Pestilence: The Infection Begins (13 page)

“No. Just get down, now!” Mike reached up and grabbed Delaney’s wrist and pulled her down. He knew more than he liked to admit what the result of so many police, guards and guns all in one spot would be when presented with a target of opportunity.

A salvo of gunfire erupted from the drawn pistols of the police and semiauto from the rifles of the National Guard.

“Beth, Beth, oh my God, Beth!” Delaney as she witnessed the fleeing nurse cut down by a fusillade of lead. Sanders jumped in the air, twitched, stumbled, and then fell forward before coming to a bloody rest.

“You bastards! You fucking bastards!” Delaney yanked her arm free from Mike’s grasp.

“Back on to ground, get back on the ground!” the loudspeaker squawked.

“Do it Grace, do it. You have no choice.” Tilford added from his position next the chopper pilot. Steve and Richard were the only two that remained motionless during the whole episode.

Only when Delaney returned to the ground, did the two hazmat-suited agents of the CDC had come forward with their pistols drawn.

“Bastards, bastards all for money. Just money… Bastards!” Delaney screamed as she heard the footsteps of the agents behind her.

N
oel Thorncroft wasn’t well
-liked by many. With his you had his wealth and influence though, it hardly mattered. He was far from an attractive man by any stretch of the imagination. Overweight by a hundred pounds, bald on top, with a chin that was the size of most people’s mid—section and a large protruding bottom lip, but he cared little about his looks. With his money he could have anyone he wanted and he wanted men. Specifically young men in their late teens. Tall, thin and without body hair; that’s how he liked them. The complete opposite of himself. And he did pay well for their services that was one positive that could be said of him. As the tumultuous events worsened in Des Moines, he sat back in his Jacuzzi. On this hectic day a relaxing tub soak was what he needed to take his mind off the situation. The possibility this could all blow up with his business and reputation ruined was very real. His private life, which he guarded closely, could become common news and if he lost his wealth he’d certainly lose his appeal to his “boys”. He didn’t know which he feared more: losing billions of dollars or being found out as a fat old man who fucked young men all night. He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he watched his young lover for the night pour a glass of wine and bring it over to the tub. Thorncroft had a typical English complexion, and even though he spent quite a few months each year in one of his villas on the Mediterranean, he didn’t look as if he’d seen any sun for years. He was referred to as “Moby Dick” by the small but growing ring of young male prostitutes who entertained him. It wasn’t because his male member was so renowned, but for his overweight condition and almost sickly-white skin color. He took the glass from the young man as he stepped into the Jacuzzi and stood before Thorncroft. The young man was tall and of a slim athletic build, unlike the obese billionaire who had more rolls on him than a bread shop. With his free hand, Thorncroft loosened the towel around the hips of the young man, who barely looked old enough to shave—which was what Thorncroft preferred. He allowed the towel to drop into the bathwater. The edges of his mouth curled up in lustful delight at the sight before him. As Thorncroft took a sip of his wine while he slipped his free hand around his lover’s naked buttocks and drew him closer, closer and…

Fuck!

The phone rang.

“What is it?” an infuriated Thorncroft answered. Because of his business dealings, he couldn’t afford to be out of communication, no matter how much it interfered with his social life.

He hadn’t bothered to look at the phone’s menu when he’d picked it up, but when he heard Calgleef’s voice on the other end, he—unfortunately—had to take the call.

“What is it, what’s happened?” He ushered his companion from the tub with a wave of his hand.

“Mr. Thorncroft, thee more people have just been rescued from the rooftop of the hospital by a TV news helicopter and—”

“A WHAT?” Thorncroft jumped, well, staggered to his feet. Angered by the interruption to his nightly pleasures then being told three more had escaped from the hospital in America; he didn’t notice his young lover shaking his head as he stared back from the master bedroom. Thorncroft was not a pretty sight full clothed and almost horrid when naked.

The multi—billionaire ignored him, his libido now gone. There were other more urgent matters that required his attention.

“It appears the TV chopper was filming the hospital for a news story when they spotted the three on the roof.”

“Do they know anything? Could they say something to that might jeopardize our contract?” True to form, Thorncroft’s only concern was for his investment.

“Unfortunately, they do, sir. They’re in a position to do some real harm. One of the three was one of my officers, Grace Delaney. She was the one in charge of the vaccination program at the hospital and had become rather suspicious and asked some awkward questions and also suspected Dr. Moya of following a different agenda. And I have to inform you, Mr. Thorncroft…” there was a pause as Calgleef took a deep breath.

“I believed my association with Moya was being probed by the NSA, which could mean your alliance with him is under scrutiny as well, and in order to divert any attention I had to plant the seed of possibility that he may have been an unknowing host of the Baltic flu and responsible for the sudden outbreak.” Calgleef then heard a long, heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I assume then,” Thorncroft began thoughtfully, “that your NSA have Moya in custody?”

“No, sir, not that I’m aware of, but I’m sure they know his whereabouts. It will only be a matter of time and—”

“We can’t take any chances, and… I assume this call isn’t being monitored?”

“No, Mr. Thorncroft, I took the liberty of using one of our secure satellite phones.”

“Good. Now understand this because you have to make this happen. We can’t afford the possibility that either this girl of yours or Moya might spill the beans as it were.” Thorncroft, as a very proper user of the English language—most of the time—liked his old phrases. “You have to prevent that possibility from arising.”

“But how? I mean—”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, Calgleef, and remember, with Moya no longer having a need for his bonus, I’ll have to pass it on to someone else—you follow?”

“Yes, sir. Yes indeed, sir.”

“Good, now if you’ll excuse me,” Thorncroft glanced into the bedroom, “I have some unfinished business to take care of.”

“Yes Sir, I under—” Thorncroft ended the conversation before Calgleef finished.

* * *

T
horncroft muttered
under his breath about his American partners not being able to follow up on instructions; maybe it was just Calgleef overreacting. This thought reinvigorated him, and he quickly toweled himself down and headed into the bedroom. He’d lost interest in a tub soak; besides, the water had gone cold. “Get me another drink, will you?” he said to his young companion, who stood up as Thorncroft entered. “And after you’ve done that, you can get those clothes off. I’ve got a lot of tension to work off, you know?” Thorncroft winked at his young courtesan as he squeezed his crotch.

Thorncroft would spend the rest of the night working off his “tension,” but for his former representative in the United States, the tension was just about to begin.

* * *

D
r. Moya sat
down on the edge of the squeaky bed in the out-of-the-way Kansas City hotel. It was late afternoon now of the day the vaccination program began, though it seemed like days had passed. He took a drink from the bottle of lukewarm water he’d bought from the lobby—there was no refrigerator in the rooms of this hotel. During his travel from Des Moines to Kansas City, he’d had no contact until he’d arrived and then called Calgleef for an update. But he’d heard nothing from the director of the CDC since then, and that was nearly an hour ago.

“Surely there must be some more developments by now.” He picked up the remote for the TV. Maybe there would be some news about it. He was just in time to see the “live exclusive” news footage taken from a helicopter.

The TV news commentary said: “This just in from the unfolding drama at the Riverside Hospital in Des Moines, where an outbreak of Legionnaires’ disease has…”

Moya spat a mouthful of water over the floor when he saw the video of three people being rescued from the roof of the hospital.

“That’s the Delaney woman!” he stood up and got closer to the old TV set.

If she told her story, and to a news service of all things, there would be hell to pay.

While she might not be believed (who but conspiracy theorists on the Internet believed that pharmaceutical companies would actually be spreading the disease in their vaccines rather than treating it?), the old adage of “where there’s smoke, there’s fire” would apply.

He had to call Calgleef. Spot fires were breaking out everywhere and they had to be brought under control.

While he never wished any harm on Delaney, he didn’t think she would manage to escape.

Passing on the combination the storeroom was his good deed and it was there he thought Delaney would remain. How she managed to do so wasn’t his real concern, however, the attitude of the authorities in general and the US government in particular toward the contract was.

He turned the sound down on the large-screen TV while he called Calgleef. While he pushed the numbers, he watched the rescue of Delaney and her colleagues as it was replayed once more.

Moya became agitated as the phone rang and rang. It was unusual for Calgleef to take this long to answer. The voice mail kicked in asking him to leave a message after the tone. He didn’t. This was strange too. Calgleef, as the director of the CDC, would have to be available 24/7 and especially during a crisis.

“I don’t like how this is shaping up.” He would have to be reachable at all times—would he not? Moya reasoned. He ended the call and began to pace as he entertained the possibilities. Had Calgleef been arrested? Did he have a change of heart? Even worse, did he turn on him and perhaps Thorncroft? He didn’t care about that rich bastard in England, he was safe—but he may not be. He strolled to the window of this second-floor room. His view of the street was marred by tall trees, the entrance to the parking lot wasn’t. From his position he was just in time to see police squad cars followed by a white van enter. From his elevated point, he was able to see the occupants of the van wore white protective cleanup suits. He didn’t need a second guess as to why they were here or who they had come for. Packing his bags was easy—he hadn’t had unpacked yet—and he headed out the door and to the rear stairs that would take him out the back.

The back door of the hotel was a large double-paned glass door, he arrived at the same time a black-and-white of the Kansas City PD did. He quickly backtracked; he couldn’t go to the front lobby, he could hear the voices of authorities there. With no choices he headed back up the stairs where he coolly waited until he heard the heavy footsteps coming up. Thankfully for him, there were no elevators in the hotel. When he judged them to be about halfway, he made a dash for the fire escape. Positive they would have a photograph of him, he knew he couldn’t just fake his way past. Once out on the landing of the escape he looked down to the rear of the parking lot. With no cops in sight, he continued, not that he could go any other way now as his potential captors arrived on the second floor. The parking lot itself offered no protection of cover, and the hedge line that signaled the end was over seventy yards away, or for him, a European, about fifty-eight meters. Heaving his bag under one arm, he made a dash for it. He might get shot in the back, but it would be preferable to a quarantine with Baltic flu carriers, which he was certain was what awaited him if arrested.

This wasn’t going to be easy; he knew little of getting around in America and even less about Kansas City. Just like Richard Kimble, he was a fugitive—only not as innocent.

This is what happens when you team up with the devil, he thought.

But just who was the devil he referred to? Thorncroft, Calgleef, corruption and greed, the pharmaceutical industry, the vaccine itself, money or all of the above?