No Such Thing As Werewolves (45 page)

“That’s why what we’re about to do is so important,” Blair said, inwardly cringing at how long he’d fought waking the Mother. How many people could have been saved if he’d gone back sooner? “Every town, every city…They’re all going to be cut off from each other. Some people will live, those with guns and in remote areas. But the rest are in real trouble unless they have help. Unless werewolves can somehow stop the zombies. To do that, we need to wake the woman who set this all in motion.”

Chapter 64- Desperate Measures

Jordan was decidedly uncomfortable in a suit. It wasn’t that the charcoal pants didn’t fit or that the matching jacket was too confining. The suit had been expertly tailored for his broad frame and had probably cost more than his mortgage payment. What bothered him was the lack of proper pockets. No place for a weapon or anything other than a pair of keys and maybe his wallet. It was the uniform of a businessman, not a soldier.

Yet as he stepped into the elegant ballroom, he knew it had been the correct choice. The Director had been right. Jordan glided down the impractically plush carpet, starting up the wide marble steps to the Plaza’s second floor. At least the place was air-conditioned. Panama was humid, and it was hotter than shit out there. The last thing he wanted was a sweat stain.

Jordan crested the stairs and headed to a pair of tall doors on the right. They were cut from some sort of dark-brown wood, not stained oak. Mahogany, maybe? What kind of trees did they even have down here?
 

A pair of men in black suits flanked the doors. Each had the telltale bulge under the arm of his jacket. They pulled the doors opened as he approached, nodding for him to enter. Jordan swept past them and into the conference room, trying to keep his confidence. He’d never been to a meeting like this. Had anyone?
 

The room contained about sixty chairs arranged in a giant horseshoe. A row of narrow tables followed the line of chairs, most of which were empty. Light from the setting sun streamed through the tall windows lining the western wall. Perhaps two-dozen men stood in small clusters throughout the room. Every last one wore a suit.

“Jordan, over here,” the Director’s familiar voice called. He stood in a tight knot of graying men who probably controlled more power and wealth than most nations. Jordan recognized only one, and his legs turned to jelly. That was Leif Mohn himself, the old man. The founder. He shared Jordan’s height but looked much more at home in his immaculately pressed suit. His hair had been perfectly styled, so blond it was almost white. It gave the man an indeterminate age, which only fueled the rumors. He’d been CEO since at least the mid-‘80s, but he could be anywhere from his late forties to his early sixties.
 

Most of the men drifted away as Jordan approached, leaving only the Director and Mohn. Jordan kept his shoulders squared, posture stiff. He wasn’t going to be intimidated. He’d done everything a man could be expected to do, but the situation had grown beyond one person. This wasn’t his fault.

“Mister Mohn, I’d like you to meet one of our best operatives. This is Commander Jordan, the man who led the first team into the pyramid,” the Director said, gesturing at Jordan as he stepped up to the pair.

“He’s also the man who let Subject Alpha wipe out a village, then elude him again in San Diego,” Mohn growled. He ignored Jordan’s proffered hand, staring icily with those gray eyes. “You may have directly ushered in the end of the human race. You realize that, right?”

“Me? Who sent me in with too little intel and even less firepower? I’m betting it was you that signed that order,” Jordan shot back, struggling to keep a leash on himself. He failed. “You weren’t there. You didn’t watch friends die. You weren’t asked to fight mythological, almost un-killable creatures with no intel on their capabilities. We did the best we could, but we were outclassed. Even if we’d caught Subject Alpha, there’s no guarantee that would tell us anything. So keep your fucking opinions to yourself. You don’t like the job I’m doing? Maybe you should come out of that goddamned ivory tower once in a while, and do it your goddamned self.”

Jordan didn’t give the man time to respond, stalking away and taking a seat near the far edge of the U. He studiously ignored both Mohn and the Director. He was done being a punching bag, done apologizing for failures he couldn’t control. If they wanted his resignation, they could have it.

“That was one hell of a stunt,” the Director said, settling into the chair next to Jordan. “I’ve never seen anyone stand up to Mohn before, not even the board. He rules them like a tyrant.”

“How did he take it?” Jordan asked sullenly. Lashing out had felt good, though he knew there’d be a price. There always was.

“He smiled,” the Director said, adjusting his glasses. “That’s something we almost never see, so I’d say you made an impression.”

“He was happy I was insubordinate?” Jordan asked, finally turning to face the Director. His salt and pepper hair was immaculate, suit pressed to perfection. But Jordan could also see exhaustion.

“I didn’t say that. I said he smiled,” the Director replied, shaking his head as if Jordan were truly dense. “The last time that happened, a multibillion-dollar corporation went bankrupt, and there was a trail of bodies from Iraq to Venezuela. You want my opinion? The only thing that might keep you alive after that show is a world-ending werewolf apocalypse. Thankfully we happen to have one of those. I told him you’re the best. We just can’t afford to lose you right now. So I guess if you had to fly off the handle, your timing was impeccable.”

The lights flickered on and off three times in rapid succession, indicating everyone should take a seat. He’d never seen so many powerful people scurry before. The few women still managed to make it look graceful, a testament to how high they’d risen in what was unfortunately very much a man’s world. People at this level held on to old ideas
hard
. Sexism was alive and well in the lofty halls of power.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s British voice called from the back of the room, “please find your seats. Each of you will find a tablet on the table before you. All relevant research and statistics have been loaded in the Mohn Crisis Management app. Feel free to follow along with the presentation. Be aware that a vote will be taken afterwards.”

“A vote on what?” Jordan whispered, leaning toward the Director.
 

“I don’t know. They called us last night and said to get everyone here. People came from as far away as London. I’ve never seen this sort of urgency before. Whatever it is, I think we’re about to find out,” he replied, crossing his arms and slouching in his chair. Bad posture was probably the most overt show of defiance he was willing to make. The Director didn’t reach for the iPad, so Jordan followed his lead. He could study whatever it contained later. He wanted to stay focused on whatever theatrics the board had come up with.

The lights dimmed, and a multicolored world map sprung up on a massive screen in front of the U, perhaps forty feet across. Jordan hadn’t even realized they made screens that large. Then the presentation began to play. A pin appeared in Peru, labeled
first incident
. As a calendar advanced on the upper-right-hand corner of the screen, more pins began to appear. The whole thing took maybe forty-five seconds, beginning with January 7 and ending on March 4. Two months and a sea of tags covered South and Central America. A crosshatch also covered the southwestern United States with outbreaks appearing sporadically throughout the rest of the country.

Europe, India, and Asia had their share as well. Africa was curiously empty, with only two outbreaks. Both were labeled
contained
, leaving the continent completely free of the werewolf menace. That didn’t make any sense. The military forces in Africa weren’t equipped to deal with werewolves, which should have torn through large population centers. Yet they hadn’t. What was Africa doing that the rest of the world wasn’t?

“As you can see, now is not a good time to be a citizen of the Americas, and soon the same will be true of the rest of the world,” the polished British voice explained. “This is what the world will look like in another sixty days.”

More pins began to fall, much more quickly now. South America became a sea of them. Then Mexico. The United States made it thirty days before it too was completely covered. Canada began to fall. At the same time, Europe was overrun. Asia and India fared better but were still over eighty percent covered. Africa had sporadic pockets of red as well. Jordan wondered who’d come up with these numbers.
 

The lights came up. A man in an electric wheelchair zoomed smoothly to the center of the U, commanding everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, the world is coming to an end. We simply cannot contain the outbreak. Conventional warfare is useless. Our enemy can hide among us, completely undetectable until they strike. Even our top-tier teams have lost engagement after engagement.”

Eyes shifted to Jordan. He glared back defiantly, daring someone to say something. No one did.

“All of this is dire, but it doesn’t mean the world has to end for
us
. Our illustrious CEO has created an oasis of technology, a place where we can gather in comfort and strength,” the Brit explained. Then he rose from the wheelchair, a few people gasping in surprise. More than one looked angry at the subterfuge. “That chair was my prison for nearly a decade. Now I can not only walk but also run far more quickly than I could in my younger years, all because of the technology
we
control. The new world is coming regardless of what we want. The only question is, will we be consumed by it…or will we rule it?”

A short, hairy man with dark skin and smoldering eyes stood. He had a faint French accent. “Your presentation is quite impressive, but what exactly are you proposing? You mentioned a vote but have yet to elaborate.”

“A valid question, Mister Rutger,” the Brit retorted smoothly. He walked to the hairy man’s seat. “I am proposing that the board move all assets and all relevant personnel to Syracuse. Most of our research and development is done there, and it is remote, making it the ideal location to start over.”

Jordan had heard enough. These people had unleashed a plague on the world, and now they were tucking tail and running, abandoning everyone. Nearly seven billion people. He wasn’t going to stand for this. He found himself on his feet, hands balling into fists. “So you’re just giving up, then? You’re letting it all go to shit. The people on your special list get saved, and everyone else dies. That’s what I’m hearing, right?”

“Yes, Mister Jordan. That is precisely what you’re hearing,” the Brit gave back with a smug smile. “The world is ending. That is a tragedy without equal, but this company is in no position to change that fact. We did try, as you know better than anyone. Had you succeeded, things might have been different, but now we need to face reality. A reality you had a direct hand in crafting, I might add.”

“And what do you plan to do about the pyramid?” Jordan said, voice carrying even though he hadn’t shouted. “What happens if these werewolves get in there and wake up the woman we found? We can’t even begin to imagine what she might be able to do. Will you be safe in your little oasis then?”

That gave the man pause. He cocked his head, gaze sweeping the room. “The commander raises an excellent point. Leaving that place to the enemy could have catastrophic consequences. It must be dealt with—permanently. The board should authorize one of our nuclear assets to be detonated at the site. In the meantime we will increase our contingent of troops there to ensure we hold it until it can be destroyed.”

“You’re going to irradiate Peru?” Jordan asked, even though he knew he was ending his career by speaking further. They might have forgiven his temerity because he pointed out a threat, but that granted only so much leniency, leniency he’d just exceeded.

“Yes, Mister Jordan. We will irradiate the single largest threat to the world, which happens to be located in Peru. Far away from any population centers. The damage will be minimal. And you, yourself, suggested the threat needed to be dealt with. Do you have a better suggestion? A permanent garrison, perhaps?” he asked, scorn ripping into Jordan. The whole room shared the hostility, all save for the Director. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the goal of war is to destroy the enemy’s ability to wage it, isn’t it? Didn’t you just tell us this pyramid could be their greatest weapon?”

“I don’t have a better plan, sir,” Jordan said, deflating. The man was right. What else could they do? They had to prevent that pyramid from falling into enemy hands.

“Then you’ll have whatever you need to hold the site until our full tactical response is ready to be delivered,” the man said. Then he turned back to the whole council. “That is, assuming the board is willing to vote on such an action. Is anyone willing to make a motion?”

“Not just yet,” the Director’s clear voice rang out as he rose to his feet. He gazed around the room, defiant and regal. “I believe we need all the facts before making any decisions. What we do here could shape the future of our entire species.”

“A reasonable request,” the Brit said, clasping his hands behind his back. “Ask your questions, Director Phillips.”

“This company had a response team waiting when the pyramid appeared. How did we know it was going to?” the Director asked, leaning on the desk with both hands as his gaze all but burned into the Brit.

“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss that, even with the board…” the Brit began. He trailed off as Leif Mohn rose from the table.