The Beginning of the End (Book 1): Toward the Brink (16 page)

Petty. So petty
.

“Sir, the Secretary of Defense, on advice he received from the Joint Chief, has recommended moving the ICBMs out of Great Falls, Montana. In light of the recent news of the illness spreading.”

“And move them where? To another base that will probably experience the same in a few months’ time?”

“I agree with you, sir. I don’t see the point, but the missiles do present another problem.”

“Does anybody think that any of these sick people … What is it again they’re being called?”

“Foamers, sir.”

“Right. Does anyone seriously think that these foamers are capable of operating such equipment and launching a missile?”

“No, sir. No one has suggested that at all. Perhaps we could meet halfway, sir, and have the missiles’ launching capabilities shut down.”

The President nodded while thinking it over. It was an obvious choice.

“That’s a good idea, Tom, but just let me think on it a bit, okay? Now, any news on Flint?”

“No, sir. He hasn’t been seen since the last meeting he attended, and I think as more people become aware of the full extent of the danger, we’ll see quite a few more disappearing.”

“What makes you say that, Tom?”

“Well, sir,” Tom rubbed his forefingers across his brow, “the Director of the CIA has now gone missing.”

While the President and his Chief of Staff discussed the plight of the country, a body that bore the description of the missing CIA director was pulled out of the upper Potomac River.

The long hand of the Chamber had reached out.

# # #

Darkness eventually claimed victory over daylight in Twin Falls, enveloping the town like a giant monk’s robe. The five inhabitants of Goodwin’s Army/Navy Surplus bunkered down for their last night in the city. It was after 9 p.m. when they heard the first vehicle drive down the street.

“Turn the lights out,” Mulhaven whispered.

Everyone in the store fell silent as the car passed by.

“Judging by the sound, it’s not the National Guard,” Elliot said.

“Sounded worse than my old car,” Cindy said.

“Looters,” the Tall Man added.

An hour or so later, a National Guard Hummer
did
come patrolling along the street.

“Shouldn’t we let them know we’re here? I mean, it is the National Guard, right?”

“We don’t know that, Cindy. Things have become desperate. They could just as well be well-armed looters.”

“I have to agree with the sarge,” the Tall Man said. “There’s no telling how they would react.”

Not long after the Hummer passed, a moaning cry went up. Almost like a wolf in its sound, it nevertheless contained an edge of fear.

Neither Elliot, Cindy, Mulhaven, the Tall Man, nor Allan had slept for a few days. A half-hour nap here and there maybe, but that was less than substantial, and this night was proving to be worse than the previous night.

“We need to get some sleep—all of us!” Mulhaven waited until there were no sounds emanating from the street before speaking up. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning, and we need everyone’s full attention.”

“What do you suggest, Riley?” Cindy was the only one comfortable in calling the former Twin Falls police sergeant “Riley.”

“Two stay on guard. The rest sleep. I want to leave by eight, so we’ll get two shifts in.”

“Good plan. Elliot and I will take first watch.” The Tall Man took control—this was his field after all.

Mulhaven didn’t complain. He needed the rest, and Mr. Black looked more than capable.

“Okay then. Any problems with looters …”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call you straight away.”

# # #

“Sir.” Tom Transky entered the Oval Office. It was well beyond midnight on the East Coast. No one in the White House was getting any sleep, however. “Mr. Holmes is here to see you, sir.”

A tired President nodded to his Chief of Staff.

“Mr. President, thank you for seeing me at such a …”

“Cut the bullshit, Holmes, and get to the point!”

“Yes, Mr. President, as you wish.”

Holmes detailed his record of service with the CIA, NSA, Department of Defense, and a whole slew of other agencies the public didn’t even know about—even the President.

“Yes, yes, Holmes, I know of your record, but surely you came here for reasons other than to gloat.”

“Sir, read this report. It’s the fine details, but I can summarize for you.”

The President gave Holmes permission to do so, and he outlined his planned exodus of elite.

“Mr. President, as you know, we have many underground bunkers and command centers. Most of these are built to withstand a nuclear holocaust and I’m sure could withstand this diabolical food poisoning. There is an abundant amount of resources in these underground facilities, Mr. President. Your safety and the safety of your cabinet, scientists, key military leaders, and whomever you choose would be guaranteed. The only alternative, Mr. President, is to allow yourself and a good number of others to perish needlessly.”

“When should this withdrawal take place, Holmes? Should we leave now and let the people fend for themselves like wharf rats fighting over scraps?”

The President was more than just incensed by the situation; he was downright pissed that much of the information had been deliberately kept from him. He suspected Flint from CDC was involved in this treachery. He would’ve had the means at his disposal to create such a hideous disorder, but he had little doubts that Holmes was also involved.

“Mr. President, I realize we are in a harsh situation here, but …”

“Harsh situation? Harsh situation?” The President lost his cool. How could this man stand there and lie, all the while knowing of the possible death toll? How? He wanted to arrest him and have the truth extracted any way possible, but had been persuaded against this by CIA Director Coltrain, who’d suggested putting him under intense surveillance. Finding his contacts and the real people behind this barbaric act might prove to be the only hope they had to prevent the illness from spreading across the country.

“I’m sorry if I seem coldly detached from the circumstances, Mr. President, but the survival of your administration and the top people in the country is top priority, and …”

“And what, Holmes? Don’t hold anything back from me, or you’ll regret it!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. President. I was just thinking of the best way to put it.”

“How about coming straight out with it? I know straight answers are not your style, but why not try it?”

If looks could kill…
Holmes thought. Not that it concerned Holmes anymore. This would be the last President of the United States and that wouldn’t be for much longer either.

He went on and presented his case to the President, informing him that if work began right away, they could prepare enough sanctuaries above and below ground for ten million Americans. The President sat back in his plush leather chair. He stared wide-eyed at Holmes. A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach, and he felt his bowels move. He was having a meeting with Death incarnate.

# # #

After leaving Canada with false declarations, the Baer International 757 made its way without incident to Tokyo, where it refueled and was back in the air in under two hours. There were no indications of anything untoward waiting for them on the ground as they approached Thailand. Once on the tarmac at Chiang Mai Airport, however, it was a different story.

“What’s going on, Langlie, you made sure the right people got rewarded, didn’t you?” Baer asked when the jet was asked to taxi away from the terminus and for all passengers to remain onboard.

“Yes, of course, sir, but it appears there may have been a change in attitudes or perhaps our flight documents have been scrutinized more thoroughly.”

“Go talk to the captain and find out what he knows.”

Baer poured himself a Scotch and soda, a large one, while his righthand man went forward seeking answers. He took a sip of his expensive Scotch then gazed out the window. It was a quality drop for sure, but nowhere near the same price or brand that Etheridge of the Chamber preferred. He wasn’t in that league. He’d had his chance all right, was even being feted, but now that chance, like his empire, had crumpled.

“Mr. Baer, sir!” Langlie called out. “Our pilot has been in communication with the tower and was told the plane’s cargo is going to be searched. By some VIP here.”

“What?” Baer turned, sharply spilling some of his drink over himself. “What on earth for? Who is this fuck?”

Langlie told his boss the commander’s name, butchering the pronunciation in the process. He was the military commander at Chiang Mai and obviously very low on the food chain.

“We need to contact this prick and make him an offer. He’s holding out for more, that’s all. You’ll see.”

Langlie stormed back to the cockpit to contact the commander. After twenty minutes or more of working his way through intermediaries, Langlie was successful and the commander agreed to meet with Mr. Baer.

Too soon,
Langlie concluded.
He agreed too soon!
Langlie hurried back to inform his master.

“Sir, the commander is coming to see you; he agreed almost instantly. I don’t think this will be difficult at all. He’s greedy. He wants a quick score.”

“I concur with you, Langlie. Fill a travel bag with half a million U.S.; that should satisfy the beggar!”

“Sir, I would think half of that would suffice, not that it really matters. It’ll all be worthless soon, I suspect.”

Baer agreed with Langlie, but suggested filling another two bags with fifty thousand each in case the prick wanted to haggle.

Ten minutes later the commander swaggered onto the luxuriously fitted jet and took a seat opposite Baer, Langlie by his side. The commander’s aide, who remained standing to one side and behind him, spoke first.

“The general would like to make one thing clear …”

Baer held a hand up, palm out, silencing the aide. “I will make one thing even clearer,” he said as he motioned for Langlie to bring the bag containing the money to the table.

Langlie unzipped the bag as he laid it in front of the general and grinned when he saw the greedy bastard’s eyes grow wide as dinner plates. Langlie was proud of himself; he could always pick ‘em. The general stood, nodded at Baer, then Langlie, before turning to speak to his aide, who then repeated it in his best attempt at English.

“My father, err, sorry … I mean, the general, would like to say that your plane will be fuelled and cleared for take-off within forty minutes. He would also like to say thank you for understanding of the new customs fees here at Chiang Mai.” The aide then moved aside for his father to pass and fell in behind him.

“Well, thank you for coming … yes, it was a pleasure, hope to see you again, bye,” Langlie mocked as soon as the commander and his aide were off the plane.

“He got what he wanted and we got what we wanted. All we’ve lost is a bit of time, but we can make that up.” Baer said.

An hour later the Baer International private jet was back in the air and on course for Mumbai, India. Baer finally felt he could relax; four Scotch and sodas had added to that feeling. He prepared one more Scotch and soda before trying for a bit of sleep. He should have no trouble in that regard. The lights had been dimmed in the aft section of the plane. Baer had moved there for the plush lounge style seating where he could stretch out and nap. As his head started to bobble and his eyelids close, he was vaguely aware of Langlie’s approach.

“Sir, wake up, sir … Mr. Baer!” Langlie shook his employer by the shoulders.

“Wha, what is it? Langlie … what the fuck?”

“Sir, two fighters from India have pulled alongside.”

“What’s wrong with that, Langlie?” Baer recognized the tension in his voice. “They’re probably here to give us an escort.”

“No, sir!” Langlie reached over and lifted the blind next to Baer, who shielded his eyes from the unaccustomed light. “They’ve ordered us to turn away and not to approach Indian air space or they’ll be forced to shoot.”

“What that’s bullshit? We’re expected and …”

“Sir, we don’t have time for this. They just gave us this warning. We are less than five miles from their air space. Even if we turn now we will still cross into their space.”

“Get the phone. I’ll call …”

“Sir, there is no fuckin’ time!” Langlie stumbled as the plane banked hard. The safety of the plane and its passengers was the captain’s responsibility and the decision to try to turn before they crossed into Indian air space had been taken.

“What’s going on, why is the plane turning? Langlie, did you tell the captain to turn the plane? Did you? I’ll fire you if you did, you glorified thug!”

“No, I didn’t, you stupid bastard, but if he hadn’t then I would have. He’s trying to keep us alive, you cocksucker!”

No one had spoken to Phillip Baer in this manner since he was a teenager.

“It’s unlikely that he will, but I want to tell you
one
thing before we all die.”

The loud roar of supersonic jet engines interrupted the conversation as one of the Indian Sukhoi Su-30MKIs flew directly overhead. The sound of the jet struck a chord of fear in the man who wanted to control the world by controlling what the world ate.

“What? What do you have to say, you sleazy prick?”

The plane shuddered right on cue as the fireworks began inside the cabin and the pilot struggled with the big jet. He had to walk a fine line between turning it hard enough to avoid the Indian air space and avoiding a stall or a dive.

“You think all the success you had with the potato hormone was all your own doing, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something. It wasn’t!” Langlie braced himself against a chair. They had less than a mile before the plane crossed into Indian territory. “You had a lot of people behind the scenes plotting the company’s meteoric rise and making sure there were no obstructions along the way.”

“What? Like who?”

Three-quarters of a mile.

“You think Dennard was your man? Did you think he was no longer with the agency? Think again. Baer Industries never had the wherewithal to develop the kind of hormone Dennard claimed, but the agency did.”