Running With The Horde (Book 2): Delusions of Monsters (21 page)

“Should be obvious, you have all the samples, the prototypes and your research to date. Find me a vaccine, gentlemen.” Dick said before making a beeline for the more comfortable side of the floor.

Andrew noticed he didn’t say cure just vaccine. But Andrew knew it didn’t matter. He had already failed at finding a cure or a vaccine even though he’d spent years trying in the hopes of saving humanity from the Syndicate’s plan to use mind control as a form of mass slavery. Best that could be hoped for was for him to modify the control technology. The items he and John had created for the Syndicate would be useless against the strain Dick and Todd had unleashed on the public. They would have to retrofit it. Their only enemy was time. The virus incubated for a period of weeks before it changed its victims irrevocably. When that happened there wouldn’t be much of humanity left to protect, only beasts and chaos. A whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it. John shot him a dirty look and Todd laughed. Andrew felt the stolen phone hiding in his back pocket. He figured it was a lost cause but it still managed to give him a small amount of comfort.

The Past

“I’ll have the Juicy Lucy, please, and fries. My colleague will have the same,” Bill told the pretty waitress and watched politely as she made a note on her pad.

“Bill, you know I am trying to watch what I eat,” Derrick grumbled. He barely fit into his side of the booth Bill had insisted they sit in.

“Matt’s isn’t the type of place where you order a salad, Derrick. Quit pretending you don’t want the burger.”

Derrick mumbled something obscene under his breath while Bill smiled a particularly condescending smile at him from across the table.

“Did you get anything from Shipman?”

“Why do you think you and I are spending so much time together?” replied Bill.

“I thought you were sweet on me, is that not the case, boss?”

“A lovely thought, Derrick, but alas my heart belongs to Uncle Sam and he is a jealous lover. As a matter of fact I did get something from Shipman. The skinny bastard made a phone call right after I left.”

“The fact that he didn’t catch your bug means he is missing a step. That’s not like him.”

“I thought that too. He must be under a lot of stress, probably in over his head,” Bill said.

“Anyway who did he call?”

“No clue, he didn’t use any names but he did manage to put a half-assed hit out on me.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Weren’t you college buddies or something?”

“Roommates, actually, for two years. He has always been somewhat of a snake but I’ve never felt his fangs. Not for real anyway. It’s gotta be the pressure of whatever it is he is mixed up in. The sooner we figure it out, the better off we’ll all be.”

“Why did you say the hit was half assed?”

“Towards the end of the exchange he tried to call it off. It didn’t sound like he was successful though.”

“Son of a bitch. What we ought to do is head back over there and pound his ass until he gives up whatever he knows.”

“I thought of that too but the trouble is I don’t think he knows all that much. We’d be blowing our wad on penny slots, I want the big money.”

“So what do we do in the meantime while you got some unknown person or group gunning for you?”

We figure out a way to leverage them out of wanting to kill me, show them I have value, can be an asset.”

“To what?”

“The million dollar question, Derrick. I have no fucking idea. The mind-control scheme I suppose.”

The meal came and was dispatched with the haste of men who thought maybe it could be their last. Bill picked up the tab and they left the crowded bar with their eyes open and senses on high alert. It had been a good many years since Bill had seen actual danger due to his profession. In truth, it felt invigorating. From the extra swagger in Derrick’s stride he could tell the man felt the same. There was danger in that feeling. He wasn’t exactly a young man anymore. Lack of attention or quick reflexes in the espionage business was a quick way to get a person killed. It was time to dust off what was left of yesterday’s skills.

Later that afternoon, after a long circuitous route home to his apartment on 2
nd
and Marquette, he pulled out a bottle of fine bourbon and poured himself a stiff one. Then it was off to his bedroom closet where he opened his gun safe and removed his Makarov pistol from the oily rag he kept it in.

The next hour was spent in his study cleaning and loading his old gun. The weapon had been his faithful sidekick long before he’d ever met Derrick Lewis. He felt like he was regaining a piece of his youth just loading it. It would stay with him now for however long he remained involved with the Shipman affair.

After cleaning his weapon and pouring another drink, he sat down and pulled out the files he and Derrick had acquired a few days prior. It was time to examine the facts as he knew them. Only then could he determine what information he didn’t have and where he’d be likely to find it.

It had all started with a phone call.

The call had come to him two weeks prior from an old colleague. Chip Fielding had been an analyst with the DIA and a damn good one at that. Back in the day when Bill had been an active operative, he hadn’t had much time for people like Chip but the little egghead had grown on Bill. They’d developed something resembling a friendship. They kept in touch on occasion but it wasn’t uncommon for years to pass between phone calls. When they did speak it was only to talk about the good old days or memorialize a fallen colleague.

While Bill was known for his vicious effectiveness in the field which included more than his share of wet work, Chip had an invaluable skill set when it came to recognizing patterns out of seemingly unrelated streams of data. Chip could see things nobody else could and Bill always appreciated his brilliance. Like Bill, when the DIA suddenly folded Chip chose a twilight career. Only his was as a tax man with the IRS. He used his connections to find a comfortable spot in the Virginia office where he used his skills to find tax evaders for Uncle Sam. He had fallen in love with a truly dreadful woman and he wanted to be as near to her as possible. She had lived in Roanoke.

“Still have any useful connections with the FBI?” the reedy voice had blared through Bill’s handset without any preamble.

“Huh?” Bill asked. He’d been dozing in his office chair when he answered the phone and he didn’t immediately place his old coworker’s voice.

“You know, the folks in the black suits with sensible haircuts?”

“Chip?”

“Well it isn’t Dale!”

Bill groaned into the phone, Chip Fielding could be annoying as hell. The IRS was the perfect place for him. “How long has it been, Chip, five years? You still a tax man?”

“Hell yeah, Billy Boy, I am
the
tax man and loving every minute of it! Listen, do you remember my step-son Drew?”

There was no catching up with Chip Fielding. When he made contact it was as though he had always be in touch. As if they were just picking up wherever their last conversation left off. It didn’t matter if the gap was 10 minutes or 10 years.

“You don’t remember Drew?” Chip asked again, quieter this time. Bill thought he could detect pain in his voice.

“Sure, Chip, of course I remember Drew, something change with his case?”

“You mean did he show up at our door with a sore ass and a poorly remembered alien abduction story? No, nothing like that. Well, mostly nothing like that, as it turns out aliens may have actually been involved. Or at least Area 51.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bill asked, already getting impatient with this bizarre conversation.

“Drew!”

“What’s this about aliens? Seriously, Chip, I don’t understand what you are talking about. Did they find his body or something?” Bill asked, hating the annoyed tone in his voice.

“No! I think he is still alive!”

“You think? Based on what?”

“It’s kind of a long story and I can already tell you aren’t going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

So Chip told his story and it was a whopper. As he began relaying the tale of the mysterious shipment of blankets he and his wife had started receiving a handful of years ago Bill began to deeply regret answering the phone in the first place.

“…was kind of nice the first year or so. Kept Wanda occupied. She really has never been the same since the kid vanished. I mean sure it was weird and all but I just thought it was one of her church lady friends trying to do a nice thing for her. Thing is, she kept insisting they were from Drew. At first it was fine but she wouldn’t let it go, had the damn things spread out all over the living room. It looked like a fucking craft store in there. It was all she talked about. Eventually I tried to get her some help, even had her committed for a while. Anyway, one day while she was away and I was kind of missing the sound of her prattle I go sit down in the living room in my easy chair and that’s when I see it!”

“See what?” Bill asked.

“The pattern! I’m sitting there staring at all these fucking blankets and I see the pattern!”

“I think most of them are patterned, Chip.”

“Bill, don’t be a fucking smartass, I mean a code. The blankets were all coded, I could see it plain as day once I really looked.”

“Are you sure Wanda was the one who should’ve been committed?”

Chip ignored the barb and continued on, “Took me forever but I cracked it!”

Bill sighed, “You cracked the code you found in the patterns on the blankets?”

“Yes, and it sounds crazy but I believe Drew is alive and being held prisoner inside of Area 51. They’ve got him working on some kind of super virus. A group called the Syndicate is going to unleash it in the states as part of the Safety First Act.”

Bill thought about hanging up on Chip but his old friend had clearly lost it and he didn’t have the heart to cut him off like that. “So let me get this straight, you believe your step-son, who was legally declared dead 5 years ago, was actually kidnapped and put to work inside of Area 51 and he’s been there ever since?”

“That is correct.”

“And somehow, during that time, he also knitted and coded several blankets and managed to get them shipped to your wife?”

“Yes.”

“You realize how this sounds, don’t you?”

“Um, look, I get it. It sounds nuts, especially the blankets and the code part but-“

“And the Area 51 part,” Bill interrupted, “and the super virus part. You
do know
that place is nothing more than an Air Force Base, right?”

Chip was silent on the other end of the line. Bill could just see him conjuring up the words for a counter argument. “You still there, Chip?”

“I’m here,” he paused, “Bill, I really do hope I’m not losing my marbles and I can’t explain how he did it but I do think Drew made the blankets and managed to get them out undetected. Hell, the kid was always kind of a light weight. Maybe he was inconsolable about his mom and it was a compromise with whoever is keeping him. They just look like regular blankets, this Syndicate group probably figured they were harmless and they
were
for years until I saw what was right in front of my face.

“What do you want from me, Chip?”

“I don’t know, Bill, I didn’t know who else to call. The message in the blankets made it seem like the Syndicate had eyes everywhere. For all I know they are monitoring this call. You were always so capable back in the day, I just figured you’d have some ideas, maybe know who to call?”

“I gotta tell you, Chip, I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say.”

“Please, Bill, I feel it in my gut, I believe Drew is alive and in trouble. In fact, I think we all are.”

“I believe that
you
believe it but the thing is, I don’t. I think your first instinct was correct. Someone was trying to do something nice for Wanda to honor her son and they just let it go too far. They probably have no idea they did more harm than good.”

“And the code?” Chip asked. Bill didn’t say anything, he really didn’t want to hurt his old friend’s feelings. “Well, shit. You really do think I’ve lost it,” Chip said.

“No, listen, Chip, I’m-“

“Save it. Maybe you’re right and I’m as nutty as a circus peanut. Don’t worry about it, I will figure it out on my own. I’ll talk to you another time.”

“Wait, Chip!” Bill said but it was too late. His friend had already disconnected.

Bill took a long hard look at the phone and thought about trying to call him back and maybe offer to make a few calls but in the end he decided against it. It wouldn’t do Chip any good if he added any fuel to the fire. The only thing that would dissuade the man of his delusions was time to consider how ridiculous they sounded. Chip was a smart guy and would figure it out eventually. Bill McCloud didn’t give Chip another thought until four days later when news broke on a mass shooting in Virginia.

Early that Tuesday morning at the IRS office complex, a heavily armed man entered the building and began shooting employees. Eight people were slain and four critically wounded before the assailant was killed by an armed security guard. The newspaper article didn’t list the victims out of respect to their loved ones but after a few discreet phone calls Bill was able to confirm that Chip Fielding had been among the casualties.

With a heavy heart, Bill regretted blowing Chip off when he’d called. He should have taken him seriously. He should have listened and offered better advice because clearly Chip had been on to something. Bill knew that Chip’s coded blanket discovery and his murder could not have been coincidental.

He and Chip had been friends but beyond that they’d been brothers in service to a greater cause while they were in the DIA. That meant something. He would do what he could to see Chip’s death and efforts weren’t in vain. If Drew was alive, Bill was going to find him. He picked up his phone and dialed a number with a sigh. The man on the other end picked up on the first ring, he always did. “Derrick, we need to talk,” he said.

Later that same afternoon, as he and Derrick debriefed on what little he knew of the situation, a priority package the size of a thick magazine arrived at Bill’s office, signature required. The return address said Seymore Buttes and Bill knew Chip had sent it. Enclosed inside were photos of the blankets, the message Chip had decoded and a note from the man himself.