Chapter 26- Filtration Process

Chapter 26

Filtration Process

Washington, D.C

“The Secretary of Defence isn’t going to get here,” said Jack Krane, putting the telephone down.  Peter Bierko stood up and stretched for a moment.

“Okay then, well we’ll have to manage without his input then,” said Richard McCoy, the Whitehouse Counsel.  Peter wondered about that.

“We don’t have a military expert in the room though,” said Henry Finch, the Attorney General.

“Peter is a former FBI agent, that’s close enough,” said McCoy.  “Equally Jack Krane regularly briefs the President on military matters,”

“Yeah but I don’t know even half of what Secretary Hayes knows,” said Jack.

“We’ll just have to make do, you give it the old college try,” quipped McCoy.

Peter Bierko remembered his days in the FBI, when he’d been a proud civil servant.  He’d been part of a large number of anti-terrorist operations in the US, domestic work.  But he’d never seen anything quite like this.  He supposed there was a simple reason for that but he didn’t want it to be true.  When his phone rang, he’d know how bad this crisis was going to be.

“Okay so we make do then,” said Henry.  “But we need to act soon,”

“Indeed we do,” said McCoy.  “And I know how we should act too,”

Peter raised an eyebrow at this and looked over at Jack Krane.  Krane’s expression was unreadable.

“We’ve got a potential terrorist threat operating inside the walls of the military, perhaps all the way up to the top of the Department of Defence,”

“We don’t know that,” said Peter.

“But we’ve got nothing that says any different do we?” continued McCoy.  “We’ve got a lack of information.  And the only hard information we have is that someone in the military is in business for themselves.  And they could be operating right across the damned river!”

Peter thought about it, a rogue general operating inside the Pentagon.  It was a horror story; there was no question of that.  But they didn’t know if it was true, they didn’t know exactly who was a friend and who was a foe at this point.

“This is a serious threat to this administration.  Worse, it’s a serious threat to this republic.  I believe that we are justified in using our most severe force to counter-act it before it’s too late,” finished McCoy. 

“You’re not in the court room now Richard,” replied Henry.  “Just get to the damned point,”

“Fine Henry, fine I’ll bottle the answer.  We’ve got a rogue military and we outrank them.  I suggest we can the entire joint chiefs of staff, all of them.  They are all put on gardening leave, as of now,”

“You have to be kidding me!” spluttered Peter.  “The chiefs?  We don’t know if they are involved in this or not!”

“Exactly, we don’t know and they aren’t here to answer so better safe than sorry.  Then we shut the Pentagon down, we call it an exercise.  We put the Secretary of Defence in charge of the military, with all of his orders being vetted by the President,”
“You mean by us don’t you?” said Henry.

“Yes, if needs be.  Then we move against this rogue operation as fast as we can.  But this should insulate us from all potential threat avenues.  The Secret Service is your department Peter, can you vouch for them?”

“Yes I can,” said Peter ruefully.

“What about your old buddies in the Bureau?” he continued.”
“I’ve not spoken to many of them for a while but the Bureau will stay loyal to the administration,”

“Great, okay then we move, and fast,” finished McCoy.  He folded his arms and looked around the room.

“It’s so drastic,” said Jack.

“Yes but necessary,” replied McCoy.

“You’re talking about a counter-coup aren’t you?” Henry Finch said this very slowly.

“Against all enemies, foreign and domestic,” quoted McCoy.

Peter’s mobile phone rang and he flicked it open.

“Peter here,” he said into it.

“We’ve got a location; a signal intercept places the base in Wheeling, Virginia,”

“Thank you Ryan,” said Peter and closed his phone.

“What was that?” asked Jack.

“New information,” said Peter.  “We cant do what you want us to do Richard,”
“I’m not saying I want to do this, I’m saying we’ve got no choice,”

“We cant do it.  The NSA has just found out where the base giving these orders is based.  If we are going to strike, it should be there, a surgical attack to put them out of action,”

“It’s not fast enough,” replied McCoy, getting to his feet.

Peter stood up too and the two men regarded each other across the table.

“We’ve got a location for a target, someone who is a serious threat, as you put it.  So we need to strike and we need to strike right now,”

“How?” asked McCoy.  “Send the US marshal over there with a search warrant?”

“Don’t be facetious.  We send a military unit to do it, an M.P unit,”

“Military police?  I don’t think that’s going to cut it either.  May I remind you Peter that these people have committed treason against the United States,” declared McCoy.

“We don’t know that for sure do we?  We need the right information before we act,”
“And I’m saying we don’t have time, we don’t know how high up this conspiracy goes,”

“Wait a minute,” said Henry.  “No one said this was a conspiracy,”

“It must be,” replied McCoy.  “Otherwise why are we the only ones here?  There’s no telling how high up this goes,”

“You’re paranoid,” spat Peter.

“Am I?  Or am I the only one here who seems to understand the gravity of this situation,”

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Three men walked swiftly out of the village towards a parked helicopter.  Captain Roman Dietz wondered what it was he would find there, whether his old friend was still alive or dead.

Fifteen years ago the two of them had been young Air Force officers with bright futures ahead of them.  Peter had made is famous mistake, telling the truth when no one was interested.  Roman had made his mistake too.

He remembered the meeting with General McDonagh, who had been the one forced to deal with the fall-out.  The old General, three years of retirement, was determined to get even with the Air Force Captain who had caused so much trouble.

“How long have you known Pete Dalton?” asked the General.

Roman had stood in the office and felt utterly intimidated.  He hadnt yet made First Lieutenant and he was already being bullied by a General.  This was what they called a “lose-lose” situation.

“I’ve known Captain Dalton for two years now,”

“What’s your opinion of the man?” asked the General.

“He’s a good man sir, a solid CO,”

“I see,” replied the General. This was clearly not the answer he was looking for.

“And what about you Lieutenant?  Do you want to move up?  Are you looking for a career in the Air Force?”

“Yes sir,” replied Dietz.

“Well then, I think it’s time you revised your opinion of Captain Dalton.  Because a view that he’s a good man, will not help you move up.  I suggest you go back to your unit and you make a formal complaint about Captain Dalton and those unsound methods you were telling me about,”

“What methods?” replied Dietz.

“You know which ones.  Now you do this and we’ll be talking about you’re future with baited breath.  Do you understand Lieutenant Dietz?”

Of course he’d understood. They wanted him to discredit his friend and help himself.  So Roman Dietz had told the truth, that Captain Dalton was a good man who he trusted.  He had said more than that, that he was his friend too.

Captain Dietz walked towards the Osprey, wondering how he would be able to kill his friend if he had to.  Dietz looked over at Newman, carrying the bulky flamethrower, and then at Wharton.

Wharton, he’d be able to do it.  He’d shot the fleeing civilian with no problems and he’d suggested that they should simply shoot them all anyway.

“If one of them is infected, they may well all be infected,” he had said.

Dietz shook his head, maybe he wasn’t suited to this work anymore.  Maybe he never had been.  There was a sudden blare of noise and light and the Osprey Helicopter began to lift into the air.

“They’re making a get away!” shouted Wharton.

“What?” yelled back Dietz.

The Osprey lifted up and began to fly away from Villa Cyranno.  There was a crackle of noise and Dietz lifted his radio.

“This is Captain Dietz here,” he yelled.

“This is Rapier Twenty-Five,” came the tinny voice.  “I’ve got a friendly lifting off from the ground.  Can you confirm that it’s clean?”

Roman looked up at the helicopter and put a hand on his cross again.

“Say again Rapier,”

“This is Rapier Twenty-Five, you need to confirm that the friendly leaving is clean.  They say they are but I need confirmation of that,”

Roman Dietz swallowed hard and then shook his head.

“Negative Rapier, negative.  We cannot confirm,” he yelled.

“Roger that Captain, Rapier out,”

“Oh God,” whispered Roman Dietz.  The Osprey banked sharply and began to fly away, towards America when a missile slammed into its side.  There was a flash of light and a huge explosion lit the sky.

“It was the only way to be sure,” said Clarence Wharton.  Roman Dietz held onto his cross and tried not to think about it, tried not to remember his friend.

“The blood is gone then,” said Newman.  “How will we test the villagers now?”

Wharton looked around at Newman and then back at Dietz.

“How can we be sure about any of them now?”

How can they be sure now?

Chapter 25- The Test

Chapter 25

The Test

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

“I can’t believe what you’re suggesting!” yelled Captain Dietz.  Wharton looked back at him, calmly.

“I can’t believe how stupid you are all being.  We’ve got too many potential targets, too many variables.  This is impossible to hold down with what we’ve got,” replied Wharton.

“But this is unthinkable!” replied Dietz.  “It’s immoral,”

“I don’t care,” replied Wharton.  “You’re the ranking officer here; you order them to do it,”

“No,” replied Dietz, simply.

Dietz walked away from the argument.  Hannah stood to one side and thought about it.  It was the simplest solution to the problem, the only way to cut down the vectors.  But the problem was that it wouldn’t eliminate all of the risks.  Therefore, she agreed with the Captain.

“Okay, we need to get the blood from the chopper then.  But we can run blood tests here first,” said Hannah to the group.

“Yes, yes that’s right.  Okay we need a team to go to the chopper after we’ve all been blood tested,” said Dietz.  “Newman, get the blood out of the medical kit,”

“Sir,” replied Newman.  The team began to assemble when a there was a shout from the crowd.

Oscar stepped out and pointed.

“Look, look he’s made a break for it,”

“What?” exclaimed Dietz.  A single man was rushing away from the crowd. 

“Stop or we’ll shoot,” shouted Wharton.

“Wait a minute,” said Dietz.

“Stop!” shouted Wharton in Spanish.  The man continued to run.  There was a crack of a single shot and he fell to the ground.  The crowd gasped and cried out in terror.  A few started to curse and a few started to cry.

Hannah turned to see Wharton holstering his gun.  She felt cold all over.

“He ran from the crowd, he could have been one of them,” said Wharton.

“Yes I suppose that’s possible,” she said back, never breaking eye contact with him.

Specialist Newman took out the medical kit and hung the “blood bag” from a nearby doorframe.

“Okay, gather round everyone,” said Captain Dietz.  “Wood, keep an eye on the crowd,”

Oscar had moved away but Dietz beckoned him over.  “If we’ve got enough, we’re going to test you too,”

“Me?” said Oscar, pointing to himself.

“Yes you.  If you’re our guide, we need to know you are still human,” Said Dietz.

“Okay we need to get a blood sample from each person.  Newman, you got a sample case or something?” asked Dietz.

“I could use this one, yeah,” said Newman, holding up a couple of small plastic trays that were usually used for gathering evidence.

“Perfect.  Okay we’ll need to get a blood sample, let’s start with me,” said Dietz.

Dietz drew his own knife from his gear and held it to his thumb for a moment, paused and then made a quick incision.  His blood dripped into the tray.

“That’s enough,” said Newman.  Newman then took out the end of the blood bag where he had fixed up a drip.

“Okay here goes,” said Newman.

Hannah saw that Storm had moved away from Dietz and had both hands on his P-90 submachine gun again.  Hannah felt her hand reach to her side for her pistol.

A drop of red blood fell onto a patch of blood.  Nothing happened.

“Doesn’t seem to have any reaction,” said Wharton.

“At this level, no,” said Chung.  “But at a cellular level?”

“How the hell do we check that?” asked Wooderson.

“I thought of that too,” said Newman.  “I figured you’d need to be able to take a closer look so I rigged up a microscope,” Newman looked into the sample-tray.

“No reaction,” he said.  Dietz breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let me see,” said Chung.  Newman passed it over to Chung.

“He’s right, no reaction.  Okay I’m next,” Dietz moved over to Chung and cut him too.

Again, no reaction.  “So you’re human too then,” said Hannah to Chung.  Chung smiled.

“I always knew I was,” he replied.

“Come on, get it over with,” said Wharton.

Dietz approached Storm with his knife but Storm spoke first.

“You aint touching me with a knife Cap.  I’ll do myself,”  Storm drew a knife from behind his back and cut his finger deftly.

Again, no reaction. 

“So far, so good,” said Chung.

“If the test is working,” replied Wharton.  Hannah shook her head.

“If it doesn’t work, then we’re screwed,” said Chung bluntly.

Oscar was next, again there was no reaction on any level.

The whole team was, apparently, human.
“We need a positive result too,” said Wharton.  “Otherwise that was a meaningless exercise,”

“Again, I hate to agree with him but he’s right,” said Chung.

“Get a sample from one of the dead ones,” said Dietz.

“Okay,” said Storm.  He approached the burned remains of the corpse that had once been Hunter.  Hannah walked past the terrified crowd and knelt by the dead man.  A round had splashed the back of his head.  She knelt down and took a sample of her own.

“No reaction from this either!” said Newman. “ Maybe the test doesn’t work,”

“No, those cells are dead,” said Chung.  “They were burned.  Try the blood on the grass, where Hunter got shot.  If I’m right, those cells are still active,”

“Try this too,” said Hannah.  Newman made the test on the dead man’s blood.

No obvious reaction, not even on a cellular level.  Hannah looked over at Wharton who kept a hand on his side-arm too.

“Try this then,” said Storm, offering the tip of his knife to Newman.  Newman dripped blood onto it.

“Jesus,” said Newman.  “Look at this,”

He passed the jury rigged microscope to Chung who looked too.

“Now that is something.  Hannah, come see this,” he said.

Hannah approached warily.  She stopped by Wooderson on her way and leant in close to him.

“Keep an eye on the agent too,” she whispered.  He nodded back.

Hannah looked down the eye-piece.  A blood cell floated there, long filaments extending out from it.  Another blood cell was slightly out of view.

“The one we’re focusing on is the ‘intruder cell’” said Chung.

The filaments broke the edge of the other blood cell and the blood cell became thinner and seemed to collapse.  Then there was a small movement and the other cell went back to normal and floated away.  The thin filaments returned to the intruder cell.

“Shit,” she said.  “That was fast,”

“Now we know exactly what we’re dealing with.  It takes over the host body and creates a duplicate, using the host bodies mass.  The original intruder goes on in its previous guise,”

“Okay.  Okay we know we’re human then,” she said.  “So now we need to figure out who is human back on the chopper,” said Dietz

“I’ll go and give them the test.  Newman, Chung, you come with me.  McPherson, you’re in charge here,”

“I’m coming too,” said Wharton.

“Okay then, fine.  Let’s go,” said Dietz.

“Be careful,” said Hannah as they walked away.  She turned to look at Storm, who was lighting up another cigarette.  Then she looked at Wooderson who stood still, a faint smile on his face when he saw her looking over at him.

Then she looked at the crowd.  “Okay you bastard, we’re going to find you now,” she whispered.

Sat-Com, somewhere in Virginia

There was a crashing sound from out in the hallway.  Sergeant McLintock, who had been tidying away from an early helicopter landing, turned and raised his head.

“Keep it down in there,” he shouted.  He went back to tidying away equipment when he heard another crash, this time it sounded like metal falling on the floor.  Then he heard another sound, harder to place.

It sounded like something wet and heavy had landed on the floor.  McLintock stood up straight now.  He walked slowly back towards the de-con door.  It was open.  Sergeant McLintock reacted fast.

He ran towards an alarm and reached for it.  There was a sudden sharp, jarring impact and he was thrown back down the corridor.  Colonel Adams, splattered in blood, was stood in front of the alarm.  He had appeared from around the corner.

McLintock had wanted to speak, to ask what was going on but his throat clicked and he felt a rising nausea.  He looked to his side and saw that his left arm was now missing below the elbow.  Blood pumped slowly from the severed limb.  He fought with a wave of dizziness.

Colonel Adams stood there, a bloody half limb in one hand.  He threw it to one side.  He then walked away towards the control centre.  Sergeant McLintock tried to get to his feet but fell to the ground.  Then he heard footsteps approaching.  He turned to see Colonel Sickles approaching him.  McLintock, who hadnt liked or trusted Sickles anyway, crawled fast away from him.  Sickles reached out and somehow caught hold of him, despite McLintock had been more than ten feet away.  McLintock’s survival instinct kicked in fast and he kicked at Sickles impossible long arms.

There was a strange squawk from the Colonel and McLintock was free.  Some primal instinct in his head worked in tandem with ten years of Air Force training and experience.  He would have only a few seconds to act and then it would be over.  McLintock dived for the alarm.

Boom

Hey genuine readers

My Hard Drive blew up last week as a little late birthday present from the cosmos.  So I've been delayed getting my files recovered

As some kind of message from the Gods, Mere Anarchy is one of them things that did not survive.  Therefore you've got to wait for the rest of the story.

Or there will be no more story at all and I'll just have to tell you at some point how it was all going to pan out.

Thanks for reading so far, this will at least give you chance to catch up

R

Chapter 24- Short-Sword

Chapter 24

Short-Sword

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Jubal Storm leant back against the wall and took out another cigarette.  He looked across at the gathered crowd of civilians.  Their faces were glum, they looked upset and scared.  This made a lot of sense.  They had no idea just how bad things were going to get.

Agent Wharton was talking to Captain Dietz, Lt’s McPherson and Chung were stood to one side.  Sergeant Wooderson kept his weapon up and ready but wasn’t aiming it at anyone.  To Storm, this situation was becoming absurdly complicated.

Of course Jubal had a solution to the problem too, a simple way to sort out the humans from the imposters.  But the team would never go for it.  He had also come to a harsh conclusion about the team that had gone to check on Ostrow.

Specialist Newman, an engineer by trade, came over and stood by Storm.  Storm offered him a cigarette and Newman took it in shaking hands.  Storm leant over and lit it with his own cigarette.

“What’s going on Jube?” asked Newman.

“Don’t know,” replied Storm.

“They’re talking about how to tell who is who.  But there are people missing.  We need more men here,” stammered Newman.

“Maybe, maybe that’d be worse?” offered Storm.

“How so?” asked Newman.

“What if we’re all one of those things?” asked Storm.

“I’m not,” replied Newman.

“Neither am I.  But I aint sure about you and I aint sure about any of the others.  It could be that you and I are the last humans here,” said Storm.  Of course that didn’t really figure.  Storm knew that, logically, if there were more of these imposters than there were people, they’d attack.  No need to hide then.

“A blood test,” said Chung audibly.

“How would that work?” asked McPherson, holding the sides of her head.  She looked tired but she was still focused.  Storm had picked her out as one of the people who wasn’t about to crack.

“Well, the way I see it and this is strictly theoretical,” began Chung.

“Just spit it out Marcus,” snapped McPherson.  Chung gave her a reproachful look and then spoke.

“If we mix uninfected blood with someone’s blood and it is infected, there will be a reaction,” he said.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“Because you saw the way Hunter behaved.  When he caught fire?”

“He broke in half,” said McPherson.  She shivered involuntarily at that.

“Yes he did.  I have a theory that these things aren’t like a normal creature, that’s just tissue.  They are more like a colony of smaller beings.  And when the main body is ‘killed’, the smaller pieces that aren’t ‘dead’ yet try to escape,” he said.

Jubal thought about that, it made his skin craw.  When you kill something, it was supposed to stay down.  But the guy they had encountered in the pig-pen had tried to get up and move, even without a head.

“Where do we get uninfected blood from?” asked McPherson.

“Newman’s medical kit will have some, not much.  The rest is back on the Osprey,” said Chung.

“El tee,” Said Storm.  Chung looked over

“El tee I think that the Osprey is probably compromised by now,” he said simply.

“How so?” asked Chung.

“Cos if Dalton’s one of us, why didn’t he come back?  Why didn’t anyone come back?  Ask em to bring the blood, they’ll never do it,” said Storm.  “Dalton and all the others on the chopper are one of them now, if they weren’t from the start,”

“You’re full of shit,” snapped Newman.

“Prove me wrong Dan,” replied Storm, calmly.

“No!” said Dietz loudly.  The rest turned around and saw Dietz walking away from Wharton.

“Think about it Roman, it’s the only fucking way to be sure!” said Wharton.

“I don’t care, it’s totally unthinkable,” replied Dietz, hotly.

Wharton shook his head.  Storm got to his feet, stretched and took out two new cigarettes.  He lit one and walked over to Wharton.  Chung and McPherson were explaining the plan to Dietz and Sergeant Wooderson.  To Jubal Storm, it sounded logical.  But he wanted to know what Wharton had suggested that got Dietz so bent out of shape.

Storm offered Wharton a cigarette which Wharton took from him and lit it himself.

“Cap didn’t like your idea none,” said Storm.

“No he didn’t.  It’s the only way to totally isolate this place,” said Wharton.

“What is?” asked Storm.

“We know that we’re not infected right now, the team,” said Wharton.

“We do?” asked Storm.

“We know at least some of us are human, that just follows logically.  If we were all these things, then we’d just kill each other and win,” said Wharton.

“That’s what I thought,” said Storm.

“Then there is only one way to be sure, when it comes to the village,” concluded Wharton.

“Which is?” asked Storm.  Wharton took a long drag and sized up Specialist Grade Five Jubal Storm.

“I think you know exactly what it is don’t you,” said Wharton.

“I do actually,” replied Storm

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

Colonel James Sickles had made a career from his political acumen and his razor sharp intelligence, he was an observer extraordinaire.  He was able to figure out what it was that people wanted; what it was they were really asking from you when you got an assignment.

Here at Sat-Com, he’d been sent by the Secretary of Defence to keep an eye on Major General Tom Petersen.  His official job description was to mind out that the Department of Defence (the shop as they tended to call it) didn’t get its reputation damaged by the crisis and how General Petersen handled it.

That was nonsense, of course.  The situation would be kept as quiet as was humanly possible.  If they had wanted it to be quieter, they’d send another General who would keep it quiet.  What was a Colonel supposed to do?

James Sickles had seen it clearly, his real mandate was to keep an eye on the General himself.  And James was now fairly sure that he had a read on the veteran General.  Of course Petersen didn’t like James, that went without saying.  Petersen was a General from the old guard; a Vietnam veteran who had risen up the ranks and seen the end of the cold war.

When the Berlin wall had come down, James had only been ten years old.  He was a product of the new army, he believed in shock and awe and the violence of action.  He was a political animal too, this was something that Petersen would never ever approve of.

So Sickles would always rub him up the wrong way, that was certain.  James had been isolated from the rest of the staff, bit by bit and gradually managed to slip away alone with Lieutenant Walker.

Now Colonel Sickles had slipped away from the others again.  He was reading a report as he waited at the edge of the containment zone.  A military doctor, Captain Perry, stood by the door too.

“You know Colonel I don’t really approve of you allowing someone out of the containment zone yet,” said the Doctor.  Sickles barely even looked up, the report had him gripped.

“I think Colonel Adams is on his way now,” said Captain Perry.

“Captain, can you do me a favor and take this report back into the main control room,” said Sickles.

“Yes I can.  But I don’t really want to…”
“I’m not asking you, it’s an order.  You follow orders right?” snapped Sickles.

“Yes I do,” replied Perry, glumly.

“Keep the report to yourself, if anyone other than Lieutenant Walker asks you about it, destroy it,”

“What does it say?” asked Perry.

“It’s an engineering report I asked for,” replied Sickles, cryptically.

Perry shook his head and left.  Sickles watched him leave.  He saw Colonel Adams moving through the containment zone, air-tight containment seals all around him.  He had been through a de-con shower and he had come out clean.

Colonel Adams, a towel in his hands, came out to see James Sickles.

“You got a minute to talk Colonel?” asked Sickles.

“Yes I do,” replied Adams.

“Follow me a minute please, “said Sickles.  The two of them walked around a corner to a supply room.  There were boxes and crates and most notably, no one around.

Adams paused by the door for a moment.  Sickles looked around at him.

“You don’t need to panic Colonel, I’m here on the authority of the Secretary of Defence,” he said plainly.

“I see,” replied Adams.

“You don’t.  We’ve got a major situation here,” stated Sickles.  “There is a rogue General in Virginia, giving orders from a defunct mission,”

“What?” replied Adams, shocked.

“There was a mission back in Afghanistan called Briar.  It was a covert Op’s base.  It was the brain child of a couple of heavyweights in the shop.  It got canned when the new President got sworn in.  Well Briar is back from the dead and giving orders all over again,”

“And it’s in Virginia?” asked Adams.

“Don’t be an idiot Colonel, we’re Briar!  Sat-Com is Briar,” he said bluntly.

Adams stood there for a moment saying nothing.  Sickles paced back and forward.  The towel fell to the floor and Sickles, who noticed everything, saw that there was blood in the towel.

Sickles stopped pacing and looked at Adams.  Colonel Adams reached forward with incredible speed and ferocity.  Both hands clamped around James Sickles head and lifted him into the air.  Sickles screamed and reached for his sidearm.

He collided with the ceiling and fell to the Earth, dazed and unaware.  Colonel Chris Adams, or someone that looked a lot like him, dropped to its knees next to Colonel James Sickles.  The ‘Adams Thing’ twisted its own head to one side slightly and there was a terrible cracking sound, like old rotten ice breaking.  Teeth, huge dagger like teeth sprouted from a new, long mouth that had appeared in the top its head.

A long dark red tongue wrapped around Sickles and pulled him with dizzying speed into its new, bloody maw.  There were two or three sharp bites and Sickles stopped struggling.  Adams stood up again, covered in blood.  His face began to knit back together and he reached down with one hand for the ruined body in front of him.  He pushed Colonel Sickles with a hand and there was a low, dazed moan from him.

The ‘Adams’ thing was pleased, he was still alive.

Chapter 23- The Ides of March

Chapter 23

The Ides of March

Washington, D.C

A trio of men in smart suits walked quickly down the hallway.  All around them there was activity, people on the phones, people writing or talking.  The Whitehouse was traditionally a hive of activity.

The man at the front of the trio, the senior man in the group, walked with purpose, checking his watch every now and again.  The second man watched the movements of the first man every now and again.  The third man walked with his hands in his jacket pockets and affected an air of casual indifference to the situation that might have been described by some as a crisis.

“Crisis?  It’s a fucking catastrophe,” is how the President had responded.  Hayden McDonald, the President’s chief of staff and political advisor had tried to calm him down but the President had needed to go through the emotions of it, the shock, the anger and the betrayal.

The trio finally reached the office; the first man opened the door and walked straight in.  He sat down at the head of the table.  The other two followed in behind him.

“Should I make sure the others know where we are?” asked Jack Krane, the deputy chief of staff.

“Anyone who cant find us shouldn’t be here, it’s not a public meeting,” replied Peter Bierko.  The third man was the Whitehouse Counsel, the chief lawyer for the Whitehouse and the President.  His name was Richard McCoy and much like Peter Bierko, he was also a college friend of the President.

Richard sat down at the other end of the table to Peter.  Richard had his old, beat up brief case with him.  He sat down and took out his notes.  Richard’s hair had less grey in it than Peter’s but he carried it better, he had a tan, a genuine tan.  Richard sat back in his seat and began looking at a memo.

“Who else are we expecting?” asked Jack Krane, who looked nervous.

“Anyone that the President and the Chief of Staff trust,” replied Peter.

“That’s a short list of guys then,” quipped Richard McCoy.  Peter raised an eyebrow at that.

“Oh come on Peter, you know that the President had to make a lot of compromises on who made up the cabinet, in order to get here,” said McCoy, his tone superior as ever.  Peter shook his head.

“I didn’t know that, you’re the politician,” replied Peter.

“You are too, now.  You’re the Director of Homeland Security,” said McCoy.

“And the President trusts you,” added Jack.

Peter said nothing to this.  He knew that both Jack and Richard were lawyers, they knew how to talk and how to get something for nothing.  Peter had some understanding of the law but he wasn’t a lawyer or a professional politician.  So he armored himself in silence.

“We cant afford to wait much longer,” said Jack.

“Well we’ll have to.  The Secretary of State has constitutional authority here and we need his say so if we’re going to do anything drastic,” said McCoy.

“How bad do you think this will get?” asked Jack.

“It depends,” replied Peter, carefully.  McCoy raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing.

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“Come in,” said McCoy.

“This place is impossible to find,” came the nasal tone of the Attorney General.

Peter shook his head, it was just what the room needed, another lawyer.

Attorney General Henry Finch sat down next to Peter.  He was a small, crumpled man in a sharp black pinstripe suit. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and was, to Peter’s knowledge, the richest man in the room.

“We need to get on,” said Peter.

“Yes we do,” said Henry.  “So far this story hasn’t broken but when it does it will become impossible to get anything done about it,”

“Then it best not break,” said McCoy bluntly.

“Don’t look at me,” said Henry.  “I’m not going to leak anything from here,”

“We’ve got to come up with a solution to the problem and we’ve got to do it fast.  We cant involve anyone in the decision making who isn’t in here.  And we’ve got to do it all with the Executive Order the President signed without getting him further involved,” said McCoy.

“Unless we’ve got no choice at all,” added Jack.

“Indeed,” said Peter.  “The way I see it, we’ve got two problems.  We’ve got the outbreak of Arctic Blue in Venezuela.  And we’ve got a rogue military officer giving orders from somewhere in Virginia,”

“I should have retired years ago,” said Finch, cleaning his glasses.

“Well you didn’t so you’re going to have to suck it up,” said McCoy sharply.

“Okay, two problems but a common theme,” said Peter.  “We’ve lost control of something and need to exercise control over it before it spreads out,”

“That’s possibly over simplifying it but fair,” said Henry.

“First question, do we have the legal authority over this?” asked Jack.

“Yes we do,” said Henry, putting his glasses back on.  “Anything military we have ultimate legal authority.  All the chains of command end at the President’s office and we’ve got that authority.  It may be necessary to draft the President in on this at some stage though,”

“If we can avoid it, we should,” said Jack.  “I’ve got to think about political containment of this,”  Peter shook his head.

“Now?  Now you’re thinking about political containment?” he said, his disbelief showing clearly on his face.

“This is the show that never ends,” said Jack bluntly.

“Let’s hope so,” said Peter.

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Oscar lead agent Wharton and Captain Dietz to the crowd that had now gathered.  Don Brazzo stood in front of them, of course.  Oscar stopped in front of the crowd and spoke in Spanish.

When he was finished he turned around to speak to Dietz.  There was a flurry of questions from the crowd but Oscar tried to blot them out for a moment. 
“Captain, I’ve explained the situation, that we need to keep everyone in full view and that everyone is to present themselves.  They don’t like it very much but they’re going to comply,”

“That’s good news,” said Dietz.

“Yeah except there are five people missing right now aren’t there?” came Wharton’s voice.

“Yes, yes they are saying that five people are not here,” said Oscar.

“Father Castillo among them?” asked Dietz.

“Yes so that’s four to go,” said Oscar.

“Right so we need to find these people and round them up,” said Dietz.  “I’d feel better if knew what was going on at the chopper,”

“The Major’s got that in hand,” said Wharton.  “If I’m right, he’s wasting a trip”

“You don’t think Jones was….”

“No I don’t,” said Wharton.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” asked Dietz.

“Because I wasn’t sure if the Major was one of them,” came the blunt reply.

“This doesn’t help us,” said Oscar.  “You need to focus on what’s going on here,”

“What’s going on Oscar?” asked Don Brazzo.  “Why do they make us prisoners?”

“It’s for your own protection,” explained Oscar.

“What did you tell them about us?  That we’re small minded mountain folks?”

“No, of course not,” replied Oscar.

“You’ve caused this haven’t you?” said Don Brazzo.  A couple of other villagers began shouting at this, following Brazzo’s lead.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, I’m just trying to help you,” exclaimed Oscar.

“You liar, you’ve always thought you were too good to be here,” cried Brazzo.

‘Why, why does it always come back to this?’ thought Oscar.  He took a step backwards and a villager reached down to pick up a stone.  Oscar covered his face as a stone flew threw the air and bounced painfully off his arm.

There was the sudden bark of gunfire and the crowd shrank back as a group.

Wharton’s pistol was smoking.

“We’ve got no time for this shit,” he said in fluent Spanish.  “You people are all in danger.  If you want to get out of it, you’ll stay put and do nothing until I say so.  If anyone makes another dangerous move, I’ll put a round in your heart, I swear to God,”  Oscar looked at him and saw that if he didn’t mean it, he hid his intentions well.

“Oscar, find out who is missing and where they were last seen,” asked Wharton.

Oscar began talking to the crowd.

“Dietz here,” said Dietz into his radio.

“This is McPherson, we’ve got a fatality here,”

“What?” replied Dietz.  “Who?”

“Hunter, he was one of them.  Look, we’ve got no way of knowing who is still human or not.”

“It was  your job, you and Chung, to find out how we figure out who is who,” said Dietz, exasperated.

“Yes but we need more data before we can judge,” came her reply.

“Brilliant.  Then what do you suggest we do?” asked Dietz.

“For now, just keep everyone visible and we’ll go from there.  Captain, I’m not sure if the Major is clean or not,”

“Repeat your last,” said Dietz.

“We don’t know if Major Dalton is one of them or not,” she said plainly.

“Don’t say that sort of thing over the radio Lieutenant.  I’ve known Peter Dalton for fifteen years,”

“Yes sir,” she said back.

Oscar finished talking to the crowd a second time, the sullen stares still burning into him.  He rejoined the soldiers for a moment to explain who was missing.

“Don Javier, Miguel Uttero, Madam Lucas and Madame Gris.  She’s more than seventy years old, I don’t think she’s going to give you too much trouble,” said Oscar.

“We’ll see,” said Wharton.  “You know, Captain, I think I know how to cut this Gordian knot.  But it’s not a great solution.”

“What is it?” asked Dietz.  Oscar watched them carefully as Wharton looked back at him, he then walked Dietz away from Oscar.  Oscar watched them carefully from a distance.

“What’s going on?” asked Don Brazzo.

“They are deciding how they figure out who is safe,” said Oscar.

“I assume you are safe aren’t you?” said Brazzo, bitterly.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough” replied Oscar.

Chapter 22- Occam

Chapter 22

Occam

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

“Flamethrower, over here!  Now!” came the yell.  Hannah jumped and came out of her reverie.  Sergeant Wooderson grabbed a flamethrower and the two of them ran over to the sound of the call, Chung’s voice from the sound of it.

Stood near a small hut was Specialist Storm, his P-90 machine-gun smoking.  To his left were Lt Chung and Specialist Newman, the engineer.  Newman looked pale and shocked.  Chung waved his arms and pointed.

“There, there.  Burn it!” he shouted.  Hannah raised her P-90 sub-machine gun and aimed at the target.  She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“It’s Hunter?” asked Wooderson in a strangled voice.

“It was, fuckin’ burn it!” yelled Storm.

A writhing body lay on the floor, its arms reaching forward, its legs flattened out below it.  There was blood everywhere.  The face was now unrecognizable, it’s eyes and mouth had vanished under a storm of blood.

“Good God in heaven,” said Hannah to herself.

“Burn the fucker!” shouted Storm.

Wooderson finally came to life, he triggered the flamethrower but his aim was slightly off.  A jet of burning fuel coursed across the legs and lower body of what had once been Lyle Hunter.  There was a terrible low howling sound from it.

Hannah moved towards Chung, keeping her weapon on it as it burned. 

“What happened?” she asked.  Chung’s face became a capital O of surprise.

“Fuck me,” exclaimed Storm.  She saw Storm feed a fresh magazine into his P-90.  She turned to look at the burning creature and felt her stomach heave.

At first there had just been a strange sound, something leathery being twisted.  Then there were a series of quick, cracking sounds like an old branch being broken.  Hannah looked at what had once been Lyle Hunter, a quiet kid from Oklahoma.  There was an ocean of blood around it’s mid-section.

There was a terrible ripping, cracking, rending sound as the upper body separated itself, with a twist from the lower half.  The arms, bent bizarrely at the elbows, now functioned as legs and walked the upper body away from the burning lower body.

“Oh God!” cried Newman and took a huge step backwards.

“Wood!” shouted Storm at Sergeant Wooderson.  “Burn it, burn it now!”

“It’s still moving,” said Chung, a look of horror and wonder mixing on his face.

Wooderson, a veteran air force man, finally broke out of his shock.  He leant into the flame-thrower and fired.  The flames roared and the upper half of Hunter caught fire too.  It crawled, ran and fell with a terrible high pitched shriek.

“Don’t put it out, let it burn,” said Hannah, finally able to speak.

“It’d be quite something to dissect one of those things,” Said Chung.

“Good luck with that one el-tee,” said Storm.

“Hunter was one of them?” asked Wooderson.  “How did you know?”

Storm looked at Wooderson and the others, a long careful look.  Hannah noticed his grey eyes, smart eyes.  She’d never really thought about Storm’s intelligence before.

“Nothin’ personal Sarge, but how do I know you aint one of em either?” said Storm.

“What?  I just burned that one didn’t I?” replied Wooderson, his indignation standing out clearly.

“Yeah that don’t mean much to me,” said Storm, slowly.

“He’s right, if I was one of them, I’d burn another one to make myself seem like a normal person, to gain acceptance,” said Chung.  “It’s a classic albino alligator move,”

Hannah shivered briefly.

Hannah walked away.  She tried to focus on what was happening but there was an inherent problem with what was going on, they didn’t know who was human and who wasn’t anymore.

“Someone needs to get in touch with Major Dalton,” she said.  She took out her radio-mic and opened up a channel to the helicopter.

“This is McPherson, give me Ostrow,” she said.

“This is Dalton,” came the reply.  Hannah sighed briefly, that was reassuring.

“Major, what’s the sit-rep there?” she asked.

“Jones and Harrison are dead.  We secured the situation,” came the reply.

“Jesus, Sergeant Harrison?” she said, stunned.  The veteran Sergeant had seemed invulnerable.

“Do you have the situation locked down there?” he asked her.

“Yes sir, yes we do.  Spec Hunter is dead; he was one of the infiltrators.  We burned him,” A hand appeared on Hannah’s shoulder,  she spun around.

It was Lt Chung.

“Careful what you tell him,” he said quietly.

“Why?” she asked.  But she already knew why.

“Lieutenant, repeat your last,” he said.

“Major, we really need you here to brief us and take command and control,” she said back.

“Negative, I’ve been requested back at Sat-Com.  Captain Dietz will take command now,”

“Sir, we really need you here,” she said again.

“Negative Lieutenant.  This is Dalton out,”

“What do you think?” asked Chung.

“Why should I tell you?  For all I know, you’re one of them too,” she said bitterly.

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

Major General Tom Petersen was back in his office again.  He took a bottle of Glen Moran from his desk draw and poured himself a glass.  He knocked it back in one go.  The pain in his arms and knees was bad today, the worst it had been since he was first diagnosed.

He looked up at the wall, letters of commendation were framed, along with his presentation medal for his Silver Star.  He’d earned that one in blood, he’d been one lucky SOB to survive that ambush.  But compared to the VC, his new enemy was even more insidious.  They were in the same uniform as his men.

The phone rang and Petersen picked it up.

“Petersen,” he barked.

“General, I’ve got Brigadier General Blackburn on the line here,” came a voice.

“Put him through,” said the General.

“General, what do you need?” came the voice.

“Todd, how are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m good thank you General.  All ready to roll, I just need to know what’s going on,”

“I’m going to cut to the fucking desert course Todd, we’ve got a possible infiltration situation here,”

“That sounds very cold war sir,” came the reply.  Punk Kid, thought Petersen.

“Listen carefully son, someone in the chain of command is going into business for themselves and I need to flush them out.  You’re old man was a reliable guy, a fucking hard man.  What about you?”  There was a moment or two of silence.

“Do you have orders from the President?” came the reply.

“Yes I do,” Said Petersen.

“Then I’m in sir.  Show me who we need to bust up and I’ll bust em.”

“That’s the spirit.  There’s a base operating illegally on US soil.  I need you to take a small, hand picked unit there.  Arrest anyone over the rank of Captain, disarm anyone that resists.  Use deadly force if you must.  Don’t fuck around, shoot if you have to,”

“Yes sir,” came the reply.  Solid, the kid was solid.

“Get it done, I’m sending the co-ordinates over a secure link to you now.  Don’t follow any other orders unless they come from me, the Secretary of Defense or the Commander in Chief,”

“Yes sir.  Blackburn out,”

Petersen poured himself another glass. 

“Well, we’re in this now,” he said to no one.

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

There was a fierce fire-fight going on, Marines and US army personnel firing at each other.  The marines continued to fight aggressively against the odds, that was the USMC way.

Lt Rush leant back against a wall, rounds zipping overhead like little hornets.  Rush remembered the old line from basic;

“A snap means its close, a hiss means you need to get down,”

Rush took out his radio microphone.

“This is Lieutenant Price here, I need reinforcments at phase-line green, urgent.  We’re about to be overrun,”

A reassuring female voice came over the radio.

“Black Two, please repeat your sit-rep here, I’ve got the general on the line,”

“This is Black-Two, I’m under severe attack from Red forces, US army personnel.  We’re being overrun.  I request urgen support at phase-line green.  This is urgen,”

“You’re being overrun?” came the question, this time it was a man’s voice.

“Yes sir.” Repeated Rush.

“Okay son, you sit tight and I’ll do what I can.  You understand what I mean?”

“I guess so sir, we’ll hold on if we can,” said Rush.  Rush hung up the phone and raised a rifle.

Satcom, Somewhere in Virginia

“Okay that’s official then.” Said General Petersen.  “Mark it,”

A tech-sergeant marked the board and the small symbol at Infected Zone Two changed.

“Get me Angel,” said the General.

“Angel is on the line sir, “said a very young Lieutenant

“Angel, this is General Petersen.  Execute “Troy”, repeat “Troy”.  You follow me son?”

There was a moment of crackling silence.  Then a muffled synthetic voice replied.

“Yes sir, Troy.”

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

Rush ducked and then aimed up and fired again.  US army troops were all over the perimeter.  Odell dropped in alongside him, reloading his SAW machinegun as he went.

“We’re being overrun el-tee, what do we do?” he asked.

“I don’t know, do your best Odell,” replied Rush.

Odell nodded, cleared his magazine and then opened fire again.  Rush heard the engines of a plane above.

“Spooky?” asked Odell briefly, over a lull in fire.

“Maybe,” Rush thought it did sound like a Specter Gunship.  The huge twin prop plane was a gunship and a half.  If it was coming in to help, maybe, just maybe, they would have enough firepower to at least withdraw, if not hold off this assault.

There was a sudden blinding light and then a rush of air, Rush felt his lungs empty and his eyes seemed to roll back in their head.  Then there was a searing heat and Villa Escobar was “secured”.

A huge plume of smoke began to rise where the village had been, an AC-160 Gunship wheeled away.

Chapter 21- Cry Havok

Book 3

Contagion

Chapter 21

Cry Havok

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Specialist Grade Five Jubal Storm was considered by many a simple guy.  Jubal didn’t mind this very much, he didn’t consider himself a “quiz kid” by any stretch of the imagination.  Equally he liked it when people underestimated him.

Back in North Carolina, being smart, being “learned” wasn’t much help for him.  His daddy would often “whup him” for being too smart. So Jubal Storm learned to just keep his mouth shut and smoke another cigarette.

The air force had been a surprise home for Jubal Storm, he’d been promoted to Specialist Grade Five, the promotion that they have to grant you after a full year’s service and platoon leaders had often given him the pep talk.

“You could make Sergeant in a year if you work hard and get your training in,”

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” he had replied.  A year’s work for stripes?  It hardly seemed worth it to Jubal.  Once you had stripes people would be looking at you all the time.  And then he’d lose an advantage.

Being underestimated, Jubal Storm was able to size people up, spot things that perhaps others might not spot.  He’d noticed that Lyle Hunter, a quiet kid from Oklahoma, was wearing different boots to normal.  Storm had noticed that he wasn’t wearing the same boots he’d been wearing when he’d arrived.  At some point, he had changed some elements of his gear.

Storm also noticed other little things, like the small, very small blood stain on the back of his leg.  In all the chaos and the shooting, it wasn’t that big a deal.  Storm had also noticed that Hunter’s weapon, an M4 Carbine, was on safe, despite all the scary shit that was going on.  Storm relied on his trigger finger as his safety catch.

Storm noticed lots of things, he’d noticed the slow mental collapse of Major Dalton who was clearly not a well man.  He remembered that Dalton had been on a long and difficult assignment a week or two before and Storm supposed that Dalton’s endurance had just been eroded into nothing.

Storm had also noticed that Wharton was a notch smarter than the smartest person in the room.  He tended to listen rather than speak but he noticed and remembered things that no one else had picked up on.

So when Dalton had stated he thought that Jones was “one of them,” Storm had watched Wharton’s reaction.  It had been telling that Wharton didn’t seem very convinced.  Storm thought the same, if they were going to “replace” someone, he’d hang back but in a way that didn’t get noticed.  Jones had been a difficult guy the whole day.  He’d drawn attention to himself.  Not smart.

Storm had also noticed something a long time ago that was a small but critical point.  Lyle Hunter, from Oklahoma, had never ever asked Storm for a light.  He’d never offered to go and smoke with him.  There were many explanations for why he was asking him, Storm knew that.  But only one of them was important.

The two of them walked out of the Church for a moment and stood, just out of view behind a hut that was standing empty, its door wide open.  As they had walked over, Storm had slowly lifted his P-90 submachine gun up to his waist height.

Hunter leant back against the wall and took out a cigarette.

“You got a light Jube?” he asked.  Storm wondered now, he’d called him Jube.  But then he remembered what Chung had said, they would have all the memories that a human being would have had before.

“Take no fuckin’ chances” said Storm quietly.  Storm turned around and shot a burst of machine-gun fire into Lyle Hunter’s stomach.  Hunter was thrown backwards, a cigarette arcing up through the air as he fell.  There was a splash of blood and the smell of cordite.

Hunter fell on his back, his eyes open and wide with shock.  Storm stood back, his hands gripping the sides of the P-90 firmly.  Storm had a few seconds to doubt himself before he was joined by others.

“What the hell are you doing?” shouted Chung.  Newman stood to one side and Chung the other.

“He’s one of em,” said Storm, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

“What?   Hunter?” asked Newman.

“Yeah, he’s one of em,” repeated Storm.

“How do you know?” asked Chung.  Storm was about to say something when Hunter sat up and grabbed at Newman, who was stood the closest to him.  Newman screamed and jumped back.  Hunter was growling as he reached, a terrible animal sound.

“Thank God for that,” breathed Storm.  He lowered the machine-gun and opened fire at nearly point blank range.

Villa Escobar, Venezuela

Tracer rounds zipped through the air and an explosion tore clumps of earth up and hurled them into the air.  Marine’s moved and took up firing positions.  The army unit that had been sent to the village was strung out over a near five hundred meter and was in the open.  But there were nearly a hundred of them, opposed to the less than forty marines.

However, they were up against US marines.  Lieutenant Rush, the ranking officer among the marines, moved low, stopping to fire every now and again.  He knelt by a drystone wall, a round crashing into it.

He waved a hand forward and shouted to the nearest men.  “Forward, we gotta push em back,”  Marines began to slip and move, by twos.  Each man would fire as the other would make a short run forward and then take cover.

The marines pushed forward, firing aggressively as they went.  The US army soldiers were not prepared for this assault, by a smaller force no less.  They were pushed back and then back again.

The retreat order went out and the soldiers began to retreat.  Rush dropped into cover again, pulled a fresh magazine and tapped it against his helmet.  He loaded it into his gun.

“We drove em off,” said Specialist Odell.

“Yeah we did,” replied Rush, wondering whether he’d just won a medal or a jail sentence

Washington, D.C

Peter Bierko walked quickly towards the office of the Whitehouse Chief of Staff. Ordinarily he didn’t like getting involved with a politician like Hayden McDonald.  But the situation that was developing was getting badly out of hand.

Peter stood by the door for a moment and then knocked.  He straightened his tie and made sure his jacket was pulled straight.  Peter had always been very comfortable in a suit but in this environment, everything felt somehow alien, like props in a play.

“Enter,” came the reply.  Peter opened the door.

Hayden McDonald was stood behind the desk, a phone in his hand.  Sat in front of him was his deputy, Jack Krane.

“Jack, how’s it going?” asked Peter.  Jack Krane just shook his head.

“I understand that,” said Hayden on the phone.  “I understand that too.  Seriously, do you think I’m fuckin’ stupid?  I understand the situation clearly.  Now you understand me Mr Secretary.  If you want to remain a member of this administration then you will find a way to get it done.  Otherwise, start updating your resume as of now,”  The phone came down with a clang.

Hayden looked up at Peter.  “What the fuck do you want?” This was his usual tone with Peter Bierko and it had only ever really gotten worse.

“Hayden, this is getting worse,” he said, simply.

“Worse?” asked Jack Krane.  Peter just nodded.

“You’re the Director of Homeland Security, you saying we’ve got a fuckin’ terrorist threat too?” When Hayden McDonald got mad, his New York accent stood out clearly. 

“No, Hayden.  It’s worse than that,” he said starkly.

“Explain it to me.  Because in a minute I’ve got to go and explain to your old Frat buddy, the President,” said Hayden wearily.

“We’ve gotten the intercepts to prove that there are orders coming from Briar,”

“I already know this,” said Hayden.

“Should I leave the room guys?” asked Jack.

“You’re code-word cleared Jack, stay,” said Hayden.  “Continue,"

“Well, the latest intercept is worse than the last one,” announced Peter.  “I’ve only let two other people see this; they’re both people I trust,”

“What is it?” asked Hayden.

“The orders that Briar as passing out, we’ve managed to locate the source of them,”

“That’s good news surely?” asked Hayden.

“No it isn’t,” said Peter bluntly. 

“I don’t like the sound of this,” said Jack.

“Briar’s location is in Virginia,” Said Peter Bierko.  “Whoever is giving illegal orders, putting us in serious danger, is right on our doorstep.  They could even be in the Pentagon,”

“Good God in heaven,” breathed Hayden.  He opened his draw and took out a bottle, pink liquid was inside it.  He poured himself a small cup and knocked it back as if it was a malt whiskey.  Peter began to think of the bottles in his office and wondered if any of them were still unopened.

“Don’t talk to anyone else about this.  We need to find out how bad this is, who is involved and who we can trust.  But as of now, don’t trust anyone at all,” said Hayden McDonald.

“That’s what I thought,” said Peter Bierko.  Hayden McDonald got up, he combed his hair back and did up his jacket.  He walked over to the door and knocked.

“It’s open Hayden,” came the reply.  Hayden motioned to Peter, follow me.

“Good afternoon Mr President,” he said.  Peter Bierko walked in behind him and stood in the oval office.  It was the first time he’d been allowed in there for nearly seven months,

“I’m afraid it’s not going to remain a very good afternoon for very long,” said Hayden McDonald.  The President looked over at his old college room mate and took off his glasses.

“What have you done now Peter?” he said with his normal charming grin.

Peter Bierko swallowed involuntarily and then got ready to repeat himself.