Darkness Falls, page 15
Jonas squinted into a dusty window and examined the dark, swollen cut on his forehead in the reflection.
"Why are you with us?" Teague asked. "Not for your expertise in genetic engineering. Not because you have the money to finance any of this or the vision to keep it going. You're here because Udo told me you could handle situations like this -- that you could deal with two unarmed PhDs, one of whom is a goddamn woman."
"Michael, be calm," Udo pleaded as his brother continued to examine his wound. "We've perfected the bacteria and cleaned out the warehouse. We had no use for it anymore."
"That warehouse isn't clean," Teague said as Udo slowed the van to stay at exactly the speed limit. "It would have taken days to sterilize it."
"You should have burned it," Jonas said from the back.
"You seem bent on attracting attention to us," Teague shot back. "If it --"
"It doesn't matter!" Udo shouted. "Erin is a wanted man and Jenna can't afford to expose herself. They'll likely run. And if they don't -- if they do try to understand what we were doing there and they succeed -- what will that produce? Nothing. It's too late."
"They won't run," Teague said. "And eventually they'll tell the government who we are."
"Jenna should never have left that boat alive," Jonas said. "There was no reason for it. No reason to risk this happening."
Teague spun in his seat and glared at him for a moment, but there was no real point to it. For the time being at least, Jonas was necessary. They had thousands of miles to drive, fuel availability was disintegrating, and the public's reaction was becoming increasingly hysterical. Carjackings and the siphoning of gas tanks -- sometimes forcibly -- were becoming commonplace. Without someone of Jonas's temperament to deflect problems, their van and its huge auxiliary fuel tank would be a tempting prize.
"If we take shifts driving, how long to get there?" Teague asked.
No response.
"Udo?"
The German redoubled his concentration on the nearly empty road, refusing to look at him. "We weren't expecting to have to leave on such short notice, Michael."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"The van's tank isn't entirely full. I'd planned to have Jonas begin the process of filling it when he returned. There was still plenty of time . . ."
Teague blinked, his mind taking a moment to process what he was hearing. "Are you saying we're going to have to stop to get gas?"
"Right now, we have enough for about seven hundred miles, but --"
"Do you have any idea how long that could delay us?" Teague shouted. "The gas-rationing program is going into effect in a few days. We could be on the road for weeks -- completely exposed."
"I don't believe it will be that long. We can use --"
"You don't believe? I don't give a shit what you believe!"
"There's no point in insulting me or Jonas, Michael. The situation is as it is."
Teague slammed his hand into the dash and turned away, staring out the window and trying to calm down enough to think.
In the face of the massive technological barriers to their plan's success and the logistical complexity of delivering the first version of their bacteria, he'd been forced to leave many of the mundane details to Jonas and Udo. As the situation continued to disintegrate and the American people became more desperate, though, it was increasingly clear that there were no mundane details. Every error was potentially fatal.
No. Udo was right. It didn't matter. The bacteria were finally a success and they'd been preparing to leave Texas for their breeding facility anyway. Getting to Canada would be difficult without a full complement of fuel, but not as difficult as everything he had accomplished so far. They would get there. And he would finish what he had started.
Chapter 26.
The Kroger lot was mostly empty, but Jenna still parked well away from the entrance. For some reason it felt safer.
"I'm going to run in and get some supplies. Do you want to come with me?"
Erin shook his head. "The post office is just around the corner. I'll go get in line. Come pick me up when you're finished. The sooner we get out of town, the better."
He reached for the door handle, but she grabbed his arm, trying to think of something to say --something that would make him understand everything that had happened to her since she had left. Instead, she found herself leaning in to kiss him.
He turned away but didn't get out.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Don't know what
"Forget it," he said, and shoved the door open with his shoulder. She watched him cross the parking lot and then the nearly empty street, finally closing her eyes when he disappeared around the corner.
"Stupid!" she said aloud, pounding the back of her head into the seat. What was she thinking? That with everything she'd put him through -- and was still putting him through -- he'd just jump back into bed with her? She wasn't thinking. That was the problem. Everything was spinning out of control, but instead of doing something about it, she was just sitting there getting dizzier and dizzier.
Jenna got out of the car and slammed the door, feeling the heat of the sun burn through her shirt as she stalked toward the store. The smart move was to just keep walking -- he was better off without her. In an hour, it could all be over. She could be sitting in the nearest FBI office, signing an affidavit saying he wasn't involved.
But what good would that really do? Erin was right -- the government wasn't going to take her word for it, particularly now that every detail of his life was being examined with microscopic intensity on every news show in the world. They'd throw him in the same dungeon she ended up in and send a bunch of mediocre scientists picked for their political reliability to figure things out. The bottom line was that, at least for now, Erin was stuck with her.
She passed through the automatic doors, but didn't feel the sudden chill she'd come to expect. The price of electricity had jumped, too, as the oil-intensive process of mining and transporting coal sky-rocketed. Cooling commercial buildings to arctic temperatures was obviously too expensive now.
But that was the least of it. She wandered around the store looking at partially empty shelves and the hastily changed prices. Private industry was adapting with typically cold-hearted efficiency. The grocery business was quickly abandoning its inefficient centralized distribution system and bringing in local seasonal products to minimize transportation costs. Fruits and vegetables from overseas were either nonexistent or exorbitantly priced. Even the cost of bananas from Florida had more than doubled. On the other hand, Texas beef was plentiful and cheap, as were the locally grown sweet potatoes and apples that were overflowing into empty bins that had once held imports.
According to yesterday's New York Times, Maine was glutted with lobster and it was selling for less than half the cost of hamburger. Who would have thought there would be a day when people couldn't afford
a Big Mac and would have to settle with lobster Newburg?
"Thanks, dude," Erin said as a heavyset postal employee helped him heft the last box onto the ones already stacked on the dolly.
"That's all of them," the man said, wiping the sweat from his forehead and stepping back so that Erin could wheel the precarious stack of microscopes, incubators, and other research equipment through the door.
So far, so good. The baseball hat and glasses seemed to be enough to keep people from equating him with the photos they saw on television, and now all he had to do was figure out how to get these boxes into the back of Jonas's Toyota. He should have asked Jenna to get some rope to tie a few things to the top, but he was still having a hard time thinking clearly when she was around -- partially because of the effort it was taking to hold onto his anger and partially because of the fear of what might replace it if he lost his grip.
By the time he managed to maneuver through the second set of glass doors, he was thinking about the kiss again. Or, more precisely, the attempted kiss. What had it meant? Anything? And how did he feel about it? The answer to that was typically complicated. His emotions were stacked like the boxes he was pulling -- layer after conflicting layer.
"That's a lot of stuff you've got there."
He slowed and then finally stopped, but couldn't bring himself to look behind him at the source of the voice. "I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said this isn't what it looks like."
Mark Beamon strode alongside him, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and then blowing the smoke in Erin's direction. "Never heard that one before."
His eyes were nearly invisible in the shade provided by a wide-brimmed straw golf hat. Combined with the sweat-stained Polo shirt, wrinkled khakis, and Birkenstocks, the overall impression was "slow."
Erin took a step back and eyed a fence that Beamon wouldn't be able to get over without the assistance of a crane, but a quick look around put an end to any plan to run. The woman pushing a baby stroller a few feet away had a subtle wire running from her ear, as did a Mexican-looking guy working on the post office's sparse landscaping. A couple of heavily tattooed bikers at the end of the sidewalk were a little less obvious, but they were not paying attention with an intensity that was almost certainly calculated.
In the end, though, it was the man who'd helped load the boxes who finally clamped the handcuffs on him while Beamon watched from a thin strip of shade he'd found next to the building.
"I've really been looking forward to talking to you," he said, throwing an arm around Erin's shoulders and leading him toward a van parked along the curb just as Jenna eased into the lot. Erin shook his head subtly and she kept going, looping back to the street and disappearing down it. He was surprised at the relief he felt when she was gone.
"Every time I think I've got this thing figured out, I get another piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit." He lowered the volume of his voice. "For a while, as you get older, experience makes up for the loss of brain cells. I've been starting to wonder if I've crossed the line -- if ten years ago, I wouldn't have wrapped this thing up a week ago."
The back of the van was windowless and probably over a hundred degrees, which in itself wasn't that bad, but combined with the gentle rocking and adrenaline, Erin was feeling increasingly nauseous.
Beamon pulled a cigarette from a nearly empty pack and put it between his lips.
"Would you mind not smoking, please?"
He lit it with a silver lighter that he snapped shut loudly. "My fiancee thinks I quit. The more miles there are between me and her, though, the less I can help myself. Don't get me wrong -- I don't really have any illusions that I'm fooling her. You know how women are."
Erin scooted back along the van's floor, trying to get as far away as he could from the tendrils of smoke working their way toward him.
"And speaking of women," Beamon said. "How's your old girlfriend? What was her name? Jenna?"
Erin managed not to react, but then realized that no reaction at all was probably the most suspicious response he could have come up with. "What are you talking about?"
"All those climbing equipment mailing lists you were gathering up," Beamon said. "Intriguing. You know, I got hold of the rest of them and had my people sift through all the names. You know what I found?"
Erin didn't answer.
"Not interested? Not even a little bit?
That's okay, I'll tell you anyway. I found a very compelling woman living outside Bozeman, Montana. Jennifer Baker. Actually, I didn't find her -- she was long gone by the time we got there. She has investments totaling about two million dollars that even my army of CPAs can't trace back to their source. She's got a fake social security number, no friends, no family, no medical or work history. Then, lo and behold, we start seeing charges on her credit card. Medical equipment, no less." Beamon thumbed behind him at one of Erin's boxes. "The kind you use to study bacteria."
"What's that got to do with me?" he said, knowing how stupid it sounded even before it came out of his mouth.
Beamon scooted toward him and pulled a small photo from his pocket. "It's from her driver's license. Not a great picture and obviously the hair's different, but I'd say that the reports of Jenna Kalin's death were a little premature."
Once again Erin made the mistake of not reacting and this time the smirk on Beamon's face made it clear that it was too late to backpedal.
"I'm thinking that means Michael Teague and the Metzger brothers are slinking around somewhere, too," he said, shoving the picture into his pocket and sliding back against the wall of the van.
"I guess you've got it all figured out, then don't you?"
"Come on, Erin. Look what's happening out there. Hell, look what's happening to you. I think it's time you told your story."
"What's the point? Everybody already knows I'm guilty."
Beamon took another drag on his cigarette. "I finally got around to reading your book. It was very . . . what's the word I'm looking for? Meticulous. I just don't understand how we got here. What did you hope to accomplish with all this? Come on .. . you people love going on and on about this crap, right? So go ahead. Make your case."
"I thought I had the right to remain silent."
"It'd be a mistake to believe that, Erin. You've managed to piss off all the wrong people. Actually, you've managed to piss off just about everyone." He pointed toward the doors at the back of the van. "Hell, if we stopped right now and I told the people on the street who you are, they'd tear you apart."
"Go ahead."
Beamon sighed quietly, but didn't press further. He just sat there and went through the rest of his cigarettes, ignoring his captive's profuse sweating and death-like pallor. When the van finally stopped and the doors were thrown open, Erin would have fallen out if two of Beamon's men hadn't been there to grab him and drag him toward the small jet parked in front of them.
The woman who had been pushing the baby stroller and the postman were just ahead, but they froze when a man appeared in the doorway of the plane. Beamon, looking perplexed, stopped dialing his phone.
"Who the hell are you?" he said.
The man jumped down to the tarmac, smiling condescendingly. He was wearing a gray suit -- jacket and all but wasn't perspiring.
"My name's not important, Mr. Beamon. I work for the CIA. And we're here to take custody of our prisoner." He reached into his jacket, prompting the postman to put a hand on his gun.
"Whoa!" Beamon said. "Everybody stay calm, okay?"
Erin tried to focus, but felt strangely detached as he watched the postman's hand move slowly back to his side.
"Look, I don't want to be rude," Beamon said as the man fished a piece of paper from his jacket and held it out. "But I don't really give a shit who you work for. Now get away from my plane."
"Read it," the man said, shoving the document into Beamon's chest as the jet's engines began to spin up. Erin peered over his shoulder, skipping the body of the letter and going straight to the signature line. Gerald Dunn. The president of the United States.
Chapter 27.
Mark Beamon shoved the door open and stomped across the office. "What the fuck's going on, Jack?"
"Calm down," Reynolds said, rising from behind his desk. "I --"
"Calm down? Calm down? You send the CIA to take my only decent suspect and my only way home and you want me to calm down?"
"Mark, you --"
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get across the country right now? I called you about a hundred times, but apparently now that I've handed over the guy you think is guilty, I don't rate a call back. If the head of security at United wasn't an old friend of mine, I'd still be in Texas. And even with his help, I still spent the last two days and nights sitting in airports."
"Mark --"
"Then, when I finally do get back, I find CIA guys all over my office."
"Are you through?" Reynolds said. "Can I talk now?"
Beamon had an overwhelming urge to throw something, but when he looked around, there was nothing valuable or breakable enough to bother with.
"You brought this on yourself, Mark. After overlooking all the leaks, now we find out that someone working for you is the one responsible, for Christ's sake --"
"You're the one who insisted I use Erin Neal, Jack. If you think real hard, you'd remember that I --"
Reynolds held up his hand. "I'm not going to sit here and play the blame game with you, Mark. All I'm saying is that I don't see how it could surprise you that the president wanted the CIA to get involved."
Beamon spun and walked as far from Reynolds as the office would allow, finally pressing his back to a wall and folding his arms across his chest. It was exactly what he'd known would happen from the very start -- the politicians would panic and start thinking they knew better than him and the hundreds of trained investigators working for him. The question was what to do about it.
Since neither Reynolds nor the CIA had so much as mentioned Jenna Kalin's name, Beamon assumed that the few people he'd told about her were keeping their mouths shut. He'd left her Visa and ATM cards alone and they were being monitored, but she obviously knew it. She bought what she needed and got the hell out before his people could react. And trying to track her phone had produced similar dismal results -- she only turned it on briefly, probably to check messages, and always right as her Visa charge was going through. Not a stupid woman by a long shot.
"This is a huge mistake, Jack. These CIA guys aren't investigators. They --"
"You haven't set the bar very high, though, have you, Mark?"
"No one seems to remember that I figured out what was happening and got Erin Neal in a matter of three weeks."
"Not good enough, Mark. Not even close," Reynolds said. "Open your eyes, for Christ's sake. This country -- the entire world -- is starting to come apart at the seams. Businesses are closing their doors left and right, unemployment's skyrocketing, imports and exports that we're completely reliant on are disappearing, the markets are panicking. And the only thing everyone agrees on is that we're going to be hit the hardest because we're the most energy-intensive economy in the world. We could go from being the most powerful country on the planet to being one of the weakest in a matter of a few months."
