Lethal Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “There are needy people everywhere,” Darnell said. Even though the room was cool, perspiration dappled his forehead.

  “True. But I believe that most of the time people act for a reason. And I just couldn’t get over the fact that you had previously found worthy groups nearby to support with your charitable donations. Certainly you’re aware of local groups here in Eugene to help the homeless and working poor. No doubt there are similar groups in Salem and Portland as well. So, it just kept nagging at me—why go to considerable expense to ship water to Nigeria? Surely there are many regional suppliers that would be logistically advantaged over Cascade Aqua, and perfectly capable of satisfying the need. I’d imagine you could negotiate a purchase contract with those regional suppliers to have their water delivered—at your expense, of course—and still come out ahead.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. Making charitable contributions is not a crime.”

  “No, and it’s something more people should do. But I’m still left with this quandary. And now—now you’ve provided the clue I so desperately needed.”

  Darnell stared back in silence, his face lacking expression.

  “Why are you here, Mr. Price?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t know. Those men are crazy.”

  “I think you do know. They have kidnapped me because I have samples of water from your recent production lots—samples that could not be acquired in Warm Springs. That, by itself, is hardly of any significance. So I’m betting that those samples are the missing piece of this puzzle, the proverbial smoking gun. And when they are analyzed, the pathogen that infected those young men in Warm Springs will be found.”

  Darnell shook his head. “Those bottles of water will never be analyzed. They’ve probably already been destroyed.”

  “Time to come clean, Mr. Price. What are you not telling me?”

  He sighed and sat on the edge of the cot, then lowered his face to his hands.

  “You’re going to need my help to get out of here,” Peter said.

  “You know how to get us out of here?” For a moment, a measure of hope crept into his voice.

  “There’s always a way out of any prison. How just depends on the circumstances, as well as the available tools. So, what’s it going to be Mr. Price? Are you going to stay here, and take your chances, or answer my questions and leave with me? The choice is yours.”

  Darnell looked up. “Oh, alright. It’s over anyway.”

  “What’s over? What did you do?”

  “What had to be done. What weaker men could never do. Don’t you see? The global ecosystem cannot sustain unregulated population growth.” Darnell told Peter about his first meeting with Simon Ming a year earlier, and the plan they hatched. “Ming said he could develop the pathogen—a genetically engineered virus. My role was to ensure it got into the bottled water.”

  “You were going to infect men with this virus so it would lead to sterility?”

  “It’s the only humane way.”

  “You think forced sterilization is humane? What is wrong with you?”

  Darnell sprang to his feet, his voice rising in defiance. “I watched helplessly as my wife and then my twin daughters died of incurable diseases. Mankind is on the verge of global catastrophes unlike anything we’ve ever witnessed. All because people lack the will power to voluntarily regulate reproduction. Competition for resources, famine, disease, climate change—that’s just the beginning. It’s the natural course to thin the herd… only we’re the herd.”

  “Is that supposed to be an excuse? Justification for forced sterilization on a massive scale?”

  “There are more than seven billion people. And the population keeps growing. You know as well as I do—that’s unsustainable.”

  “We’ve managed so far. Science and technology have made it possible to grow sufficient food, to make water safe to drink, and to cure major diseases.”

  Darnell sagged back to the cot, the rusted springs squeaking as it accepted his mass. His expression also sagged into a frown. “So far. Those are the operative two words. We’ve cheated the natural order for too long, and our luck will soon run out.” He closed his eyes and lowered his voice, the anger spent. “When you turn on the evening news and hear that tens of millions have died from starvation in North Africa, or a hundred million have died from a global pandemic—that war between Pakistan, India, and China has claimed fifty million lives—how will you feel?”

  “This is not the way. You have no right—”

  “It is my right!” The fire returned to his spirit. “It is my duty!”

  Peter shook his head, repulsed by what he was hearing. “You’re mad. You won’t get away with this. I won’t let you.”

  “I don’t want millions of families to feel the grief—the pain—that I did when they lose their loved ones, as they surely will. Don’t you understand? Do you even know what it is like?”

  Peter checked his surging anger. “Yes, I do know. My wife died from an automobile accident several years ago, and I’ll always feel the pain. But you aren’t God, no one is. As laudable as your goal may be, your method is monstrous.”

  Darnell cast his eyes downward. “What are we to do?” his voice barely more than a whisper.

  “To begin with, we’re going to get out. And then we’re going to quarantine all the product your company has in the warehouse and halt production while the CDC and Oregon Health Authority investigate. I’m quite certain they’ll issue an immediate and urgent recall of all product your company has shipped.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, I only added the virus to select production lots. Those cases were shipped to Warm Springs, and then there is the product scheduled to be shipped to Nigeria.”

  “Why?”

  Darnell didn’t respond.

  “Why only those populations?” Peter said, his voice louder. “Why not also distribute your poison here in your own home town? Share it with your friends and neighbors?”

  “It only makes sense to target areas where overpopulation is severe. Those regions tend to correlate with poverty.”

  “You mean people of color, you son of a bitch. That’s always the answer for men like you, isn’t it?” It took all of Peter’s will to refrain from smashing his fist into the man’s face. Instead, he shook his head in disgust. “Move,” he said brusquely.

  With Darnell out of the way, Peter raised a leg of the cot and unscrewed a leveling foot. It came out easily—a threaded stud about two inches long with a one-inch circular foot that normally made contact with the floor.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Darnell asked from the farthest corner of the room.

  “I’m going to use it to open the door.”

  Since the door swung inward, the hinges were located inside their makeshift cell. There were three standard hinges. Peter placed the stud against the bottom of one of the pins and rammed his hand against the circular foot driving the stud upwards against the hinge pin. At first, there was no movement, and he hit the circular foot a second time. The pin edged upward. Again and again he struck the foot until the pin was pushed up sufficiently that he could grasp it and pull it out.

  He repeated the process for the remaining two pins while Darnell watched. When he was done, the heal of his hand ached from the repeated blows.

  “Now what?” Darnell asked.

  Peter struggled to grip the hinge and pull inward. It would have been easy to accomplish if he had even rudimentary tools. He conducted a quick search of the room—nothing. No screwdriver, no pliers, nothing. The bottom of the door had a heavy-duty weather strip that contributed to the sound-proof qualities of the room. It also made it impossible to get a grip on the bottom of the door and lift upwards in order to take the weight off the hinges so the door would fall inward.

  “We’re one yard from the goal line,” Peter said in frustration. “Now we wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  �
�For one of the guards to open the door.”

  Chapter 30

  Eugene, Oregon

  March 28

  It had been nearly two hours since Peter had removed all three hinge pins. With the patience of a hunter, he stood ready, leaning his shoulder against the wall where the hinges were fastened to the steel doorframe.

  “I’m hungry,” Darnell said. “Think they’ll give us something to eat?”

  Peter glanced at his watch. “I doubt they intend to starve us to death.”

  A couple minutes later a metallic clicking emanated from the door. A key was turning the deadbolt. Peter readied, tensing his body. The bolt was thrown back and the guard pushed open the door. As the door swung inward, the hinges separated and at that instant Peter thrust his shoulder forward. The heavy door crashed to the side into the guard, knocking him to the floor, the door pinning his legs.

  “Let’s go!”

  Peter planted a foot on the door, eliciting a grunt from the pinned guard, and dashed out the opening with Darnell fast on his heels. The guard was struggling to slide out from under the weight and gain his feet. Peter paused only long enough to retrieve his personal items from the desk drawer—thankful they’d not been moved. Darnell fell a step behind to grab his wallet; his phone was missing.

  They emerged into the cavernous warehouse, and Peter slid to a stop, Darnell nearly colliding into his back.

  “That’s far enough,” the guard said. His pistol was held steady with both hands. “On the floor. Now!”

  Before Peter could react, a black streak crossed his field of vision.

  Thunk!

  The guard’s arms fell limp to his side, the pistol clanking on the concrete floor. A bloody, razor-edged steel broadhead protruded from the center of his chest. He stood there for two seconds, then fell sideways.

  Peter rushed forward and squatted to retrieve the SIG Sauer 9mm pistol. “Drop it!” The voice came from behind. The other guard had managed to extricate himself from under the heavy door.

  Thunk!

  Peter turned, trying to follow the sound, but it was incredibly fast. The bolt had just impaled the center of the guard’s chest. Eyes wide in shock, mouth agape, the guard fell lifeless to the floor.

  Spinning around again and raising the pistol, Peter searched for the assailant. His car and one SUV were parked in the center of the warehouse. In vain, his eyes scanned the shadows along the edges.

  “You’re safe,” a new voice, vaguely familiar, called out. Then Peter saw her step out from behind the SUV. She was holding a crossbow fitted with an optical scope. Very deadly at close range, as evidenced by the two one-shot kills. The weapon was loaded. The four-blade bolt appeared sinister as it rested on the rail, while the taut string was in a state of readiness to propel the bolt at four hundred feet per second.

  She was clad in black coveralls. Not exactly form-fitting, but not baggy either. Hanging from her hip was a wicked-looking weapon that reminded Peter of a hatchet or tomahawk. Her head was covered in a black knitted cap, and a black scarf covered the lower portion of her face. Only her eyes were visible.

  She strode forward, the crossbow held at the ready, her finger resting against the trigger guard. As she approached, Peter recognized… what? Her stride? Or maybe her eyes?

  No, it was that and more. The way she held herself with a weapon. The confidence she exuded as she strode forward. He’d met this woman before.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Nadya?” he said.

  She closed the distance, stopping in front of Peter. Then she pulled down the scarf. He knew this woman as Nadya Wheeler—but he also knew that wasn’t her birth name. She was an assassin, trained by Mossad.

  “That is not an alias I use anymore. My name is Danya Biton.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been following you for almost three weeks.”

  Peter’s hand tightened around the pistol grip, his arm muscles tensed, ready to raise the weapon in a flash.

  “Relax,” Danya said. “I wasn’t trying to kill you. That should be obvious, as you’d already be dead.”

  Peter cocked his head. “That was you,” he said as understanding dawned. “You were the shooter at the river.”

  “That’s right. The guy was a professional hitman. He was about half a second away from putting a smoking hole in you.” She shrugged. “I fired first.”

  “But why?”

  “You mean the contract?” Danya said.

  Peter nodded.

  “I don’t know. I caught wind of it from one of my sources. That’s when I became your shadow. I tried unsuccessfully to identify the issuer. Hit a dead end on tracing the posting back to the source.”

  “I haven’t fared any better.”

  Danya shrugged. “My first thought was Mossad. But the killer I eliminated was too sloppy to be Mossad. I checked with a contact I still have on the inside, and she says the agency has not issued a contract on your life… not yet. Whoever it is that issued the contract, they’re professional. We can talk more later. Right now, it’s time to go.”

  “Hold on.” Peter reach out and grabbed her arm. “When we met up in the Cascade Mountains close to two years ago, you and your team were trying to kill me. So why have you become my protector now?”

  “I told you at the time—I had a change of heart. I’m not a soulless killing machine anymore.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” She turned and walked away.

  “Wait a minute!” Peter called before she exited the warehouse. She stopped and turned.

  “I could use your help.”

  She glanced at the SUV and Rolls Royce. “You want me to make an appointment at an auto body shop? You look like white trash driving around in a beat-up Rolls Royce.”

  Peter smiled. “I’ll get it fixed. Kinda busy right now.”

  “So I noticed. Where are you staying?”

  “I was at the Hilton. I checked out this morning.”

  “Check back in again, and keep him with you,” she pointed at Darnell. “I’ll look you up tonight.”

  s

  After Peter checked into the Hilton, he drove to an electronics store. Figuring that a second phone might come in handy, he purchased one with a pre-paid service plan. Depending on the strategy they eventually settled on, having a phone to communicate with Darnell could be a benefit if they were to become separated. He insisted Darnell tag along to the store. Fearing police involvement, or worse, another encounter with Roger Corbett and his men, Darnell agreed.

  Peter phoned Kate and explained that he was delayed. He’d need another day in Eugene. She agreed to spend the night at Peter’s condo, taking care of Diesel, and Peter assured her he would be home the following day. It was a cordial conversation, but Kate made her position clear: “We need to talk when you come home.”

  Darnell was quiet while Peter ordered room service—a selection of appetizers and sandwiches, with two pots of black coffee. He didn’t know what Danya had in mind, but he was certain she wasn’t planning on a social call.

  Shortly after ten p.m. there was a knock on the door. Peter looked through the security viewing sight and immediately recognized the woman.

  He opened the door and Danya entered. She didn’t waste any time. “Do you know who those men are who kidnapped you?”

  “They seem to be associates of my friend.” Peter motioned with his chin at Darnell.

  “You know them?” She addressed her question to Darnell.

  He nodded. “They work security for Utopian-Bio. I don’t know the two you killed. But I’ve met their boss. A man named Roger Corbett.”

  “Tell her everything,” Peter said, his patience already worn thin. It took about ten minutes for Darnell to explain the plan he’d agreed to, and the role his company played in bottling the contaminated water. “Corbett has been my principal point of contact.”

  “But you haven’t explained,” Peter said, “why they turned on you.”

/>   “Simon Ming double-crossed me. He said he never planned on allowing me to ship that water to Nigeria.”

  “If not to Africa, then where?” Danya asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bull shit!” Peter shouted and grabbed Darnell by the collar.

  “It’s the truth!” Darnell raised a blocking hand in anticipation of a strike, but that wasn’t Peter’s style.

  Peter released his grip, and he sat on the edge of one of the beds. He faced Danya. “We have to get the water before someone ships it out. We can’t allow it to get into circulation.”

  “Why not just phone in a tip to the local police?”

  “No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “When Corbett grabbed me, he boasted that he owned the Eugene police. And then a detective showed up—a guy named Jackson. He’s definitely on Corbett’s payroll.”

  “Okay. So we snatch the cases of bottled water. How much inventory is there?”

  “A lot. At least a dozen pallets, each loaded with 20 cases.”

  “That’s too much for one load in my pickup. And I don’t think it’s wise for us to attempt multiple trips. We’ll be lucky to get in and out of the warehouse once without getting caught.”

  “We have a company delivery truck,” Darnell offered. “Actually, several.”

  “Is it large enough to carry all the inventory?” Peter asked.

  He nodded. “It will easily fit.”

  “Okay. After we confiscate the cases, I’ll phone my contact at the CDC and we turn it all over to them. Agreed?”

  “Yes,” Darnell replied sheepishly.

  “Do you have a key to the warehouse?” Danya asked.

  “I do,” he said. “They took my driver license and keycard, but nothing else. What Corbett and his men don’t know is that I can deactivate the lock using a six-digit code. A perk of being the owner. Anyway, the building has an alarm system, but I can turn it off.”

  “Unless someone has changed the code,” Danya said.

  “I don’t think so,” Peter said. “Why would they? They have no reason to suspect we’re planning anything.”