Running with the Horde (Book 2): Delusions of Monsters Page 9

  He paused to gape at Dick who was giving him the move-it along-signal with his hand.

  “I’m sorry. I will get to the point. Ladies and gentlemen, I mean…ladies,” he stammered as he realized he had no idea the gender mix of the Syndicate. He didn’t really even know if they were indeed human.

  He stole another glance at Dick as great beads of sweat dropped down the sides of his face. Dick looked like he wanted to murder him. Andrew swallowed dramatically and continued, “In any case, we believe the extinction-level event occurred because whoever developed the virus didn’t account for the voracity of its source DNA.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Dick asked.

  “They used the nanotech to control it. To set perimeters for it. But whoever engineered it was narrow minded. They didn’t really understand what they were working with. Didn’t give the virus enough credit. Essentially they thought they had trained the beast but the beast was just biding its time before it mutated uncontrollably. It was probably far too late by the time they even realized what they’d unleashed on the world.”

  “So what are you saying?” Dick asked.

  “I’m saying your Project Simon idea is not original. It was tried once and failed fantastically. The ship and its occupant are the final result of the effort. To try it again is both arrogant and foolhardy. I have never seen anything like the technology in that ship. They were far more advanced than we are. Perhaps by thousands of years. In short, we aren’t smarter than they were. We are, in fact, quite the opposite. I urge you again to stop this madness before history repeats itself,” Andrew said. When he’d finished his speech he closed his eyes in anticipation of a punch to the face or worse.

  “Are you finished, Dr. Penrod,” Dick snarled.

  “Yes,” Andrew replied.

  “Then for all our sakes would you proceed with your update?”

  “Of course,” Andrew stammered, “In order for your bosses to achieve their, uh, vision of world peace you need to leave the masses alive after you deliver the mind-control virus, right?”

  Dick said nothing but Andrew knew from the look on his face there would be hell to pay for that little bit of sass.

  “And you have made a breakthrough, correct?” asked Dick.

  “Oh we have. We stripped away every part of the original genetic code except for the critical piece we believe to be responsible for the controlling properties. We basically neutered it. We call it Simon Lite,” Andrew said with a nervous grin.

  John moved to the next slide.

  “As you see the virus in this form is still able to hijack the cell but not actually change it forever. In addition, the enhancements we made to the nanotech will provide another layer of control.”

  “And this version will not cause an extinction-level event?” asked Dick.

  “Theoretically no,” Andrew replied.

  “The method of delivery?” asked Dick.

  “This is where it gets tricky. We need to manufacture the panic necessary in the civilian population for us to issue a special vaccine to the general public. The people in the pilot cities will get the payload shots of the live virus while everyone else across the country will get a placebo shot so we can maintain appearances. If the pilot is successful and you wish to roll this out worldwide then we would need to revisit the distribution process and come up with something more appropriate for a stage that large.”

  “When will you be able to show us a demonstration?”

  “Our human trials will begin next week. Provided all goes well we will have something to show within the month.”

  Dick was silent for a few moments and his face took on a faraway look like he was listening to some private conversation in his head. Andrew didn’t see an earpiece but for all he knew the Syndicate was communicating to him internally somehow. With the kind of technology he’d witness coming out of Area 51 over the years, nothing would surprise him.

  “Well, gentlemen, good work on this, our audience was very pleased and look forward to your demonstration. You have 30 days,” Dick said and then left the room without another word.

  Todd and John were beaming and arguing about what kind of celebratory beverage was in order. Andrew was cramping up big time, his stomach a churning vat of bile and acid. He was going to need a toilet soon. He couldn’t believe Project Simon was going to happen and it was all because of him. His pitiful coded-blanket scheme was a ridiculously ineffective attempt to redeem himself and prevent Dick and his power-mad group from achieving their goals.

  Hours later he wandered back to his quarters exhausted and heartbroken. That was where he found Dick, half in the bag, waiting in his room. His initial reaction whenever he saw the man was to cower in fear but this time he was too tired to do more than jump in surprise.

  “Relax, Doc, I’m not here to hurt you,” he slurred. “I just have one more question for you I didn’t want to ask in front of the others.”

  “Aren’t they watching us now?” Andrew asked.

  “No, I disrupted the security feed,” he replied, “I’m not a complete amateur, Doc. What in the fuck took you so long anyway? I’ve been waiting for hours.”

  “Had to clean up the lab, Todd and John were celebrating.”

  “Ah yes, always the martyr, aren’t you?”

  “You said you had something else to ask?” said Andrew.

  “So the original virus, do we still have it?”

  “Of course, it’s in the lab.”

  “If we used that one, everyone dies, right?” Dick asked as he stumbled to his feet.

  “Most everyone would die. There would be some people immune to it. There always is. That’s the only way we could’ve survived the first time. The human race I mean.”

  “How many would survive?”

  “I don’t really know. Ten percent or fifteen maybe? I’m just guessing, why?”

  “No reason other than I like to stay in the know on things. I bet it wouldn’t be that bad,” Dick said.

  “It absolutely would be that bad, Dick, I promise.”

  “Okay, whatever you say, Doc,” mumbled Dick as he pushed by Andrew and headed for the door. “Thanks for clearing that up, sleep well.”

  Did he not believe me? What the hell was that about? Andrew watched Dick stumble down the hall before he shut the door. The beginnings of a massive headache started to grip him and he had to sit before he fell down. The insanity of his situation was starting to become unbearable and he wasn’t sure if he would ever sleep again.

  Chapter 11: Two Strikes

  The Past

  There was no honeymoon period for the Brown presidency as far as Muddy was concerned. Walking a tight rope between his duties as the leader of the ‘free’ world and managing his growing paranoia was a difficult feat of disciplined duplicity and Muddy was feeling the strain.

  His marriage was fraudulent and he refused to give in to his feelings for Harrie. The little comfort he found came in the form of late-night glasses of scotch enjoyed alone in the Oval Office. But he had made a decision. He would go through the motions for Dick and whoever this Syndicate was but as soon as he was able he would strike back with everything he could muster. They had stolen the joy of his presidential dream and he was going to ruin them for it or die trying.

  One of the first things Muddy did when he took office was to order new background checks on all White House staff, Secret Service personnel and anyone else he thought he would be dealing with during his term. His requests were met with surprise and annoyance because of the sheer number of federal employees on file. His chief of staff let him know he was quickly becoming the ‘Richard Nixon’ of the 21rst Century but Muddy didn’t give a shit. He knew things other people didn’t and he was determined to find out how many foxes were in the henhouse with him.

  Upon his order, all background checks were delivered directly to his office for his eyes only. Between Harrie and himself, they were able to get through all of the files within the first 30 days without neglect
ing his duties as President too badly. Still, he was exhausted by the end of that month, running on fumes and frayed nerves.

  “Why are we doing this?” she had complained one afternoon. “There are people who do this for a living and they are really good at their jobs, like the FBI for example.”

  “We’ve been over this, Harrie; I can’t get into it with you. Just look for anything that seems weird or too perfect. I just need you to trust me.”

  That was the problem. No one seemed out of the ordinary in any way and everybody appeared to have spotless backgrounds. They had to be doctored; he didn’t know a single person who didn’t have at least one skeleton in the closet. He imagined his background check would look perfect too. This meant anyone could be a mole and there was no one to trust aside from Harrie who had been with him for years.

  So far he’d only been able to identify Dick, the former president and himself as people either controlled by or associated with the Syndicate. If Dick was to be believed then he was also a hapless pawn, albeit a sadistic one. Muddy knew there had to be a record somewhere or a person who was aware this group existed. If he could find them, just maybe he could find leverage enough to get the albatross off his neck. There was no way in hell he was going to spend the four years of his term dancing on strings to someone else’s tune.

  Since he couldn’t trust anyone he decided on a scientific approach to finding someone who could do the legwork he couldn’t do. He began doing random walks through the White House, his confused Secret Service detail always hot on his trail for these seemingly unnecessary hikes. “For fitness,” he said with a jovial smile to the agent bold enough to finally question him.

  His walks took him through the intern farm, rows of cubicles staffed by eager White House interns. His presence always caused a bit of a stir but he tried to keep it natural, stopping to say hi and shake hands on occasion. Muddy kept his eyes peeled until he found a suitable candidate, a large young man by the name of Ezra. Muddy liked him because he seemed quiet and studious and didn’t quake in fear or delight when Muddy introduced himself.

  Muddy pulled his file again and did another review. Ezra Paulsen was a bright kid. Poly-Sci undergrad from George Washington and he was currently enrolled in a decent business school for his MBA. Like every other file he looked at, Ezra was as clean as a whistle but Muddy had to trust someone. The kid was probably as good as he was going to get.

  He spent a few more weeks making the rounds and continuing his fitness charade. He would often ask some of the interns to join him for unofficial mentoring sessions. They were all too eager to have an audience with the President. During that time he got to know Ezra as best he could. The young man was surprisingly open in front of his peers. Ezra had been adopted out of a rough environment at a young age by an aging banker and his wife. They doted on the boy and he flourished, focusing on his studies and working hard. In many ways Ezra reminded Muddy of a younger version of himself, driven and serious with a deep well of ambition. Soon those walks were just Muddy and Ezra and they developed a bit of a friendship.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the time, Mr. President,” Ezra remarked one afternoon as they strolled the White House gardens. “It just feels like this is leading to something. Again, don’t get me wrong, sir, I’ve learned a ton from our talks. I just want to know.”

  “Know what, Ezra?”

  “Well, what do you want from me? I am not blind, sir, I know you’ve been interviewing me.”

  Muddy chuckled, “Is that what I’ve been doing?”

  “I think so, sir, please pardon me if I am off base here.”

  They paused to sit on a stone bench overlooking a decorative fountain. The Secret Service was several yards behind them trying to look inconspicuous.

  “You aren’t wrong, my young friend, I have been interviewing you.”

  “For what, sir?”

  “I don’t know, maybe nothing. I might have a few special research projects I need you to do for me. But it might get dangerous so I haven’t decided for sure to even involve you yet. You seem like a good kid and I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

  Muddy could feel the kid staring at him. “Sir, I guess I don’t understand how a research assignment could be dangerous. But I want you to know, whatever it is, I am up for it.”

  Muddy looked back at him, Ezra’s inquisitive brown eyes shining with curiosity. He felt like a real jackass for big brothering the young man into such blind loyalty. “Okay, kid, I will let you know,” he said with a slight grin. He figured he would just let it go and Ezra would forget about it after a few weeks. The kid wasn’t getting hurt on Muddy’s account.

  But as the weeks passed and the reality of the Safety First Act began to come to fruition, Muddy started to get really worried things would progress too far and he wouldn’t be able to stop whatever awful thing Dick and his people were planning.

  He was reviewing the large amount of domestic troop movements from all across the country to the four pilot cities as well as monitoring CDC updates about some kind of new flu epidemic that had flared up. To top it all off he was also busy dealing with a new ulcer that was causing him some serious agony. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and had to take action.

  He had Harrie summon Ezra to the Oval Office one afternoon on strict instructions to tell no one where he was going. He had prepped his security detail to send the young man in immediately upon arrival. While they seemed irritated with his careless approach to protocol, they complied. When Ezra stepped into the office Muddy could tell he was a bit nervous which was natural as this type of summons was pretty much unheard of.

  “Is it time for my research project, Mr. President?” he asked.

  “I am afraid so, Ezra, should you choose to accept it, you will be reassigned to my office as a special assistant. You will report directly to me and speak to nobody about any of this. I have every reason to believe it could get dangerous for you. If you want to leave, I will understand. Are we clear?”

  “Absolutely, Mr. President, sir,” Ezra replied formally but made no move to leave.

  Once again, Muddy felt a pang of guilt for dragging the kid into this lunatic situation. He decided he wouldn’t tell him everything, just the bare minimum so Ezra could do the research Muddy wanted but nothing more. The less Ezra knew the less likely Dick would see him as a threat to deal with.

  “What I am going to ask you to do is going to sound stupid but I need you to do it anyway and be as meticulous as possible. Additionally, everything you do will need to be done with actual books from actual libraries, no Google searches or anything like that. You will have special access to the Presidential Library and the Library of Congress to find everything you need. But understand, this needs to be old school. That means no electronic footprint of any kind.”

  “Of course, sir”

  Muddy handed him a piece of paper with hand-written instructions on what he was looking for. “This is what I need from you, keep it on your person at all times and give it back to me when you’re done along with anything you find. This is for incidentals,” Muddy said and gave him an envelope filled with cash.

  Ezra accepted everything but looked to be growing more confused by the moment.

  “You will also need this,” Muddy said and handed him a burner phone. “I have one just like it, don’t lose it and don’t show it to anyone. My number is already programmed in, call me when you’ve finished. You have two weeks.”

  “Um, okay, sir,” Ezra said and stood to leave with his new bundle of goods.

  “You come through for me, kid, I will make a permanent place for you on my staff, guaranteed.”

  “I will do my best, Mr. President.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Muddy said, “Now hop to it.”

  For those two weeks he didn’t hear from or see Ezra at all. Muddy started to get worried that maybe ‘they’ had gotten to him. Still he made a point to stay away from Ezra’s workstation not wanting to call attention to him if
everything was okay. He tried to busy himself with the considerable everyday duties of the President but Ezra and ‘they’ were always on his mind. Sleep was a forgotten memory and his brown hair was turning gray faster than he could’ve possibly imagined. He had heard it said the office ages a person but this was incredible. He worried it would turn white and then fall out. The waiting was killing him, people were noticing and it was impacting his ability to do his job. The same thought reverberated endlessly through his mind.What else can I do?

  Time churned on relentless and slow like a mill stone grinding meal to powder. Muddy waited until Ezra was three days past his deadline with no phone call before heading down to the intern farm. As he approached Ezra’s workstation with his Secret Service detail in tow, his stomach dropped when he saw the cubicle was empty. He hoped Ezra was just at lunch or in the restroom. He ignored the hush that had fallen over the room and sat down at Ezra’s desk chair to give the young man a few minutes to return. Worry was filling his head with bleak thoughts as to the boy’s whereabouts. He should have never involved an innocent kid in this madness. Those few minutes turned into 15, the agents with him were getting bored until finally the lead man, Kurt, spoke up.

  “Sir, do you mind me asking what we are doing here?”

  “No, that’s fine, Kurt, I’m waiting for Ezra Paulsen to return, he was working on something for me.”

  “You want me to ask his supervisor?”

  “Ha! Yes, good idea. I should’ve thought of that, please do. If you don’t mind I will wait here.”

  Kurt left to find the supervisor who was apparently off doing something other than supervising. Muddy turned his attention to Ezra’s desk. It was very clean, almost bare, in fact. The only indication that it was occupied was a large photo of Ezra with a woman who could’ve been his twin, they were arm and arm mugging for the camera. Muddy moved the computer mouse and the monitor lit up to the login screen but he didn’t know Ezra’s credentials so he couldn’t go any further.