Independence Day Plague (24 page)

Mitchell had researched the stations thoroughly. Although very roomy now, the platform normally bustled with humanity during rush hours of a normal workday. During some special holiday events, the crowds swelled higher. During the fourth of July celebrations, the stations were pushed to the maximum. The bodies press together tightly as the trains roar in and out but the people pour through the ticket area like water in a logjam.

Taking the screens off the two available sides made it easy to reach across internally to the screens that towered over the stairway pits. The filters looked new and rested below the venting system. Mitchell ignored them now. The filters had to go because they would block the liquid blowing out. He carefully drew out a small electrical mechanism no bigger than his palm from the toolbox. Climbing back up, he mounted it against the lower edge of the blades of the far vent. He repeated this procedure three more times for each vent. The explosion would be equivalent to a large firecracker, blowing holes outward in the screens.

Next, he removed a larger device with four stiff, small-bore pipes leading two feet away from the central system and unwrapped it. The aerosol device would spray in a half circle once activated. Four 100 ml vials hung from the bottom. Mitchell carefully attached this to the roof of the scrubber and positioned each tube to the center of the vents. He hummed as he screwed each vent back into place before moving on to the next scrubber.

Chapter 12

June 29, 2026

The Chinese delegation arrives in Washington today for what can only be termed as a tense attempt at peace talks. Washington is the last stop on their five-city tour, which included Los Angeles, Chicago, Dallas and New York. Their twelve-day visit here coincides with the 250
^th
Independence Day Celebration. White House sources state that they are hopeful that the talks will ease tensions between the two countries and a new satellite-space agreement will be reached.

During their visit, the delegates plan to tour the DC area and join the President and First Lady at the White House for a formal dinner and the viewing of the spectacular fireworks display planned over the Potomac River on July 4
^th
.

In further news, requested permits for parades and assembly have increased tenfold as political groups from around the country gather to protest both for and against peace talks with the Chinese. Local governments are overwhelmed and some are refusing all requests, a move that has some groups going to court…

Mitchell turned off the radio and removed the earpiece as he wandered through the Springfield townhouses. Macon the wonder-wired amazed Mitchell in the high level of information he ferreted out about General Talbot. Among other things, the file included most of his military history, a clue into his family life, the name of his personal driver, when his wife died, and the address of his home. After watching the townhouse complex for three days, Mitchell knew that Talbot was a man of irregular habits. He came and went at odd hours. His only companion was a dog, a black-coat American Manchester terrier that looked a great deal like a Doberman with short legs. The dog stayed in the small, grassy backyard that was squared off by a six-foot tall cedar fence.

The neighborhood was quiet at three in the afternoon, most of the houses devoid of any sign of activity. The white, two-story structure townhouse appeared almost identical to all the others on the cul-de-sac. The façade included almost no front yard, a driveway leading to a one-car garage and a small, fenced backyard. The gardens that edged the front near the door contained a few perennial bushes with empty dirt patches where the weeds slowly encroached. Dressed in utilities brown overalls, he sauntered along the houses with electronic recorder in hand, making a show of ducking between houses and pausing at the meters. An elderly person walked down the sidewalk, watching him with distrust. By Macon’s reports, Mitchell knew the General was a man of habits and high security. The front door was double locked and linked to a security system.

At the Talbot house, he walked to the back fence and heard the barking of the terrier. Taking a plastic bag out of his pocket, he paused before tossing the contents high in the air. Raw hamburger laced with powerful sedatives sailed over the fence. Mitchell crouched out of sight listening to the dog eat until the jingle of the dog collar stopped. He jiggled the handle of the padlocked fence. Nothing reacted.

The padlock loop easily cut in two with the use of a handheld laser cutter, one of several purchases from an electronics dealer on Geller’s list. Removing the lock, Mitchell stepped quietly into the backyard. The black dog lay across the cement patio near the glass doors, hamburger still clenched in her teeth. The yard was much like the front. A large shady oak grew offside, shading most of the back yard. The grass was clipped short, but it was losing the battle to the spreading bare dirt. Mitchell noted the wooden two-seat bench just to the right of the glass doors, still decorated with the day's paper and a half-drunk ceramic cup of cold coffee. He used Macon's instructions and a few select tools to enter the house through the sliding glass doors and disable the alarm.

Mitchell wandered through the two-bedroom building for an hour, preparing the house for Talbot’s arrival. Painted in creams and tans, the house looked elegant and free of decoration enough to feel a somewhat sterile. The furniture was all fine woods and embroidered fabric on a thick padded, light brown carpet laid on top of high polished wood floors. The fireplace looked as though it never held ash. The dark stained wooden mantel held the only possessions indicating the personality of the owner. Various sized family photos of Mrs. Talbot, now deceased, their two boys, each at various stages of age covered its top. The last two small pictures contained snapshots of the grown boys and their families. Talbot had five grandchildren for his legacy. Mitchell sat opposite the fireplace and stared at the pictures for a long time during his wait.

The hum of the electric car pulling up and a door slamming outside pulled him out of his revelry. It was six-thirty, the time the general often came home for dinner. Peering through the curtains on the front window, he watched the car pull away and the general walk, briefcase in hand to the front door.

The man stood five-foot, nine, slightly stooped. He looked solidly and squarely built with rigidness to the shoulders. His Army uniform hung snugly across his shoulders. His cap was drawn down low, hiding his eyes. Tired lines etched across the jowly face. Mitchell shook his head as if clearing his thoughts and then quickly crossed the foyer to the tableau he had set up in the dining room.

He heard the general open the door, keys jiggling and then taking off his coat. The old man wandered through the kitchen head down looking through his mail, barely in Mitchell’s sight. As he stepped into the dining area, Mitchell spoke. “Good evening, General.”

The man jerked up, eyes narrowing watching him from one of the high-backed oak dining chairs. “Who the hell are you?” Talbot snarled.

“
I’m one of your old employees.” Mitchell smiled and replied. Two glasses and a bottle sat on the table between them. Mitchell’s antique gun lay on the table within easy reach. He moved his hand on top of it lightly strumming his fingertips over the grip. “I thought I would join you in a drink.”

Talbot’s face flushed with anger as he stormed into the room. He looked over through the thin curtains hanging in front of the glass sliding door. The porch area was empty. “Where’s my dog?”

“
She’s fine, just asleep. I’ve moved her around the corner under the tree where she’ll be in shade. She’s a beautiful animal, by the way.” Mitchell picked up the gun and pointed it. “You are a difficult man to see outside the office. Come and sit down. Let’s have a drink and talk for a bit.”

Talbot gave him a hard look over before moving into the small dining area. He took the pulled out seat nearby so that the corner of the large table wedged between them.

Mitchell watched him impassively; saw the general coldly assessing him. Talbot saw an ordinary man, average size, dressed in a business suit. Mitchell had worn the suit under the gas company jumpsuit. He wanted to be taken seriously. The general, like most others, judged men by their clothing. The jump suit implied invasion robbery or petty theft. It waited in a garbage sack in the kitchen.

The general nodded at the two glasses of liquid between them. “Do you always have cocktail conversations at gunpoint?”

Mitchell smiled. The general’s belligerence made what he had to do even easier. “In this busy world, I find it's one of the few ways to get people to slow down and really listen. People hear you but they rarely really listen. You, for example—you don’t know me but you're sure it's a matter of waiting me out until the security or police arrives. Have you wondered yet if I’ve disabled your system? I have just as I have disabled your dog.”

“
Who are you?”

“
James Mitchell, civilian employee for the U.S. Medical Corps, last assigned to Biological Research Laboratory 4 located near Dawson in North Dakota.”

Talbot’s eyes narrowed and he waited a fraction of a minute too long before replying. “I've never heard of you or that place."

Mitchell shook his head slowly, “Wrong answer, although technically correct now I suppose, since you ordered it burned to the ground.” He pushed one of the two glasses of clear fluid and ice forward. “Have a drink. It’s bourbon.”

The general picked up the glass, held it to the light and peered through it. “You’re the one that killed Forester?”

“
Yes.”

“
And you expect me to drink this?” Talbot upended the drink, spilling it across the linen tablecloth.

Mitchell reached over and poured more into the glass. He picked the glass up and took a swallow before placing it before the general again. “Relax, there's no botulinum poison. I’m not going to use that on you. I need you alive.”

“
What for?”

“
To tell the world that we existed. You see, you did a very good job destroying all the evidence of BL-4 and, I assume, the other labs. I don’t know where the other labs were located but Stegan knew. Unfortunately he’s dead, burnt to ashes, and his work erased completely.”

“
How do you know about them?”

“
I told you. I worked there.” Mitchell felt calmer than he expected. Here sat the man who destroyed it all. Mitchell felt no qualms, no fear. He sensed only a vague revulsion. The monster in his mind was unmasked to be just an old man, a widower whose kids had left him. Macon’s reports implied that the man had alienated his sons and they rarely ever visited. The man sat there hunched, alone in the world except for his love for his dog. Mitchell felt a small sense of disappointment. Sympathy for the old man welled up when he needed hatred of the monster. He drew out a digital recorder from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table between them.

“
You can’t seriously think I’ll tell you anything?”

“
Why not?”

“
I don’t know what Forester told you but just suppose for an instance that any lab like this exists. That information would be highly classified. Son, I don’t divulge classified information to anyone, particularly lowlifes like you.”

Mitchell smiled and took a drink from his glass. “Ah, but I’m not a lowlife. I’m an ex-employee with a security rating at the highest level. We all had that rating. We passed your screening before being allowed to join the project. Lowlifes never passed the tests you put before us. They shipped out, disappeared, and according to Forester were killed on your orders. That was a lot of years ago of course but, hey we were very good at keeping secrets until the end.”

His smile faded. Mitchell switched on the recorder. “It’s not like I don’t already know the details. Your voice adds corroboration. I’ll be revealing everything soon. It’s in place and there is no way for you to stop me.”

“
I could kill you.” Talbot said evenly.

“
Yes, but the story still leaks to the press no matter what you do today. You see, you have your grandchildren, your work. They represent your legacy to the future. You robbed us of ours. My child is dead; my work, erased. I find that killing you isn’t what I want. I want to rob you of your legacy. Your sons already avoid you. I want them to hate you. I want them to curse their name and connection to you. The world will know you for the mass murderer you are.”

“
They won’t believe you.”

“
Someone will, General. Someone always checks out the crackpot’s story and start investigating. I don’t believe you covered everything. Hints and clues still exist if people dig deep enough. For instance, you didn't kill the town of Dawson. They knew we were there. The story will get out.”

“
Then you don’t need me.” Talbot crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back.

“
Ah, but I do. Forester confessed to his role and yours. But I have to know why, General. My family, all my friends died in a span of twelve days. I find in my last days here that I need closure. I need to know why you suddenly had the urge to play God and kill everyone.”

Talbot’s eyes blazed. “Go to hell,” he snapped.

Mitchell took out two syringes out of his coat pocket. One filled with a clear reddish/brown fluid, the other with clear liquid. “I’ve been there. You put me there. I watched your men consume it with fire. The people were all dead but I could still hear them scream as they burned.” He put the syringes in front of them and watched the fear fill Talbot’s face. “Now I seek a way out. The nightmare must end, General. It’s going to end through you.”