Omega Plague: Collapse (3 page)

Chapter 2

October 2

Bruno raised his right hand, steadying the earpiece and
pushing it deeper. The orange sun lingered over the ocean on the western
horizon. He was enjoying the still-warm air as it settled over the island.
Bruno was at the marina, watching the crowd queuing up for the hydrofoils and
ferries to Naples. He scanned the people in front of him, his face blank as he
spoke to his sister.

“Did you see the video?” said Bruno, just loud enough for
Carla to hear.

“Yeah, I saw it,” said Carla, her voice loud Bruno’s ear.

“Is it fake? The sores on that guy looked pretty real.”

“I’ve been talking about it with some doctors here,” said
Carla. “We think somebody’s just trying to get famous off this new Ebola
scare.”

“Well, this virus—or whatever it is—has got someone in the
Interior Ministry scared. We’ve been placed on alert. And why hasn’t anyone
seen those doctors who were in Africa? Where are they?”

Carla did not answer.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry, just got an e-mail.” Carla paused again. “The
Minister of Health is convening a conference call with the presidents of all
hospitals nationwide in one hour.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Bruno. “The news said there
are people in London, Paris, and Rome that are showing signs of sickness.”

“Oh, the call’s probably just routine information sharing,
or something like that. For sure, this thing’s not Ebola. It’s probably just
some weird flu strain. And you know how people are; they hear something like
this, they get a runny nose, and think they’re going to die.” There was a pause
again. “Listen, Bruno, I’ve got to go. I won’t be able to meet you and Cristian
tonight. Tell Cristian I’ll try to see him tomorrow, okay? Bye.”

Bruno started to talk, but realized he was talking to dead
air. Carla was already gone.

For a few minutes, Bruno scanned the crowd. Then Cristian
returned from his patrol of the other side of the marina. Veri had sent the two
Carabinieri to the marina to back up the municipal police.

“How goes it?”

“People are on edge,” said Cristian. “Guess Veri was right
to be worried, but there aren’t any problems yet. You saw the video?”

“Yeah, Carla thinks it’s fake,” said Bruno. “So do the other
docs at the hospital. But take a look around. Some people are already wearing
masks. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the people who had close
contact with those damn doctors are in quarantine.”

Scores of people stretched along the piers and back into the
buildings along the water, more people than usual waiting for the ferries and
hydrofoils. They were jostling and talking more loudly than normal. Some
foreigners wore makeshift masks made of handkerchiefs and clutched at their
suitcases. The natives yammered away on their phones, whether unconcerned or in
disbelief about what might be happening, Bruno could not say.

Two municipal police officers made their way towards Bruno
and Cristian. Their arrival at the marina meant they had come to relieve the
two Carabinieri. They conferred briefly. Bruno and Cristian let the new
arrivals know that people were on edge, then they departed for their station.

At Cristian’s suggestion, they decided not to take the
funicular up the side of the slopes leading to the main square, choosing
instead to walk through the winding stairs and narrow streets between houses.
Though the daylight faded, they took their time.

“How’s your family doing?” Bruno knew Cristian’s family
lived near Rome.

“For now, fine,” Cristian replied. “Just talked to them
yesterday. Someone had the sniffles in my daughter’s class, and they closed the
whole school.” He laughed. “My daughter loves it. She’s home with my parents
all day.” Cristian’s face clouded. “Guess they don’t want to take any chances
with kids. I hope there’s nothing to it . . .”

Bruno didn’t reply. They kept walking in silence for a time,
then Cristian said, “Anyway, I’ve got leave scheduled next week to go see
them.”

“No doubt they’ll be happy to see you.” Now that the
Interior and Defense Ministries had put everyone on alert status, Bruno knew
there was no way leave would be permitted anytime soon, but he didn’t have the
heart say it.

The sun had just disappeared into the sea when they arrived
at their station, just off the main square. They entered a confined waiting
area with four low chairs and a small round table, magazines with ageing
celebrities and scenes of Mediterranean islands on their covers strewn about.
The area was stark, with off-white walls and a sad potted plant in the corner.
Directly in front of them was a thick glass partition with an opening at the
bottom, like a teller’s window, and a black steel door to the right of the
partition with a small square window. Beyond the glass partition a stout,
uniformed, grey-haired man with a white goatee sat on one corner of a low metal
desk. There were two other desks. All the desks had monitors on them. Veri was
reading, a sheet of paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

As they opened the outer door a chime rang in the back. Veri
looked up and waved his cigarette at them in acknowledgement. The steel door
buzzed along with the sound of electromagnets unlocking. Bruno and Cristian
walked in and the door clanged shut behind them.

“Ah. Good evening, lads. No problems on your shift?” Veri
had a raspy voice from a few too many years of smoking.

“It’s more crowded than normal at the marina, Maresciallo,”
said Bruno. “And a little rowdy. But nothing too bad yet.” Cristian nodded.

Veri snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk.
Judging by the pile of butts, he cared not a whit about the “Vietato Fumare”
sign just past the inner door. The man moved around his desk and sat down. His
eyes were bloodshot as he looked back and forth from Bruno to Cristian. “Well,
get ready, gentlemen. I think we’re about to have a real shit-storm come down,
and soon.” The stout Veri would never be confused with a movie star. Carved in
his face were decades of law enforcement time. But while he could be brusque to
the point of rudeness, both men had benefited from his willingness to bend the
rules to support them, instead of acting like a rigid martinet. In return,
Bruno felt loyal, even devoted, to Veri.

Veri called them “gentlemen” only when he was about to
inform them of some particularly vexing request from their regional command.
Bruno braced himself as Veri motioned for the two of them to gather around his
desk. “All right,” he began. “I’ve just received message traffic from Regional
Command in Naples. First, all transfers and leave have been cancelled. No
surprise there. So, it looks like our additional officer, Marco, won’t be
arriving here anytime soon.” Veri then picked up another sheet of paper. Bruno
smiled to himself; Veri was so old-school, he still liked to print things out.
“I also received these orders, maybe an hour ago. Let me read them to you.”
Veri looked up. “I think you’ll find them . . .” he paused. “Well, I’ll just
read them and be done with it.”

“‘In light of the emergency conditions commencing as of this
date and in order to maintain public order, pursuant to Chapter 5, Article 40
of the Code on Public Security, all civilian permits for firearms possessed by
individuals are declared null, void, and are hereby revoked, effective 72 hours
from the time of promulgation of this order.’”

Veri put the sheet of paper down. “There’s more, but the
bottom line is that we are supposed to help our friends in the national and
local police confiscate all legally owned weapons on the island. And of course
any unregistered ones as well. All the regional commands received this order
straight from Headquarters. Apparently our government is nervous that things
could get bad—and soon. This order will be made public tomorrow.”

Bruno shook his head. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing
I’ve ever heard. This is just like the Ebola shit a few years back. Panic for
nothing. And taking peoples’ legal guns? This is the first thing the government
worries about? That doesn’t make sense.”

Cristian scoffed. “Are we supposed to confiscate knives and
forks, too?”

Veri reached for three sheets of paper on his desk and held
them up. “Gentlemen, here is the list of individuals on the island with legally
registered firearms. It’s got to have around a hundred people on it.” Veri
paused, lit another cigarette and took a drag, then held the papers over his
cigarette. Within seconds, the corners began to smolder, and flames began to
lick the sheets of paper. Veri turned in his chair and dropped them into a
metal wastebasket behind his desk, where they continued to burn.

Veri finished his cigarette in silence. Smoke from the
wastebasket rose from behind him. When the smoke dissipated, Cristian finally
spoke.

“We’re going to tell the higher-ups we don’t know who has
guns now because you burned the list?” Cristian said. “What, it’s not on the
computer?”

“No,” replied Veri, taking him seriously, despite Cristian’s
manner. “We’re not going to plead ignorance. Quite the opposite, actually:
we’re going to tell Headquarters we’ve followed their order.”

“You’re just going to lie?” said Cristian. “You’re going
tell them we’ve confiscated the weapons?

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Now, wait a minute. What if an inspector comes to check on
the weapons? And what about the Questura, the local police office? They’re the
ones who issue firearms permits in the first place. They won’t simply look the
other way.”

Veri leaned back in his chair. “I’ve already spoken to
Commissario Esposito in their office here on Capri. He thinks this is a
bullshit order too, and is in full agreement.”

“So, what, that means you can just ignore it? Sir, do you
know what they’ll do if they find out? They’ll crucify you.” Cristian gestured
towards Bruno. “And probably us to boot!”

Veri stood up, walked around his desk, and put his hand on
Cristian’s shoulder. “Of course, I will take full responsibility for this
decision.” Veri’s gazed shifted to Bruno. “I would never hang you lads out to
dry. Anyway, trust me, no one is going to check. The chain of command has more
urgent things to deal with than watching us. Besides, if this sickness turns
out to be nothing, the worst that will happen is a reprimand.” He chuckled.
“Don’t know about you young bucks, but at my age, I’m sure I can handle a
sternly worded letter. And if the sickness is real . . .” Veri paused for a
moment, considering his words. “If it’s real, then the last thing anyone will
care about is whether or not we followed this order.”

“Sir,” said Bruno, “if it ever came to it, the higher-ups
aren’t going to believe we didn’t know what was going on. Even if they did,
we’d certainly be considered derelict, at least, for not knowing about
something this—this—” Bruno struggled for the right words.

“It’s fucking insane,” said Cristian.

Veri ran his fingers though his cropped hair. “Look, I
understand what you’re saying. But you both know history—think of it like the
orders our military got when they were in Croatia back in World War II. The
military didn’t obey, because the orders they got—those orders were wrong. They
were evil. These orders are wrong, too.”

Bruno understood Veri’s point, but he doubted orders to
round up innocent Jews for slaughter constituted the moral equivalent of this
firearms confiscation order, and he was certain their superiors would not think
so.

“Gentlemen,” Veri continued, “our duty is to protect our
citizens, not to put their lives in jeopardy. In thirty years as an officer, I
have never done anything to put a civilian’s life in danger. But that is
exactly what this,” Veri pointed to the smoldering trash can, “preposterous
order does. It turns law-abiding citizens into criminals, overnight. It takes
away their right to defend themselves. I want no part of it. I can’t stop this
order everywhere, but we can at least stop it here, but . . .” Veri paused. “I
can’t do anything without your support.”

Bruno considered the request. If he acquiesced, it would, at
best, mean the end of his career. He did not want to think about the worst that
could happen. Even so, the words were out of Bruno’s mouth before he could
stifle them: “All right. Fine. I’m in.”

Cristian shook his head. “I thought I was the stupid one,”
he said, and laughed. “I guess you’ve got this all sorted out, sir.” His tone
suggested that he thought the exact opposite. “I hope you’re right, for all our
sakes.”

Veri nodded, but said nothing.

***

Later that night, Bruno lay in his bed, staring at the
ceiling. He looked at his watch. Only 23:16. The long depths of night still
stretched before him. He flung the bedsheet off and sat up. The crescent moon
was surprisingly bright, lighting up Bruno’s one-room flat. He stood, opened
the glass doors, and walked, naked from the waist up, onto the balcony. The
slight chill in the air was refreshing. He looked down towards the village of
Capri and beyond it to the dark sea below. Living in Anacapri, the less
tourist-saturated village above Capri, was the only way he could afford to live
on the island. He had no desire to brave the twice-daily ferry commute to and
from Naples like Cristian and Veri. Though it was late, lights twinkled against
the velvet dark of the sea. The beauty of it captivated Bruno, distracting him
for a moment from thoughts of cover-ups, deception, and disobedience.

A light on his neighbor’s balcony came on and the glass door
slid open. A white-haired man in a robe stepped out, a half-full wine glass in
one hand. The man’s face was weathered like the rocks of the island’s
Faraglioni. Bruno had always thought he looked more like a sailor than a
priest.

“Buona sera, Father Tommaso,” said Bruno.

He saluted Bruno with his glass. “Bruno, good to see you.”