Thicker Than Blood (22 page)

Joe broke the silence. "So what do I do?" Mark breathed again. "Simple, carry the laptop to the middle of the ally we drop you in. Move it around until the external network card glows green. Then hide, put your clarks on and wait for the word that we are ready to roll." "That's pretty easy." "It's important, it needs to work. Lucy and Dr. Graceland need us." "Oh and Joe, make sure to grab the laptop on the way out. These guys actually have a war driving security team ready to go. As soon as that video starts playing, they'll be looking to find it, and then Buddy." Joe smiled. They waited in the dark listening to noises all around them. The pavement changed its pitch as they rolled over the bridge. The driver blew his horn a couple of times, locking the brakes up once. Joe looked solemn. At one point he picked up a spray can bonking him on the head, and held it up to the light of his clarks. Apparently satisfied, he put it in his leather jacket. What's that all about, Mark wondered. The car came to an abrupt halt. The trunk popped. Joe followed Mark into the blinding artificial light. Mark pointed toward an ally. Joe flipped his clarks down and ran toward it with laptop in hand. Mark ran toward the park across the street. A quick glance around revealed two mounted police who seemed to have little interest in Mark. Mark did notice a dozen Triple Six Towncars idling around the WBLA building. I wonder if my uncle sent all those cars here, Mark thought. Mark found the park bench he was looking for. It happened to be marked with a white "X" He sat down and powered his laptop on. Mark thought he saw the tip of a samurai sword and a sneaker fly down an ally when his eyes snapped back to the cab. I guess he wanted me to see him, Mark thought sarcastically. He wondered how much of Kento was for real and how much was talk.

Scott should have been fired, not promoted. MIR should be under any of a dozen different lawyers and Scott should be sitting in front of a congressional committee. Just sending that swat team to the Vallone house in the middle of the night, without confirming that Vallone was nanite free was gross incompetence. Nathan Jones was sneering. Instead I'm in NY after the fact, trying to clean up his mess. At the least the joint chiefs should have seen his recklessness. They should have called up Secretary Jackson, and set him straight. They should have dragged the president into the war room and not let him out until he saw the truth. Joe Vallone is the most dangerous man alive. He could melt people from the inside in minutes. He could extract Uranium from seawater and enrich it as he saw fit. He could make Kevlar from dirt or turn every vehicle in this city into a time bomb that no one could hear tick. Nathan stared at the Mayor's top aide, two Police Sergeants, a Lieutenant from the New York National Guard, an FBI rookie, and a couple of New York City Hazmat officers. The stupidity is boundless, Nathan thought to himself. "Council Jones?" The first New York City Police Sergeant was calling his name. Nathan stared at the crowd milling about their makeshift command center. He hung his head. I always suspected, but now I know, Nathan thought. Scott is not up for this job. For something this important, it should never come down to luck. "Do you think we should call it a night?" the first Hazmat officer asked. "We haven't slept in three nights and we can barely stay awake." Nathan ignored his question. 207

"So FBI forensics ran the matter from the karate studio's toilet." "Yes sir," the first police Sargent replied, "No matches against the database so far. Just the students we sampled." "And none of the students know where they went?" "No sir," The young FBI man answered. "How about the taxi? Did anyone see what company it was?" "No sir, a newish black Towncar is the best description we have," the second Sargent answered. "Any luck with the dispatch interviews?" Nathan asked growing impatient. "No, it may not even matter though, because it could have been a private vehicle," the FBI rookie answered. "When are we going to get some answers? This is life and death." Nathan's voice was hoarse. The second Hazmat officer asked, "When are we going to get some answers? We don't have any information on the pathogens involved. We might be able to trace some part of them." "When it's cleared." He stalled. "How can we prepare for an epidemic when you give us zero information?" The first Hazmat officer stood up, knocking his chair over. "No specimens. No background. No models. It could be the rhino virus for all I know. I'm beginning to think you made it up." "It's very real." Nathan stood up too. The other Hazmat officer pushed his chair away. "Look, we honestly don't care when we can get started on an antidote, since most vaccines take years to gear up production for. But common sense should tell us that we at least need a quarantine, and or an evacuation plan." "We can't evacuate, the trail will go cold. He'll get away," Nathan sneered, "Then no one will be safe." Years of practice only go so far. Three days without more than an hour of sleep is too much. Damn it Scott, I'm painted into a corner here, declassify something. Nathan's skills for rational thinking were breaking down. The mayor's aide spoke up. "Mr Jones, the Mayor concurs with Hazmat and the CDC, the trail has gone cold. It's time for models." "The CDC has no power here." "No, but they do have sense and experience." The aide looked exasperated.

The door burst open. A detective in plain clothes looked around and reached for a remote control on the table. Nathan lost his temper. "Who are you, get out!" The detective glared at Nathan and turned a TV hanging from the wall on. Joe Vallone was on the TV. "car accident. It should have killed me." Holy shit. "I'll have their license. What station?" Nathan stared at the detective. "B.L.A." "Call them. Tell them to shut down." "Off the air?" The mayor's aide asked, surprised. "They were all told, no interviews." He felt like a cornered animal. "Where is it?" Council Jones was on the verge of panic. "BLA's about twelve blocks north of here. On 41st." He pointed at the first Sergeant. "You, give me a squad car now!" The detective tossed him his keys. "You break it, you bought it." "Which car?" Nathan blurted out. He was poised by the door. The detective spoke slowly. "The brown Impala, it's out front." Nathan was already out the door. The mayor's aide and the second Sergeant followed his quick strides. "Should I send any local cars there?" the officer huffed. "No. He might be there. They're not ready." Nathan growled practically jogging. "How many officers should I send with you?" he inquired. "As many as you can spare." He smiled. "You realize he may not be there? This may have been pre-recorded." The mayor's aide easily keep stride. "I'm not an idiot. I know that," Nathan snarled. "Sidearm?" the chief offered his upholstered semi-automatic pistol. Without thinking, he turned it away. The two other men slowed to a walk. He broke into a full sprint down the stairs. He heard several men running behind him. I assume that they are coming too, he thought. I doubt they can keep up. He was a soldier again. His vision began to tunnel as he barreled down the six flights of stairs. His blood was boiling.

Nathan burst through the front doors of the precinct and immediately spotted the brown undercover car. He hit the remote start button on the keychain. The car started and loud mu?ers let out a grumble. He flung the door open, and put it in drive. The door quickly closed itself as the tires squealed and then caught. He saw the confused laggards just finding the front door. Weaklings. No drive. He fumbled around for a siren first on the roof and then by the radio. It squelched and then started howling. He yanked the cell phone out of his pocket, nearly throwing it across the car. Nathan pulled a forty mile an hour power slide through a red light. A women crossing the street dove for cover. Nathan pushed a button on the phone. "Conner, speaker," he yelled into it. The phone rang out loud. A voice-mail service with a women's voice picked up. "You have reached the office of Scott Conner." "Crap." Nathan slammed on the brake. The intersection ahead was blocked. "Hangup," Nathan yelled. The message stopped. Nobody was moving out of Nathan's way. I hate New York, he thought. Nathan spotted a single small car blocking a path through a small park. Nathan drove the Impala right up against its bumper and pushed its dismayed driver right out of the way. It's brake lights were still glowing as he scraped past it. Nathan pushed the button on his phone again as he sped down the dog walk in the little park. "Laurence, speaker," Nathan barked. The phone rang once. "Hello Scott?" Council Laurence sounded serene. "Call the FCC, shut down WBLA, now!" Nathan yelled over the sirens at the cell phone in his lap. "What's going on?" Laurence's voice cracked a little. "They're interviewing Vallone right now." The tires squealed as the Impala slid back onto the street. "Oh shit." "Send a decontamination team to WBLA on 41st." "How many?" "Everyone!" 210

Nathan yelled, "Hangup" as he pummeled someone's grocery cart. Nathan read the street sign. 37th, three more streets and you're mine sick man. Nathan's car came to a screaming halt behind two other squad cars parked in front of the BLA building. Four other officers were squatting behind their cars, guns drawn. They look ridiculous, he thought. Nathan introduced himself, "Nathan Jones, number two at MIR." Nathan towered over the hiding men. "We heard," one crouching cop said. "Come on, you wimps, he won't shoot you from the window." Nathan mocked them. He started walking toward the building. "Sir he's not inside. He's in the alley." Got him. "You didn't engage him," Nathan breathed deeply. "No sir. He hasn't seen us yet." "You two go around the back, so he doesn't escape." He pointed the two far officers. "You two with me." He jogged toward the ally with the two NYC cops in tow. They rounded the corner and he immediately recognized Vallone's silhouette. Vallone was holding a wick lighter. It was lit. He tossed it to the ground and ran. One of the cops yelled, "Stop." A three foot flame erupted from the ground. Both cops hit the deck. Nathen Jones flinched but knew better. He ran toward the flame. "Sergio" was written in flames across the width of the alley. Vallone had already darted around the corner. Nathan ran after him. He rounded the corner and looked after Joe to the left, and then to the right. Nathan felt himself break into a cold sweat as he ran from car to car looking inside. He was stopping black cars and yelling at their drivers. The cops followed him from the ally and did the same. No Vallone. Nathan banged on the window of a Towncar, "Did you see a man running?" The middle eastern man started rolling down the window. "What is the big commotion. He went that way. He got in a cab." Nathan saw a cab rounding the corner on the other side of the park. He couldn't make out the plate, it was too far. 211

The far cops ran around the corner. Nathan looked over at them and realized there were a hundred black livery cars in every direction. And they were all driving away. "Fuck! I had him." Nathan fell to his knees. He felt like crying.

WBLA's current sitcom was interrupted with static. After a couple of seconds, a film with poor color flicked on. A pale Joe Vallone looked angry and frustrated. "Well here it goes." "My name is Joe Vallone. You might know me from Cyborg Wars on NYN. Probably more recently from the supposed bio-terror attack. I need you to know that there was no attack. I need you to know that, for my team owner and friend Lucy Kane. I need you to know, for my Aunt Teressa, whose only crime was helping her sick nephew. They have both completely disappeared since the so-called attack. Lucy did not even know the nanites existed." Joe stared to the side of the camera for a second and nodded. "This started three weeks ago when I was in a car accident. It should have killed me. I am a hemophiliac and was badly cut up. I was an inch from death when I arrived at the hospital my Aunt, Dr. Graceland, works at. To save my life she injected me with blood-borne nanites that she has been secretly helping MIR to develop. They helped get extra oxygen to my brain while my body repaired itself." Joe swallowed. He lifted a piece of notebook paper into view and started reading. "That is where her part ended. Mark and I started fiddling with nanites we extracted from my blood. We got them to reproduce. We injected me with them to test them." "Nanites may be illegal, but they are real now. MIR has been lying." The video cut from Joe, to the view from Joe's clarks at the Olympic trials. "Here is what you didn't see from the "terrorist" attack at the Olympic trials. I was looking for a terrorist myself. I believed Mark's Iranian cousin Amman may have planned on attacking the trials." The video showed Joe jumping the railing, and running from the guard's drawn guns. He clearly outran the athletes on the track. "That same night, I went to see my father." The video cut to Joe hiding in the shrubs at his fathers house. "MIR had told the police I was armed and dangerous," Joe's tone changed, "My father was drunk and was shot down for having a bottle in his hand." The TV displayed the roadblock from Joe's view and the front door opening. WBLA clicked off the air.

Skyler puffed on his cigar to keep from gritting his teeth. The cold grave he was sitting on was starting to tire him out. A light coat of snow covered the small bare trees scattered throughout the Kingsland Cemetery. I should have left my tree-stand and cammo here on my last run. I'd be lounging in comfort from the woods. Skyler looked back longingly at the tree line behind him. Skyler Truman stood up and held his rifle in front of him and scanned for traffic through its magnified scope. He instinctively thumbed the safety as he trained the gun on a passing truck. No A Team. Just another rig. Frustrated, he sat back down on his grave. He was hidden from the view of the road by a mausoleum. We're going to miss our window, and then things are going to get weird. We've got three more hours, tops. He racked his brain to come up with a viable plan C. His thoughts returned to longing for his hunting camouflage. Who am I kidding, Skyler thought, I'd be asleep up in the tree. The radio on his hip squelched lightly. A woman's voice with a southern accent echoed softly. "SG you there?" He unhooked it from his belt and tapped the button. "No CB, I'm asleep in a tree," he retorted. "You're going to miss your window." The women's voice was a little sarcastic. "I know what I'm doing." He replied. The radio was silent for a few seconds. He stared at a field of snow covered graves some of them more than a hundred years old. He thought about the many enemies of the United States he had dispatched with machine like precision. A cold breeze sent a shiver down his spine. "Maybe I don't know exactly what I'm doing. The TV? Maybe they're not righteous, just dumb," Skyler said sheepishly. He wondered if he was being vague enough, even for their illegitimate frequency. "You're doing fine hunny bunny." The women's voice soothed him. "You know the right thing when you see it. If anything they made it easier for you. You're not the only suspicious one now." "Yeah right. People could care less," he replied, "I'm watching for the eagle, you'll see him when he lands." "Everybody uses that for everything," she replied. "Exactly." He grinned. He clipped the radio back on his belt, and lifted the rifle to scan another passing truck. It was a cop car. What would a cop be doing all the way out here. You'd be lucky to get one in a half hour if you called them. Relax Skyler, he thought. Somebody must have started a brawl at the bar. He unclipped the radio from his belt. "CB, you there?" "I'm here sugar." "What's doing at the hornets' nest." "They seem pretty calm, a little ruckus out front, nothing new." "A big TY." "I love you SG," she purred. "I love you CB," he replied. He clipped the radio back on his belt, and lifted the long rifle to scan another passing truck. A new set of headlights crested the distant ridge. He stood up and scanned the road through his sight. It was a black Lincoln Towncar. That has got to be them. Nobody up here has that kind of money. He watched as the Lincoln suddenly slowed down by the side of the road. They must have just realized they were here. The trunk popped and Joe and Mark climbed out, small bags in tow. A third man got out of the passenger side door. Robert's face became clear as he trotted around the car. Skyler watched as he slung his sword across his back. The rifle's sight trained on the horizon again. No trucks yet. Robert tugged Joe's jacket and the two of them started walking quickly toward the middle of the graveyard. He noticed the light shadows from their footprints in the moonlight. No clouds, fucking snow and they are all wearing dark colors, he thought. I would pay fifty grand for light fog. If we're interrupted, I'm going to have start shooting people or leave them here. Skyler growled under his breath and resisted the urge to flick off the safety. He trained back on Mark and the Towncar. Come on dummy, he thought, you're in the open. Mark shook the drivers hand and started jogging toward the others. Not up the middle, this is all wrong. His radio squelched. "SG, baby, the exterminator has come and gone, he's headed your way." Oh crap. He glanced at the not so distant tree break on the west side of the highway. He saw headlights reflecting off the furthest trees. Not just headlights, sirens. We've got ten seconds, he thought. Skyler scanned over to the taxi. He was just finishing a three point turn and beginning to accelerate east. He pointed his sight toward the boys. They weren't walking fast anymore. They were casually reading gravestones as they strolled along. I told them the back of the graveyard. So much for the plan. He stepped out from behind the mausoleum. The boys didn't see him. How do they not see me? I have no choice. Skyler yelled to them. "Hit the dirt, five oh," his voice echoed across the graveyard. Joe immediately jumped to the ground. Robert dragged a confused looking Mark to the ground behind a small grave. "Baby you read me?" The women's voice resonated. He crouched down behind the mausoleum again and watched the cop whiz by with his lights on. He saw on coming headlights as the cop disappeared. He scanned the boy's positions and saw Mark start to get up. "Wait!" Skyler yelled. A truck approached and zipped by going in the other direction. He crouched next to the edifice, and scanned both east and west though his sight. Satisfied he stood up. "Get up and get back here now! " He saw them get up and start trotting. "Run, this ain't no game." 217