The Plague Years (Book 1): Hell is Empty and All the Devils Are Here (5 page)

“Call your legal department Macklin, you’ll find I can do just that, but be careful what you say and to whom because the FBI will be notified about the nature of this briefing before the day is out, and unless I miss my guess, any calls you will make will be gone over with a microscope. I recommend that you use Dr. Riley’s setup after I am done. This is just a suggestion mind you, but this must go up the chain NOW. Erskin, same applies to you.”

Then the General spoke loudly to the whole room.

“Everyone will kindly give my Aide-De-Camp your name and contact information. Until you have been briefed on appropriate security protocols, you may not speak to anyone on this. There is a bunch more but you will have to wait for the briefing.”     

May 5
th
, Friday, 7:31 pm PDT

Special Agent Horace T. Macklin was sitting in his hotel room with some very fine Bunnahabhain eighteen year old scotch in his glass. He could hardly taste it. The interview with General Buckley’s aide had not been good. The phone call right after General Buckley’s confidentiality declaration to DHS legal counsel was even less helpful. Not only did they agree with General Buckley’s interpretation of the law, they made it clear that they REALLY didn’t even want to talk to him about this until they had guidance from the Deputy Director. It was pretty clear; his stock in Washington was low. He was wallowing in good scotch and self-pity when his personal cell phone rang.

“Macklin.”

“This is Deputy Director Erickson. I want you to listen and not talk. I just got off the phone with General McPherson. He is the Chief of Staff of the Army and Academy roommate of Lt. General Buckley. You remember General Buckley don’t you?

“It was General McPherson’s impression that you had been dragging your feet on some pretty important disaster prep issues relating to the Plague. He also made it plain that you had been suppressing the latest data out of California for infection rates, spreading half truths about the paucity of DHS support, that you had interfered with local police procedures, and other bothersome charges. He also spoke at profane length about your parentage, eating habits, and made a couple of suggestions that are frankly, anatomically impossible. Just what the hell do you think you are playing at?!”

“Sir, I was following your direction on keeping this out of the public eye so as not to arouse …”

“I never said,” said Erickson forcefully interrupting Macklin before he could get started, “that you were to misinform or antagonize the very people who are providing us with the epidemiology data we need to make decisions. I never said that you were to horn your way onto a General’s private jet for God sakes, and tell him that the sky is bright pink. DHS stock is low enough as it is with various government agencies. We don’t need this.

“The next time I get a call from any Government Agency about you, it better be proclaiming accolades about how you and DHS are bending over backwards to work this situation. We are extremely shorthanded right now but don’t think that I can’t recall you. Hell, a trained monkey could do better that this.”

Before Macklin could object, the phone went dead.

May 5
th
, Friday, 8:45 pm PDT

Dave Tippet was just cleaning up after dinner when he heard someone playing the blues on an acoustic guitar outside. It could only be his neighbor. Chad was a pretty good amateur guitarist. He played for all the kid’s birthdays until they got too old and too cool. He still played to woo his wife and last year, when they took a week long guys-only road trip to Jackson Hot Springs in Montana to drink beer and cross country ski, he had played every night in the bar at the resort and got them both of them free drinks all night long. He could play oldies, country, and folk but he saved the blues for when he was really feeling low.

Dave grabbed a couple of beers out of his fridge and headed out to the patio. The sun had already gone down but it was still light enough to see Chad and his old 1937 Gibson L-50. His eyes were closed and he was doing some finger work on a blues tune he had been writing unsuccessfully for the last ten years.

“How about a beer,” said Dave far enough out so he didn't startle Chad.

The music stopped as Chad put the old guitar lovingly in its case and closed the lid.

“I heard a wise man say once that you should never turn down hot coffee or a cold beer”, said Chad.

“You should listen to him more,” said Dave. “OK, the last time I heard the blues at night, Connor had an accident with that hot rod 68 Camaro you hide in the garage. Did you give Fi a driving lesson in it?”

They both laughed. Fiona had told her Dad that she was going to take her driving test in the Camaro. She had made the statement when she was eight.

“No, Fi is much more focused on soccer and dogs right now than driving. No, it was just a hell of a day. I can’t tell you any details but that subject we discussed yesterday is big news in some quarters. My NDA got thrown out the window and I am now subject to the Espionage Act and the Patriot Act provisions if I fart wrong. Say what does, ORCON and NOFORN mean in English?”

“That went with Top Secret didn’t it?” said Dave as he cracked open his beer.

“Yeah.”

“You just farted wrong, you are not even supposed to say that. ORCON means that only the originating command can authorize dissemination of the data. NOFORN means that no foreign nationals can be made aware of whatever it is you talked about. This is serious shit. We probably better change the subject.”

“OK, you remember me telling you stories about Captain Antonopoulos who headed up the intel section I worked for at Hurlburt?”

“Yeah, he was a tanker toad wasn’t he?”

“Close, trash haulers, he was doing a staff rotation in intel. He was a straight shooter and could drink Ouzo like it was water. I met up with him today.”

“Why do I think it wasn’t a social call?”

“He has the 62
nd
Airlift Wing at McChord. We had a drink after the briefing I can’t tell you about.”

“So you talked about your kids and the stock market?”

“Ha! Well some of that, his oldest is Connor’s age, but the five minutes that mattered were on the way in. He said the military has, for the last two weeks been canceling leaves, restricting people to bases for various exercises, and generally has been upping security. They have also been using discretionary funds to pick up food, ammo, gasoline, and other things they might need. He said prices are going up soon so I better get while the getting is good.”

“They think it is real then and have for a while,” said Dave.

“Yeah, this is just speculation mind you, but we do this kind of work all the time and our group is at least a month late getting into the game. I am not supposed to tell you that we were late getting real stuff and the first data set from Homeland Security was bogus.”

“You just farted again,” said Dave taking a pull on his beer. “I will keep this under my hat, but at the classification level we are discussing, they monitor people, plant bugs, interview their friends.”

“You are right, change of subject, I also gave Colonel Antonopoulos all the dope we have on vectors, transmission rates, and therapies. All the stuff that Terry Grieb was working on and I have a copy for you too,” said Chad as he handed Dave a thick manila folder. “I figured you ought to know about everything I haven’t had a chance to brief you on it.”

“Chad, you just went from farting to diarrhea,” said Dave as he looked over the material. “This is interesting and damned useful but don’t say anything about this to anybody. I mean it. This means jail time if you are caught. This subject is officially closed.”

  Ok, Ok, on another topic Mary is also really pissed,” said Chad. “She hasn’t answered her phone all afternoon; I was hoping I could fix things up with a dinner out or something. The kids are off with their friends; Connor and his friends are off to see a movie and Fi is at a sleepover birthday party, I thought maybe ….”

“That’s a different kind of classification pal, but I get where you are at,” said Dave wistfully. “My Kathy had a hell of a temper too …”

“Geez Dave, I am sorry, I didn’t mean ….”

“Da Nada, I need to start talking about life with her more. It was a big part of me and besides all I was going to say was that, yeah, we had our moments, but getting back together made it worth it. I suspect that when her mad blows over, things will improve,” said Dave with a leer and a smile.

“I think that was Mary’s car in the driveway,” said Dave with hope and dread all at once.

“I think I’ll use this moment to make a quick exit,” said Dave as he gathered both beers and the briefing papers as it wouldn’t do to leave evidence and headed back across the patio.

Chad headed for the garage and found Mary sitting in her car in tears.

“I am so done for,”
thought Chad as he knocked on the window.

Mary looked startled and then recognized Chad. She threw open the car door and was in his arms.

“I had one hell of a day Chad,” said Mary between sobs.

“What happened love?”

“We had that big wedding reception, the one I told you about with the buffet, a band, open bar and dancing, the works. Well the father of the bride came and we thought he was drunk.”

“That’s happened more than once,” said Chad who was relieved he wasn’t the proximate cause of the tears.

“Yeah, so I didn’t get too upset. But when I shook his hand, he felt like he was burning up and real shortly afterward, he collapsed right there at the doorway to the restaurant.”

“So he was really lit then?”

“That’s what I thought but he had this big bleeding wound that was soaking though a bandage and his shirt.”

Alarm bells started to go off in Chad’s head.

“So what happened?” said Chad warily.

“Heather called the ambulance and the police, we still thought he was drunk or maybe on something, and he struggled with the ambulance folks who strapped him down and hauled him away. The police took our statement and I thought that was the end of it. I started seeing what we could salvage from the buffet but we still ended up tossing a thousand dollars’ worth of food into the dumpster.

“I thought that was the end of it until about two hours later, the police were back and they were really picky about what this guy touched and took it away, including a tray of shrimp he was eating. For evidence they said. They asked a whole bunch of questions and then, and then …” Mary trailed off and began sobbing again.

“What happened love?” asked Chad as a cold fear started to eat at his heart.

“This had to be the third case they briefed us on,”
Chad thought with alarm.

“They found out I had touched him; you know, I shook his hand and then when he collapsed and I eased him to the floor. Next thing you know, I was in an ambulance. I couldn’t even call you! They took my phone. I was rushed to an emergency room where they asked a bunch more questions and then they took my clothes! Even my underwear …,” said Mary as she began to sob.

Chad couldn’t contain himself anymore.

              “Honey, did you touch the wound?”

Mary pushed out of his arms and was again all fiery Irish redhead, her finger stabbing into Chad’s chest hard.

“You know something Chad Strickland! That is just what they asked and for your information, the answer is no, I got him to the floor, saw that the bleeding wasn’t arterial and called for the pros. Now you tell me what you know?!”

“Dear, I promise I will tell you all I can, but what happened?”

“They disinfected the crap out of me is what happened. And then they sent me home in some paper hospital clothes. They said mine were ‘evidence’; for what, they still wouldn’t tell me. Then when I got back to work to get some clothes, you know I keep a set of extra clothes at work in case of spills or what not; well the place was closed and there was yellow police tape all around it. There was that nice police officer who had been Connor’s assistant scout master in charge, and he let me go in and get my personal stuff and change. And then I came home and I still don’t have my cell phone!”

Mary again began to cry and was in Chad’s arms.

“Everything is OK honey …..” said Chad trying to be soothing.

“It is not! What do you know, that NDA be damned?!”

“Ok honey, I have been working on a communicable disease that sounds like what you went through. I swear, the closest case as of yesterday was Bend, Oregon, two hundred and fifty miles from here. Then early this morning, there were two more at the I-82 interchange. This is the one that is on the news, that whole washing hands and not sharing food is part of this.

“Now I need to ask you a question,” said Chad. “You know more about this most recent case than I do. Who is he? Where did he come from?”

“I am sorry, but that is private information. We can’t go around blabbing details about our customers now can we?”

There were still tears in Mary’s eyes but there was also some of the twinkle and laughter that had brought them together twenty-two years ago.

“Ouch! Point,” said Chad with a smile.

“Just for you, the guy was in the movie business some way, one of those hyphenated titles like writer-producer-director or something. He had a house on the beach north of LA and another in wine country near Zillah, Washington, just down the road from here.”