Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (43 page)

“W
hat do you see, Walter?” Greg asked.

“It looks like the girl is moving toward me. She’s about five, no six, stacks from where they both stopped. Now she’s moving out to the edge. She stopped. She waved to me! Tell her I see her.” He waved back.

“Okay. How about Jack?”

“He moved the opposite way, just not as far. I see him . . . no, he just disappeared into the stacks again. What’s up? What’s he going to do?”

“Ever been hunting, Walter? I think Jack’s gonna flush the game for Sydney.”

“Oh.”

“Just hang tight, Walter, you’re doing great.”

“I was thinking. You want me to hit him with the hopper?”

Greg looked at the mic in disbelief. Hit him with the hopper? The thing weighed tons. How was he going to pull that off? He had to ask. “How would you do it?”

“Well, not to brag, but I’ve been doing this a long time and I’m pretty good at it. This crane is real sensitive and I’ve actually been moving pretty slowly with it up to now. If he decides to move out into the open I can probably knock his little dick in the dirt with it.”

“I don’t know, Walter. The stuff he has in that backpack is real fragile. If Jack asks for it, give it to him, but until then let’s try to get him in one piece. What’s in the hopper anyway?”

“Few tons of cement.”

“Still liquid?”

Walter checked his watch. “Yeah, not for much longer though.”

“Okay. It’s Jack’s call. Right now just do the shadowing thing, it’s working well.”

“You got it.”

•      •      •

Jack lay on his belly in the dirt and looked around the stack at ground level. He scanned for no more than a second before pulling his head back. He had repeated the maneuver three times now and the bruised tissue over his right lung protested more every time. His breathing was a little more rapid and shallow. May have a bruised lung, he thought to himself. He’d have to get it checked out later. Right now he pushed it from his mind.

He gazed up at the hopper. It was nearly overhead. The man had to be close by. Enough time had passed for Sydney to be in position. He rose to his feet and placed both hands on the gun.

“Greg, I’m gonna fire one shot to flush him out.”

“Got it.” Jack heard him relay the information to the other team members. He took a deep breath and fired a round into the stacks across the row from him and then spun to go around it in the opposite direction.

•      •      •

The round had its desired effect as it ricocheted off the stacked steel and whizzed past the Deliveryman before embedding itself in the lumber he was currently hiding behind. He was measuring the distance to the cover of the ramp when the shot happened and he automatically moved toward it at a sprint, sending a few rounds in the direction of the shot. He was halfway there when he was bathed in shadow from above. He looked over his shoulder to see the hopper swinging down at him only a foot off the ground. He dove to the ground and it missed him by inches. He scrambled to his feet to see it now between himself and the cover of the ramp. He sprinted away toward the new foundations, only to see a woman emerge from the stacks and aim a gun at him. He fired off a round in her direction, but all she did was sink into a crouched shooting position and return fire.

The round impacted his chest and spun him around. He ran on for a few steps until another struck him in the lower back, he collapsed into the dirt just short of the new foundation concrete.

•      •      •

Jack had made it around the stack just in time to see the Deliveryman running through the flock of seagulls he had scared into the air with the gunshot. He took off after him only to see the hopper nearly swing into the man. As he rose from the dirt and changed directions, Jack was horrified to see him run directly toward Sydney while firing in her direction. Before he could get a shot off he saw a bullet impact the man’s chest and spin him around. Yet somehow the man stayed upright and once again raised his arm to shoot. Jack fought his training to shoot center-mass and put a round through his lower back. The man crumbled to the ground.

•      •      •

No! Sydney screamed in her head even as she pulled the trigger. The round entered the man’s chest and she watched helplessly as he spun around only to be hit again by Jack. As the man’s lifeless body skidded to a halt in the dirt she was already running toward him.

“Jack, help me!”

She ran to the body and flipped him over just as Jack got there. They both looked in horror at the growing spot of fluid leaking from the backpack. Sydney’s round had passed straight through his chest and also through the backpack.

“Blood?” Jack asked hopefully.

“You want to chance it?” she shot back.

Jack grabbed his collar. “Greg, we need the decon team here now!”

“Two minutes!” was Greg’s reply.

“Two minutes,” he told Sydney.

She looked around. The seagulls were already landing back around them and the breeze was blowing in swirls around the pit.

“That’s too long!” She pulled a garbage bag from her pocket and shook it out. “Help me get the backpack off!”

They flipped the body back over and attacked the knots. They were rock hard, too tight to move.

“Gimme a knife!” she demanded.

“I don’t have one!”

Sydney scanned the area around them but nothing offered a solution . . . unless.

“The cement! We throw him in the cement!” she announced.

“Will that work?”

“Better than leaving it exposed to these birds!”

Jack didn’t argue, he just grabbed a strap on his side while she did the same on hers. Together they dragged the man five yards and threw him into the new concrete. The body impacted with a dull splat but failed to sink into the hardening mix.

“Now what?” Sydney cried.

“Hold on!” Jack pulled on his collar.

“Walter!”

“Yeah, Jack?”

“Bury this guy! Hurry!”

“Okay . . . get back!”

Jack grabbed Sydney’s hand and pulled her down as Walter swung the hopper in not four feet off the ground. He quickly centered it over the man and despite it still swinging opened the chute.

Three tons of concrete quickly covered the man and then just kept on coming. Walter figured if it was important enough for Jack to want it done, he was going to get the whole thing. Besides, in twenty minutes the hopper would have been ruined.

Sydney and Jack sat in the dirt and watched the growing pile of concrete erase any sign of the man beneath it. Once the hopper was empty and hanging much higher in the air, they collapsed onto their backs.

“What happened to not shooting the vials?” Jack asked after a few silent moments.

Sydney turned her head to see his grinning face lying next to hers.

“Hey, at least I didn’t shoot at you this time.”

“And I should thank you for that?”

“Yes you should.”

They were still laughing when they heard Walter’s voice on the radio.

“Is it okay if I come down now?” This launched even more laughter.

Jack finally sat up. He noticed a team of six men walking down the ramp toward them. They were all wearing blue space suits. A pumper truck was following them at a slow pace, the remote nozzle on the front already turning around. The men started shaking out what looked like body bags, but were actually containment suits. One for each of them, this was not going to be pleasant.

“Well, Walter, it’s over, but if I were you I’d just stay up there for a little while longer.”

Hopes raised for universal flu drug.
February 23, 2009—The Independent
 

—EPILOGUE—

T
hey all watched the video of the decontamination process. After Jack and Sydney had been bagged in their plastic cocoons and loaded into nearby ambulances, the fire department sprayed the entire area down with bleach and water. Even Walters’s hopper had received a good soaking and, to his relief, all the leftover concrete was washed away. He was worried they’d somehow blame him for the hopper being ruined if the concrete had managed to set up. But it hadn’t, and Walter was treated to a rigorous debriefing by the feds where he was given a cover story that was even believable. The city had a new hero to stand next to the firemen and police officers involved that day and Walter and his wife Florence were being treated to the best restaurants in town as well as visits from the mayor and the governor.

Jack smiled at the TV as he thumbed the remote to turn it off. He hoped Walter enjoyed his fame more than he did. Unfortunately several news cameras had his mug on film and the whole thing had blown up again. The only good thing about it was he and Sydney had been in quarantine for several days and had an excellent excuse to deny interviews.

He spun in the chair and faced the man sitting across from him. He and Sydney had requested the meeting and the man had readily complied. It was unofficial. As far as the press knew, the man was on vacation. He had arrived at Jack’s beach house in secret and would leave that way.

“So the story is still a wacko who made some homemade anthrax? Is the story going to hold?”

“I believe so. All the elements are in place and nobody has any other theories outside of the usual conspiracy theory crackpot websites. I think this will blow over without too much of a problem, and to top it off, the FBI and Homeland Security get a win in front of the home crowd. It’s nice when the public can see their tax dollars at work.”

“There was no trace of the virus found?” Sydney asked.

“No. We’ll test for a couple weeks after the body is exhumed, but I’m told we dodged a bullet. Once we chip the guy out of the cement, we’ll see how many vials he had just to make sure we got it all. But that will take some time. We don’t want to rush this, but the sooner we get that big tent out of the World Trade Center, the sooner they’ll quit showing it on the news, and I can quit doing the damn Sunday morning news shows.”

“What about the bonds?” Jack asked.

“Soaked with agent and blood? Did you want them?”

Jack shook his head with a smile. “No, sir.”

“Didn’t think so.” The man stirred his drink. “On a more serious note, I’ve talked to a few people and the consensus is that the program will stay in place. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but that’s what some very smart people have convinced me of. I didn’t make the decision lightly, I want you to know that. I’m a numbers man, Jack. If you want to convince me of something you have to show me numbers. Well, I’ve seen a lot of numbers in the last month and I’ve verified almost all of them. I’m having the data forwarded to you. Numbers don’t lie. So for now, the program stays.

“However, I’m also looking at some other numbers. Funding for NASA, seawater desalination, and crop research will enjoy a large boost in the near future, as will population control measures. The global warming initiative is also getting a boost. Next month, the new fishing treaties go into effect and the penalties have been raised significantly for all violators. It’s a start, but hopefully it will grow from there and we can get ahead of the problem. That’s about all we can hope for right now.”

Jack sipped his drink while he thought about what the man had said. Sydney caught his eye and after a moment gave an almost imperceptible nod. He agreed.

“I like what I’m hearing, sir, but I think I’ll need to hold on to the discs I spoke of, for awhile, just the same. But you have my word that they won’t go any further.”

“That’s a reasonable agreement, Mr. Randall.”

“Then you can tell him we have a deal.”

“Yes. He won’t like it, but hey, most of them only get one term anyway. He’ll run a decent campaign, but his people will fumble it at the end. It won’t be a landslide. It’ll look like it was a tight race all along.”

The man rose to leave but stopped to take one last look out at the ocean.

“Nice place you have here, Jack. I always did love the ocean. Maybe I’ll have to get a place like this in a few years.”

“You’re welcome here anytime, Senator.”

“Miss Lewis.” He shook Sydney’s hand before straightening his hat and walking down the deck toward his car. There he did something he rarely did and sat down behind the wheel. The seashell driveway crackled under the wheels as Senator Teague pulled away. It was a long drive back to the District.

•      •      •

Toby scratched his head as he gazed into the bag. He counted twenty of the small vials and was at a loss as to what they were. All he knew was that he had to hold on to them. The bag they were in was opaque and had a waterproof seal so he could put it just about anywhere. Whatever it was, he was sure he didn’t want it in the house. If someone ever came looking for it, he wanted to have deniability.

He sealed the bag tight and walked out of the house. Following a narrow path he walked through the vegetation to his small chicken coop. The birds scattered as he stepped through the door. He’d built the roost up to the ceiling and the hens had made the most of every space. He selected a spot up in one corner of the roof where they couldn’t get to it and stuffed the package in and out of sight. The roof was new with a steel covering over thick tar paper. He had screwed it down with twice the number needed and it had survived two hurricanes without budging. He wondered how long it would be till he saw his friend again. Maybe a year, maybe five? You never really knew with him. But he would hold on to the stuff for him for as long as it took. He was sure that sooner or later he would forget all about it.