin saw Massimo’s terrified face and said, “This man got nothing to do with the woman or the baby, but he’s a major sinner. Either he repents, or kill him here and now.”

  Travis gave Melvin a puzzled look, but instead addressed the dentist. “The police will arrive in a few minutes. After taking a look at this freakshow of a house, they’ll have lots of questions. Keep it simple: A home invasion by people you barely know from the sex trade. They kidnapped a rent boy and that’s all you know. Capisce?”

  Dr. Heath paled. “Police are coming here?”

  The five men left the twisted dentist to his fate and departed out the back. Jaime pocketed the Sig and a nice Walther .40-cal. pistol and hefted the suitcase as they set out at a trot. Sal jogged alongside, head and heart numb at their failure. They turned onto Hyde Street and heard sirens from multiple directions. Travis’ Ram 2500 was easy to see at first light with the furniture in the back. Jaime and Maung loosened the straps and in two minutes they had dumped the load onto the sidewalk. Sal burrowed into the familiar suitcase and found his daughter’s phone zipped into a side pocket. He shut the suitcase full of banded currency and threw it into the back of the pickup. Travis supervised Melvin while he dressed with one arm.

  Travis drove back the way they’d come as Melvin sat between Jaime and Maung, each with a weapon pointed at his vitals.

  “Where is Stephanie Maggio and why do you have her phone?” Travis asked.

  “I can answer that last part,” Sal said from the front seat. “Stephanie agreed another ransom deal for Tyson, and he grabbed her and the money.”

  “Pretty much,” Melvin conceded.

  “Stephanie hid her phone in the suitcase as a precaution,” Sal added. “And you fractured my wife’s skull.”

  Melvin felt ill. A skull fracture?

  “If she dies, you’re next,” Jaime said with a prod of his gun barrel.

  “I know where Stephanie and Tyson are! Listen to me! But I’m bleeding bad, man.”

  “Best you give me the address because we don’t help you until we have them back,” Jaime said.

  “On 28th, between Broadway and Telegraph in Oakland. Green roller door. Please, I need a doctor.”

  “Maung, pass your weapon to Sal and look at his shoulder,” Travis said.

  Maung used his handkerchief to wipe the exit wound and inspect the outflow rate. “Clean through-and-through, but bone fragments. Wound clotting. He not dying.”

  “Well, he’s bled all over my backseat. Can you plug the hole?”

  “Sure, but will hurt,” Maung said.

  “Melvin, it’s your call,” Travis said as he entered their new destination into Waze.

  “Do it,” Melvin said. Maung twisted the handkerchief into a cylinder and jammed the dry end into the wound. Melvin groaned and passed out from the pain. Ryder directed Sal to pull the duct tape out of the center console and tear off a chunk that Maung could use to secure the handkerchief.

  “Melvin, wake up!” Sal said as he handed Maung back his weapon. Melvin picked his head off his chest. “Are my daughter and her baby all right? How many of you are there?”

  “I found the baby formula and diapers. He’s good. Your daughter is okay, too. I left her with Muller, the scar face, and Katerina. She’s the one that makes the Dark Cure. Burns was down with the virus, but Tyson’s blood cured him. We stole equipment earlier tonight to alter blood. I want to protect your people. I’ll help you free them. Just untie me and call a doctor.”

  Sal understood at last. “Did you steal a centrifuge?”

  “Man, I humped three of them suckers downstairs.”

  “And my family is at the lab?”

  “That’s the plan. I left them there maybe three, four hours ago. I quit. I didn’t want to kidnap people and drain their blood. That’s some sick-ass shit. I don’t want to kill no one, either, so I dropped Muller and the little scientist off when I coulda slotted them both.”

  “Yes, very noble of you to leave my daughter and grandson behind while you grabbed the million dollars and drove away.”

  “I was headed back, but I needed a day to line up my peeps. I wanted the money to pay for the rescue: It’s yours. I don’t want it no more.”

  “It was always mine,” Sal said.

  “If you lied to us, I’ll shoot you in the balls,” Jaime said. “And then a second time through both lungs and let you drown in your own blood.”

  “I swear on my dead mother’s soul! Let me help. I just want to make it right with Jesus. If I help set those two free, it’s a start.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were a block from the warehouse. Melvin had provided the layout, with the garage door and adjacent fire door the only ways in.

  Jaime emptied the Walther and handed it to Melvin. “You first, buddy.”

  “You want me on point but with an unloaded weapon? That’s crazy.”

  “Your shoulder’s Swiss cheese and you’re righthanded,” Travis said. “Even a Puking Pigeon should know when he’s combat ineffectual.”

  “How’d you know I’m a Screaming Eagle?”

  “Th
e tat on your right arm for one, and your Black Ice personnel file,” Travis said. “We know all about Sergeant Melvin Robinson and your two Bronze Stars and Purple Heart.”

  “Fuck outta here with that nonsense. So, you know I’m a patriot and you want me to carry an empty piece in my left hand and be first through?”

  “Hey, you’re the hero,” Travis said. “I got my Purple Hearts peeling potatoes. Once you’re in, I’ll follow you—”

  “Give the younger crowd a chance, old-timer,” Jaime interrupted.

  Travis shrugged. “Fine. Jaime, you clear the warehouse proper. They may be installing the lab equipment so expect targets. Maung and I will follow and head for the back room. That’s where we’ll find our hostages. It’s an all-kill mission: Put everyone down. Sal will bring up the rear, raise the garage door and back in my pickup. He’ll also stand sentry. We have surprise and violence of action on our side, plus superior skills. We will prevail.”

  “Amen, brother,” Jaime said.

  “The Good Lord willing,” Melvin said.

  Sal’s stomach had a watermelon-sized knot, and he was almost frozen by anxiety. He gave a thumbs-up.

  chapter twenty-five

  HIDE AND SEEK

  Monday, July 13: Oakland, Livermore and Gallinas, California, day

  Smiley and Bomber found McClatchy High School as Muller had left it, gate and doors unlocked and the place deserted. Muller’s burner received an all-clear text, and the occupants abandoned the clubhouse. Muller placed his farewell gift to Melvin in the cardboard crib, careful not to jar the bundle. Katerina, Burns and he gathered their meager possessions and escorted the two hostages to Horne’s stolen Sequoia.

  On the short drive, Muller passed by where he’d left the rent-a-cop’s unlocked car with the keys inside. In the fresh light of a new day, he saw that it was gone, along with the guard’s cellphone hidden in the spare tire well. Though the police could track the phone’s past locations and come to the school in theory, it wasn’t likely under present circumstances. He’d ask the Mad Bomber to attach enhanced doorbells to all of the school’s entrances. Basic operational security dictated that they stash their vehicles blocks away, stay indoors by day, and use lights only in blacked-out rooms.