The president turned and put his arm on
Eliza’s shoulder while giving Carlie a brief stare before he walked away,
enveloped by his staff. As he did, Phillip rushed past Boyd and scurried
alongside the president’s protective detail.
Jared moved up alongside Shane, Carlie,
and Matias who were still gazing at the president as he and his group floated across
the concrete floor like a single-celled organism. “Wow—I thought he’d at least have
given y’all a handshake,” said Jared. “That guy’s got no panache—when’s he up
for re-election?”
“This must be your first interaction
with the federal government,” said Carlie. “Where, despite your most gallant
efforts, you’re always looked at as the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
Boyd extended his hand towards a hallway
to their right. “This way, if you please. We’ll stop at medical first and then
get you some fresh fatigues to change into.”
“Feels like I’m back in basic,” said
Carlie. “Hope they aren’t gonna require me to get a brushcut, too.”
“Now that would be a real crime,” Jared
said, looking at her golden-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Carlie gave him a sideways glance and
smirked, still not sure what to make of the charming Southerner.
As they walked side by side down the
cavernous passage, workers briefly paused to stare at the motley group of
survivors covered in dust, scratches, and torn clothes with their tarnished
rifles hanging off their sides.
Chapter 2
Bonn, Germany, Eleven Days
before the Pandemic
Pavel Dimitrikov was sipping a cup of
jasmine tea while poring over his research notes on genetic mutations. The
summer was almost over and the large elm tree which shaded his back porch was
already beginning to show leaves whose time was nearly at an end.
Occasionally, he looked up past the rim
of his silver bifocals to his eight-year-old granddaughter playing in the
garden beside his wife, or to identify a songbird that had landed on the cedar fence
line. It had been several weeks of work abroad in his job as a NATO bioweapons
inspector and he longed to get back to his university research, which didn’t
involve so much red tape and so many endless debriefings. Pavel put his
notebook down on the small round table, leaned back in his chair and clasped
his hands behind his head, taking in the scenery and inhaling the fragrance from
a nearby lilac bush.
After a few minutes he stood up and went
into the kitchen to replenish his tea cup when he heard his work cellphone ringing.
With a sluggish gait, he forced himself over to the front door and picked up
the phone off the walnut corner table. Staring at the screen on the encrypted
phone, he scrunched his eyebrows together and hastily activated the device
while balancing his tea cup in his other hand.
How many more statements do
they need from me on that last weapons inspection we did? It’s Sunday for
crying out loud.
“This is Pavel…look, I already turned in
my report,” he said with a slight hint of his Russian accent.
“Still the same short-tempered Pavel
that I remember,” said a gravelly voice. “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
Pavel’s face grew still and he slowly
lowered the tea cup down to the table. He looked down the hall at the rear
porch to make sure his wife and granddaughter were still playing in the yard, then
he opened the front door and went outside. “Viktor Kruschenko….is that you? Why
are you calling me? And how is it you have my number? This is my secure phone
for work.” Pavel’s eyes shot a penetrating gaze up at the clouds beyond the
treeline as a flood of past images working in bioweapons research facilities in
the former Soviet Republic began seeping back into his psyche.
“All these years and you still remember
my last name. That’s good. I haven’t forgotten yours and knew you’d still have
your hands in the bioweapons field somehow, even if it’s for
humanitarian
reasons,” the man said with sarcasm in his voice. “The agency thought it best
that I head up this new operation once they received some significant intel
that I know is going to interest you,” Viktor said with a Georgian dialect. “And
you will want to be in on this too, trust me. In fact, we need you, of all
people, on this venture.”
A neighbor walked by Pavel’s house,
nodding at him, and he forced out a smile while waving a trembling hand back.
“I have tried to forget what we did all those years ago slaving away for the
empire
,”
Pavel said. “It’s only my work as an inspector that has allowed me to partly atone
for my sins. I don’t want anything to do with you or any clandestine agencies anymore,
there are too many memories of the horrors we almost unleashed on the world.”
“Well, this time, we can finally put to
rest the last great mystery that has plagued us both for so many years and be
done for good with those horrors.”
“What do you mean?”
“KAD97—that’s what I mean, Pavel. The final
site has been located after all these decades. Last night a military base
intercepted a transmission from a group of smugglers in the tropics. The call
indicated the discovery of a mass grave in a remote section of jungle. Some of
the corpses had Soviet-era clothing typical of the early Cold War years and
each body bore a complexion with unusual facial features. The most astounding
thing was that there was very little decay in the corpses that had been buried
for over fifty years.”
Pavel raised a hand to his mouth while
he felt the blood rush to his temples. He forced himself to inhale and pushed
the phone closer to his ear as if wanting to climb through to the other side.
“How is that possible? The location of that site was rumored to have died with
the last scientist involved and even I thought it had been a legend.”
“I can’t tell you anymore unless you are
in on this with me and the rest of my rapid-response team. We pull out the day
after tomorrow.”
Pavel opened the door and looked back
inside for signs of his wife. Standing beside his tea cup, he slid his finger
along the rim of the porcelain while staring down into its amber-colored
contents.
“Did you hear me, Pavel? I can use your
help on this. We can bury this one last mystery for good.”
Pavel took a deep breath and pushed the
cup away. “Alright, where to? At least tell me that?”
“Better pack a hammock; we’re going to
the Caribbean. That’s all I can say for now.”
Chapter 3
Four hours after arriving, Carlie was
escorted by a Secret Service agent down a maze of corridors to a lower level where
the president’s ad-hoc office was situated. She didn’t recognize the agent and
figured he was probably the last of the president’s Personal Protection Detail
out of Washington. The burly black figure had introduced himself as Agent
Willis after extending his large hand which resembled a baseball mitt compared
to hers. After passing through two security checkpoints with armed soldiers
standing before sliding vault doors, she emerged in a circular room once used
as a missile guidance control center. Lining the walls were crates of food, water
barrels, and trauma supplies.
Willis spoke into the semi-concealed microphone
in his sleeve and then motioned Carlie to move towards a set of steel doors
ahead.
“He’s ready to see you now,” said the agent
as he opened the thick double doors and led her inside. Willis took up a casual
standing position alongside the right wall which was standard observation
protocol for asset protection. Carlie knew the agent would stay just outside of
her peripheral vision so she couldn’t see his hands move in the event he needed
to withdraw his weapon quickly. It gave the agent the tactical advantage as
opposed to having him stand alongside the president as most bodyguards from
other countries preferred for its intimidation factor.
Upon entering she saw Phillip shaking
hands with President Huntington. Carlie felt her stomach tighten and had to
resist clenching both her fists as she looked at Phillip’s mouse-like features.
He had barely proven to be an asset in their escape from Tucson and his
constant second-guessing of her decisions had eroded what was left of her faith
in the man—if she could even refer to him as such.
He’s probably recounting
his daring escape and his command decisions,
she thought.
Or trying to
make a case for why he deserves a medal of valor. What a worthless gimp.
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your
confidence in me and won’t let you down,” Phillip said, shooting a glance at
Carlie as she approached.
“That will be all then. I except to have
your first report at our next briefing tomorrow,” said President Huntington as
he rolled up the sleeves on his white silk shirt.
Phillip strode past Carlie with his chin
tilted while clearing his throat. She rolled her shoulders back and narrowed
her eyes at him as he passed. Carlie wasn’t sure what was about to unfold but
she sure as hell wasn’t going to allow Phillip the luxury of gloating.
She approached the president’s large steel
desk and stood with her arms rigid at her sides. The president’s hair was
neatly combed but his face bore the lines of sleep deprivation and he kept
correcting his posture to keep his back arched. His tie was missing and the
upper button of his shirt was undone.
“Ms. Simmons, we meet in private at
last.”
She readied to extend her right hand but
withheld it on seeing his arms cross against his chest.
“Sir, I am glad to see that you are
alive.”
He looked her over and his clenched jaw
gave way to a faint sigh. “How the world has changed during the past few days.
Take for instance the oath that my Secret Service agents pledge in defending
the first family and those under their protection. Until this pandemic struck,
I didn’t think I’d ever live to hear about an agent abandoning their sworn
duties.”
“Sir, if I may…”
“What you may do is stand there while I
finish, Agent Simmons,” said Huntington while leaning forward with his hands
extended on the edge of the desk. “I’ve already spoken with my daughter, agents
Shane and Matias, and Phillip about what unfolded during the rescue effort in
Tucson. If my daughter had her way, she’d erect a bronze statue of you in the dining
hall. The DEA agents provided me with an excellent after-action report of how
grim things were and what you actually endured—the likes of which most others
would not have prevailed in. As for Phillip, he would like to see you publicly
flogged.” The president paused and stood upright while Carlie looked at the man
and then over his shoulder at the gray wall ahead. “But I know pundits like Phillip
all too well. He spends his life arguing legal cases and wooing agency
supervisors which is why he’s going to be the new intergovernmental liaison so
he can keep the hell away from field ops.”
Carlie was sifting over the words she
thought she had just heard, not certain if she was going to be demoted, fired,
or exiled from the base. She had heard from other agents how hardnosed and
blunt Huntington could be with his staff but hoped that he was the
well-balanced individual she had voted for and sworn to one day protect.
Huntington stood up and walked around
the desk and stood next to Carlie. She looked straight ahead, bracing for the impact
of what was coming next, hoping that she would be dismissed from her duties and
cut loose to head on her own to California. She had told herself on the
helicopter flight that she was done with the Secret Service but found her
self-disciplined exterior still maintaining the old façade of control while her
inner world was treading a fault line of ambiguity unfamiliar to her.
“Agent Simmons, I’m torn between wanting
to salute you and wanting to slap you. Not sure which it’ll be yet. In your
defense, I was a navy pilot in years past, as you no doubt recall, and know all
too well how chaotic things can get in actual combat.” He paused, running his
hand through his hair. “But our rules and oaths exist for a reason—to keep us
on track when everything falls apart. Without that compass, the task ahead
becomes clouded. And there are going to be plenty of arduous tasks in the weeks
and months to come in this nightmare of a world.
“Yes, sir,” Carlie said, looking briefly
at the president and then recasting her eyes on the dappled contours of the wall
before her.
“More than ever, I need the people under
me following orders and not running a Wild West show when the urge strikes them—is
that clear?” He raised his voice, leaning towards her.
“Crystal clear, sir.”
He walked along the map-adorned wall,
glancing at the crossed-off cities throughout the U.S. As he paced, he rubbed
his hand along the back of his neck. “General Adams is assembling teams
composed of special operations personnel. You’ll report to him for further
orders. My daughter’s protection will fall under my Secret Service detail now
as she’ll be staying by my side for the immediate future. Your skills will be
better utilized on the frontlines.”
Carlie swallowed hard, trying to retain
a stoic surface while feeling her breathing constrict. She looked at the president,
who had circled back around his desk across from her. “Thank you, sir. Will
there be anything else?”
“No…” He paused, taking a breath. “No,
you are dismissed. General Adams will be giving a briefing in 45 minutes in the
central auditorium that all personnel need to attend. After that, talk to him.
He’ll be your new C.O.”
Carlie nodded and turned. As she walked
away, she let out a slow sigh and then paused and turned around. “One thing I’d
like to mention sir—your daughter—she is as resilient as she is fearless and it
was an honor to be on her detail.”
Huntington nodded back at her. Carlie
resumed moving towards the double doors and closed them behind her.
Back inside, President Huntington
glanced at the photo of his daughter on the desk, stroking the image with a
finger and then staring back at the double doors ahead.