The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We get Eli, bring him back here and see what he knows.”

  Lendra turned to Jay-Edgar. “Where is he?”

  “In an apartment on 91st Avenue, near Hobart Street.”

  Jeremiah said, “Give Hannah the details. Gil and Finn, suit up. And bring a couple friends to cover the exits. I don’t think Eli’s dangerous. Probably no bombs or booby-traps. That’s not his style. I just want you to form a perimeter and detain anyone who comes out. We leave in twenty minutes.”

  Hannah frowned, while Gil and Finn eased toward the door.

  “Let me guess,” Jeremiah said. “You were expecting me to run off on my own, slip away from my protectors and do that macho ‘man alone’ thing.”

  “Actually,” Hannah replied, “yes.”

  “In the old days I would have. Not any more.”

  “What about me?” Jay-Edgar said. “Should I find someone to man the comm desk? Should I turn myself in?”

  Lendra looked at Jeremiah.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Jeremiah said. “For now, I want Eli to think that you’re still on his side. Keep him in the dark until I give you the word. Then warn him that we’re on our way.”

  Chapter 18

  Inside his basement apartment, Elias Leach faced the wall and its six screens showing various feeds from around the world. Yet he found it difficult to pay attention. He felt trapped here. Every day he was confronted with the same small table and two chairs in the kitchenette, the countertop and bank of cabinets next to the stove and refrigerator, the sofa that converted to a bed beneath the sole window, a reinforced plas-glass unit darkened for privacy, the shabby dresser and the single, large armchair where he now sat. He felt tiny and insignificant.

  Why should that be?

  He’d essentially confined himself to a similar space at CINTEP. But there, he’d been in control. Was that the only difference or was he feeling loneliness for human companionship?

  He turned to where Manyara Harris was unpacking groceries, then reached up and scratched at his face, aggravating the ragged furrows that marked the many times he’d clawed it in the past. A trickle of blood seeped out as he raked his fingernails across his cheeks.

  “Your face is pretty ugly already,” Manyara said. “But you go ahead and gouge it some more. You can’t make it any worse.”

  Elias turned from the screens, where he had been following the news closely. The two middle screens played the EuroNews Network and the 24-Hour Real News Network, which currently focused on the Greek threat to invade Turkey over fears that illegal immigration was spreading the Susquehanna Virus. Bulgaria and Romania offered support to Greece, Syria was sending troops to Turkey, and continuing hostilities between India and China after terrorists detonated a nuclear weapon in Mumbai last year threatened to escalate the conflict worldwide.

  The screen to the right displayed images of the White House’s reconstruction and other rebuilding efforts in the various cities that had been destroyed by the Las-cannons. The two screens on the left provided updates on the virus, sent to him via quantum flux link from Jay-Edgar: recent outbreaks and movements of suspected Sally terrorists. The final screen on the right showed images taken from the building’s eight surveillance cameras.

  “If you’d give me my medicine, I wouldn’t have to scratch myself,” he replied.

  “All you had to do was ask.”

  “Where the hell is Jeremiah?” Elias said.

  “You want him to catch you?”

  “Of course not. But he’s been back with CINTEP long enough that he should have found me by now, no matter what Jay-Edgar is doing to hide me.”

  “So?”

  “He doesn’t care enough to hunt me down. I’m irrelevant. I can understand him wanting to kill me, but how can he think I’m not worth the effort?”

  “You’re a strange, strange man.”

  Elias got to his feet as Manyara prepared his hypo-pad. He took a moment to study the street outside. Did Jeremiah really think he no longer mattered, or was he ignoring Elias as a form of torture? Every time Manyara visited he expected Jeremiah to follow her; every time, the street was empty. He felt an almost unbearable hollowness in his chest, a dryness in the mouth. Was that fear of Jeremiah finding him or fear that Jeremiah had moved past the hatred?

  One of the reasons he hadn’t run was because if Jeremiah wanted to find him, he would. No hiding place offered a safe refuge when Jeremiah was on the hunt. And no country wanted him anyway after what he’d done. But he refused to apologize for that. He’d done what he had to do. It hadn’t worked out the way he intended. But that was largely due to the escalating threat from the Susquehanna Virus. So now he fed helpful information to Jay-Edgar and waited.

  And waited.

  “Nobody followed me,” Manyara said. “Why do you always look for him?”

  Elias looked at her for a moment before returning his attention to the screens. “He’ll come.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  Elias laughed in spite of himself. He got to his feet and made his way to her side. “I know,” he said.

  Elias reached Manyara and winced as she slapped the hypo-pad to the back of his hand with more force than necessary. The neo-dopamine compound was necessary to keep him from scratching his face. Almost from the first moment he’d been injected with nanobots to save his life, he’d been convinced he could feel them moving about inside his skin. If he didn’t receive a dose of neo-dopamine twice a week, his face began to itch uncontrollably, forcing him to claw at it, gouging out deep furrows in his cheeks.

  Manyara had told him that it was a common reaction among people with a Frankenstein complex—a fear of artificial humans. The term had been coined during the twentieth century by Isaac Asimov and accurately reflected Elias’ phobia toward the Elite Ops and nanotechnology, although Elias thought the fear was perfectly logical.

  The Elite Ops had nano-computers swimming in their bloodstreams, communicating with cerebral monitors implanted behind their foreheads. They were part human, part machine: terrifying.

  And now he had some of those same nanobots in his system. Repair nanobots, to be sure, but nanobots just the same. He’d told himself many times that his fear was nothing more than an emotional weakness. Yet he’d been unable to eliminate the phobia through traditional psychological methods. And he’d always been afraid of pumping medication into his body, wary of harming his magnificent brain.

  After he’d found himself exiled and hiding, clawing himself bloody for hours each day, Manyara had finally brought him neo-dopamine. He’d been concerned that the drug would cloud his mind. Surprisingly, however, it had a clarifying effect. He could see now why Lendra had once been addicted to it. It enhanced thought processes if taken in moderate doses.

  Manyara said, “Your scraggly face gets uglier every day.”

  Elias laughed. “You are a pure delight—all sunshine and roses. You know, I find you extremely attractive.” He reached for her, but she knocked his hand away. “Come on, Darling. How about joining me on the bed for a spell?”

  “I can’t.” Manyara patted his cheek. “I’m running late.”

  She started to turn away, but he grabbed her wrist. “Please,” he said. “Stay with me a while?”

  Manyara wrapped her arms around him. “They’ll be expecting me to show up for my shift soon. I can’t stay long.”

  “Just an hour.”

  “I have to go,” Manyara said. But she continued to hold him.

  “I swear you’re driving me crazy on purpose,” Elias said. “Come on. Give me a little love.”

  “Next time,” Manyara said.

  “That’s what you said last time.”

  “They’re going to get suspicious,” Manyara said as she released him. She grabbed her heavy bag, checked the peephole and stepped out
side. Elias followed her progress on the surveillance cameras as she made her way to the street. By the time she reached the end of the walkway, he had managed to return his attention to the job at hand. He needed to find Susquehanna Sally. If he wanted to have any hope of returning to CINTEP, he had to bring in Sally himself. Part of him knew that was never going to happen; Lendra had ensconced herself too deeply. But part of him would never give it up. CINTEP was in his soul.

  A warning sounded from Jay-Edgar, followed by a brief message: “On their way. Just found out about it.”

  Elias’s stomach fluttered. So Jeremiah was finally here. Glancing at the far right screen, Elias saw Manyara stop suddenly, her body stiffening. An Elite Ops trooper, fully armored, Las-rifle extended in one hand, approached her and took her by the arm. When he holstered his Las-rifle and wrenched her bag away from her, she turned to one of the cameras and mouthed what sounded like “I’m sorry.”

  Breath quickening, pulse pounding, Elias stared at the gigantic, robotic creature. Sweat beaded on his brow. His mouth dried up.

  A bolthole existed at the far end of the apartment, through the closet door into a tunnel leading to the next building over. Jeremiah might not know of it, but he probably had more than one Elite Ops trooper working with him. Yes, Elias could make out three other Elite Ops troopers angling in toward the building, no doubt checking their scanners for bio signs. Running wouldn’t save him. Nothing would save him now.

  On the counter in the kitchenette he saw a chef’s knife on a butcher block. He smiled as he thought of attacking Jeremiah with it. All he’d manage to do would be to anger Jeremiah more. He was surprised he wasn’t more afraid. Part of him was glad that Jeremiah had finally deemed him worthy of pursuing.

  What form would the retribution take? A quick death? Or would the Elite Ops torture him first?

  For a long time the building’s camera views showed only the Elite Ops troopers. Elias fought to maintain his composure, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Where the hell was Jeremiah? Had he sent the Elite Ops to do his dirty work for him? Did he think Elias wasn’t worth the effort? No. There he was, exiting a vehicle and striding up the sidewalk toward the building, Hannah Swenson, a young CINTEP agent, at his side. She held a Las-pistol in her hand; Jeremiah carried no weapon. He needed none. He could break Elias’ neck with one blow.

  Elias wondered if the neo-dopamine had any impact on how he felt. He probably should be terrified. Even though he’d always known Jeremiah would come, and even though he expected to die, it was a relief in some ways to finally have it all end, to have Jeremiah acknowledge his importance. He was no longer tormented by the potentiality of Jeremiah’s vengeance; it had arrived. As Hannah disabled the security system, Elias found himself timing her. Occasionally he glanced at Jeremiah, standing behind Hannah, looking around as if expecting Elias to run. Behind Jeremiah, the Elite Ops trooper gripped Manyara’s arm.

  Fifty seconds after she began, Hannah succeeded in bypassing the lock and alarms. She and Jeremiah entered the building, followed by the Elite Ops trooper and Manyara.

  It took them less than another minute to reach Elias’ apartment and broach the lock. Elias stood, trembling slightly, and placed his hand on the back of his chair, facing the door. When Jeremiah entered the room, Hannah dodged to the side behind him, her Las-pistol aimed squarely at Elias’s chest.

  Elias nodded. “Jeremiah,” he said as the big Elite Ops trooper guided Manyara inside. “I wondered what was keeping you.”

  Elias forced himself to look away from the trooper and at Jeremiah instead. For a moment no one spoke or moved. Jeremiah stood still, his face frowning in concentration. Was he listening for danger?

  Elias felt inexplicably happy seeing Jeremiah again, as if his long-lost son had returned. But he was shocked at the pain lines on Jeremiah’s face.

  He said, “No booby traps here.” He gestured toward Manyara. “You can ask Manyara, if you like. And I’d appreciate it if you let her go. All she did was help me. She doesn’t know anything. She’s just a friend.”

  Jeremiah waved a hand at the trooper and Manyara pulled her arm free. She rubbed slowly where the trooper had grabbed her as she made her way to the sofa. When she sat, she stared at Elias, her eyebrows raised in query.

  Elias closed his eyes in apology for a moment, then said, “How are you, Jeremiah? I heard about your reckless exploits, infecting yourself with the virus. You make me very proud.”

  Jeremiah took two steps forward before stopping, his hands unclenching as he glared at Elias. Then the intensity left his eyes and he spoke in a calm, unhurried voice: “You remember Hannah Swenson?”

  “Of course,” Elias replied. “A promising agent. How are you?”

  “Fine,” Hannah blurted out. She stared at Jeremiah as if uncertain of her role.

  “I’d offer you something to drink,” Elias said, “but I’m guessing you would refuse.”

  Hannah looked from Jeremiah to Elias and back, finally deciding no immediate danger presented itself and lowering her Las-pistol to her side.

  “I won’t apologize, Jeremiah,” Elias said. “I did what needed to be done. We all had to make sacrifices for the greater good.”

  Jeremiah stared at him—no hatred, no rage, only a frown. How he wished Jeremiah would smile at him, just once more.

  “The plan should have worked,” Elias found himself saying. “And for a time, it did. But this virus trumped everything.”

  “You’ve been looking for Susquehanna Sally,” Jeremiah finally said.

  Elias nodded.

  “Have you found anything of value?”

  “As I’m sure you know,” Elias said, “everything I put together I gave to Jay-Edgar.”

  “Not holding anything back?”

  “No.”

  “So is there any reason I shouldn’t kill you now?”

  Elias felt his heart thump. “A good many,” he said. “But perhaps none that override your need for vengeance.”

  Jeremiah tensed. He looked like he was coiling for an attack—legs bent slightly, shoulders forward, hands outstretched. Elias, having seen him take this kind of stance during training simulations just before pouncing, shivered. At least he could take comfort from knowing Jeremiah cared enough to dispatch him personally.

  “I know I can help if you give me a chance,” Elias said. He heard the quaver in his voice, detested it. “I’m close. I just need a few more days.”

  “I doubt you’re that close.”

  Elias tilted his head in concession. “We’d have a much better chance of finding her together than we do separately.”

  Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment and Elias felt his stomach fluttering with something akin to hope.

  “A lot of people want you dead,” Jeremiah said.

  “I understand. But—”

  “Spare me your rationalizations,” Jeremiah said. “You’ll be coming back with us. It took me a while to figure out that Jay-Edgar was manipulating the feeds.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “I know you think I’m a monster, Jeremiah. But if you look deep inside yourself, you’ll see that I’m a visionary. I act boldly. I’m willing to accept short-term disasters for the sake of larger goals. Our leaders fear the consequences of brutally necessary action and therefore move cautiously, increasing the risk of greater catastrophe in the future.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring along any medals to bestow upon you.”

  Elias smiled briefly. “I’m just saying. You’re a brilliant analyst. But you tend to think logically and with a utilitarian bent. I’m not encumbered by that weakness. Together we’ll find Sally. I know we will.”

  “You’d better hope we do. Because if we fail, I’ll kill you.”

  Elias shivered. He’d hoped that when Jeremiah found him, there would be some acknow
ledgement of the past, some residue of good feeling that might mitigate the anger. But Jeremiah gave off only cold disdain, and that struck him worse than he could have imagined.

  Chapter 19

  A few blocks north of Bayswater Road and Hyde Park, Sally23 looked out the darkened plas-glass window of the flat she and her fellow conspirators now occupied. She refused to cry; she refused to let them see how desperate she’d become. Across the street, stone owls and chimneys stood atop almost every roof. She’d rarely noticed them before, even though they were ubiquitous in London. Only now, as death encroached, did she observe such detail. How many other little things have I neglected to see?

  “Watch it!” Wally5 said.

  She turned as a metallic clatter sounded. Wally3, Wally5 and Wally6 stood before a canopy of protective plastic, filling canisters with the newest strain of the virus.

  “Oops,” Wally3 said.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” Wally6 said.

  “It’s just a cover,” Wally3 said.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” Wally5 said. He caught Sally23’s eye and winked. “Don’t worry. We’re fine over here.”

  He returned his attention to his fellow Asians, short and thin and nerdy. They seemed cheerful. Why were they doing this? Had they originally volunteered? She suspected they were under some sort of compulsion now because of their total unconcern over the future.

  This new version of the virus, Sally2 claimed, would be the most potent yet. Sally23 had only caught a glimpse at the molecular structure before being shooed away, but it looked extremely lethal. She replayed the schematic of the modified virus in her head as she watched the Wallys, their gloved hands placed through the gasket-sealed openings to the materials on the counter, carefully measure the various ingredients that made up each aerosol bomb. Yes, this virus was more powerful. But if her recall was accurate, it also had a flaw. She said nothing. If only she could get another look at it to be sure. Not that there was anything she could do about it anyway, but it would be nice to know if she was right. And she couldn’t ask Sally2 to see it without raising suspicions. Sally2 was already on the verge of irrationality over the loss of Andre.