Darkness Falls, page 21
"You son of a bitch! You knew! You knew that he was going to try to kill us!"
"Not now," Beamon said, looking down at Jenna and feeling a flood of relief when she lifted her head.
"You alright?"
A weak nod.
"I want a fucking explanation," Erin said, his anger overcoming his judgment as he took a step forward.
"Oh, come on, Erin. Teague knows we're all over the tar sands and then suddenly he uses the same front company that owns a building we know about to deliver sinister-sounding lab equipment here? A little obvious, don't you think?"
"So you put us out as bait?"
"Yeah," Beamon said, keeping his gun trained on Erin, who was now shaking with rage. "But I felt bad about it."
Chapter 40.
The pounding on the door matched the pounding in Beamon's head, both in volume and tempo, but instead of getting up, he leaned back in his chair and put his stockinged feet on the bed. The empty bottles from the room's minibar were lined up on the table next to him, starting with bourbon, moving to gin, and ending with vodka. The beer bottles were yet unopened.
Instead of stopping, the banging on the door intensified until it was impossible to ignore.
"It's not locked for Christ's sake! What?"
It was immediately thrown open and Erin stalked into the room with Jenna in tow. He spun her around by the arm and yanked up the back of her shirt. "Have you seen this?"
The bruise was reminiscent of a sunrise, almost black in the middle, radiating out to purple, red, and finally fading to yellow as it passed beneath her bra strap.
"That's a good one," Beamon said, leaning over to fish a beer from the minibar. He held it out to Erin, but the peace offering just made him angrier.
"I notice you're not shot," he said, dropping Jenna's shirt. "What if he'd aimed for her head?"
"Head shots are unreliable. You'd be surprised how often the bullet just deflects off your skull."
"That's it? That's your fucking explanation? Head shots are unreliable?"
"And the part about your skull deflecting them."
Erin lurched forward, but Jenna saw it coming and stood between the two men. "Forget it, Erin. Okay? It doesn't even hurt anymore."
An obvious lie, but told convincingly enough to save Beamon from getting his ass kicked again. He opened the beer in his hand and took a pull. "A few days ago, you were standing around telling me that billions of people are about to die. Today you're complaining about a little bruise. I played the hand I had, Erin."
"You could have told us."
"What would have been the point? You'd have said yes."
Erin opened his mouth to protest, but instead just flopped down on the bed and propped himself against the headboard.
"Are we going home?" Jenna asked, taking a seat in the only other chair in the room. Judging by her expression as she sat, her back not only hurt, it hurt a lot.
"These guys are here, not in the States," Beamon said, feeling a twinge of guilt for hanging them out as targets. Fortunately, it was numbed by the alcohol. "There's nothing left for us at home."
"What about your fiancee and her daughter?"
"You sure I can't interest either of you in a beer?" he said, pretending he hadn't heard. But he could see from Jenna's expression that she wasn't going to let it go.
"On the surface, oil getting cut off sounds so trivial," he started. "But then you sit down and really start thinking about it and . . . I guess I'm not sure what I would say to them. 'Sorry I couldn't figure this thing out, but maybe you'll be one of the lucky ones -- maybe you'd die in the violence and not slowly starve to death.' "
"It's not your fault, Mark. It's mine."
"It's fucking Michael Teague's fault!" Erin shouted. "End of story, okay? If he wanted us dead bad enough to send Jonas, it means he hasn't finished this thing. We've still got time. Now, what are we going to do with it?)5
Beamon shrugged.
"Well, now we know that the shell company you've been looking at is definitely connected to Michael," Jenna said. "What about its other assets?"
"We're working through that," Beamon said. "But beyond the factory out in the tar sands, there isn't much. Actually, there's almost nothing. We're pulling the facility's engineering and architectural plans and we'll let you have a look when we get them, but since you've been over it in person, I doubt that'll go anywhere. We're digging into the backgrounds of Teague and the Metzgers to see if there's anything in their past that could lead us to them, but the chances are somewhere between slim and none. Fugitives disappear all the time and if they're smart and have some resources, they're damn hard to find -- even if you have years to look. And if I understand you, we don't have years."
Jenna shook her head miserably.
"So as near as I can tell, the only thread we have left to pull is how Teague is going to breed enough of this stuff that it can get a foothold in the tar sands. And you two seem to be the world experts on that."
Erin sunk a little farther into the pillows he'd propped behind him. "You give us too much credit, Mark. Why would either of us have ever given any thought to how you'd breed tons of bacteria in secret?"
"This Teague guy isn't some kind of Einstein. Mostly a businessman with a background in computers, right? And you said Udo is middle of the road as biologists go. So if they've figured it out, why can't you?"
"Maybe we've already stopped him," Erin said. "Maybe cutting off access to the tar sands did it."
"Then why go through all that trouble to kill you?" Beamon said.
"Vindictiveness?"
Beamon shook his head. "He exposed a lot and lost one of two people working for him. There's more to it than that."
"Okay," Jenna said. "Then he hasn't finished this thing and he's scared we're going to figure it out before he can. That means we have a chance."
Erin pulled a pillow over his face and spoke through it. "Maybe he's overestimated us. I mean, even if he could breed it and if the tar sands were wide open, how would he deliver it? You're talking about tanker truck loads of the stuff spread out over a huge area to get the effect he's shooting for."
Beamon drained his beer and reached for another. The alcohol was making his head feel like it was full of gauze, but that's about all. The pounding was still there, along with the fear and guilt.
"As I see it, there's only one bright spot in all this," Erin continued. "I may starve. I may even get burned at the stake by a bunch of Mad Max rejects. But at least I know that whatever happens to me is going to happen to Teague at the same time."
Jenna's brow furrowed a bit as Beamon popped the top on the bottle in his hand. "What?" he said.
"That's not right," she said.
"What's not right?"
"Michael Teague isn't Jonas. For him, a lot of this is about power and feeling superior." She leaned forward in her chair until the pain in her back stopped her. "I've known him for a long time and I can tell you that there isn't anything he believes in enough to die for. I'm not even sure there's anything he'd suffer for."
"What choice would he have?" Erin said. "He's setting something in motion that's going to be impossible to control."
"No," she said, her voice gaining a certainty that Beamon hadn't heard before. "Think about the times you met him, Erin.
He doesn't feel anything but disdain for people. He considers himself above them. The worst thing that could possibly happen to him would be to die anonymously -- just one of a million people who died on any given day. No, he'd be prepared. He'd sit there and watch everything fall apart from a distance."
"Yeah," Erin said, pushing the pillow from his face and sitting upright on the bed. "He'd sit there and tell himself that we brought it on ourselves and that this is the price we pay for not listening to him."
Beamon set his beer down on the table and blinked hard, trying to concentrate through the fog he'd so carefully constructed with the well-stocked minibar. "But that's impossible, right? I mean, based on what you've told me, there's no way to hide from this."
"There is if you knew it was going to happen years in advance," Erin said. "There's still solar, wind, maybe hydro. But with all metal parts and synthetic lubrication."
"But not a house," Jenna said. "More of a compound. It'd have to have a good water source and fields where you could grow food and run livestock. Somewhere well away from civilization. It'd have to be pretty inaccessible and defensible because the people who worked on it would know it was there."
"And in a good climate," Erin added. "You wouldn't want to have to heat it and cool it, and you'd want a long growing season."
Beamon fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. "There can't be that many people who could design and build something like that."
"There aren't," Jenna agreed, the excitement creeping into her voice. "And between Erin and me, we probably know most of them."
Chapter 41.
They had been hiking since dawn and the fatigue in Michael Teague's legs nearly caused him to collapse as he jumped from a small boulder into the deep brush below. All around him, the trees rose tall and thick, blocking the view of the dark clouds that had been intermittently drenching them for the past six hours.
Udo was twenty yards ahead, moving with surprising speed through the tangled ground cover that carpeted the ten-foot-wide corridor cut years ago when the pipeline they were following was installed.
They'd watched the news of Jonas's death the night before, Udo concentrating on the television and Teague concentrating on his reaction. Surprisingly, he'd watched for just a few moments, not even waiting for the end of the story before disappearing into the back room. When he reemerged hours later, he'd asked Teague to join him outside where they'd conducted an awkward and bloodless ceremony that consisted of Udo talking about his brother's conviction and sacrifice. It had lasted less than five minutes.
Although Udo's reaction was opaque and conflicted, Teague's wasn't. Of course, he was disappointed that Jonas had once again failed to put an end to the threat that Jenna and Erin posed, but the German's suicide could hardly be considered a negative outcome. Admittedly, he had been useful over the years, but it seemed likely that he would have become more and more of a liability as the world began its next chapter. Together, the Metzger brothers had the potential to be difficult to control.
Udo began to slow, searching the ground, and finally dropping to his knees as Teague caught up.
"It's here, Michael."
Teague dropped his backpack and handed the German a small shovel, which he used to carefully uncover a metal valve. He pulled a plastic vial from his own pack and opened the valve to fill it.
They were close to twelve miles from their building, and the fluid was thick and black, seemingly unaffected by the bacteria they'd introduced. As expected, the farther they traveled away from the initial contamination, the lighter the bacterial loads became.
Just how much lighter, though, couldn't be determined until Udo returned to his lab and made precise measurements. With that information, he would be able to extrapolate just how long it would take for the entire pipe to fill and give them a time-frame for release.
And when that day came, they would fire the hundreds of small charges they had placed along the length of the pipeline, letting the bacteria drain into the tar-soaked sands, where it would thrive and be carried by the wind until it blanketed the entire planet.
Chapter 42.
"So what do you think?" Mark Beamon shouted into the microphone attached to his headphones. Jenna and Erin were in the back, faces pressed against the helicopter's windows to better see the lonely cluster of buildings spread out beneath them.
"It looks right," Jenna said as Beamon motioned for the pilot to make another pass.
"It's a thirty-five-acre inholding surrounded by BLM land. We're about twenty miles from the nearest dirt road and another thirty from the nearest pavement. The terrain to get up here is pretty rugged. If you're not flying, the easiest way to do it would be to follow the river on foot, but you're looking at a pretty grueling multi-day hike with no trail."
"One thing's for sure," Erin continued. "Somebody spent a hell of a lot of money here. Look how much forest they had to clear to put those pastures in and to make the land arable."
Their altitude gave them a clear view of the neat, efficient partitioning of the land fenced areas held horses and livestock, with other sections hosting various crops. In the center of it all was a low adobe building topped with solar arrays and surrounded by several smaller outbuildings and barns. Most interesting, though, was the tall stoneand-earth wall that surrounded the entire area. Beamon followed the curving lines, trying to calculate its length. There must have been miles of it.
"Can we get a little closer to the river?" Jenna said, and the pilot responded with a nausea-inducing dive.
"See right there, Mark? That small dam is microhydro -- it generates electricity. And this area of California is perfect, climate-wise."
It did look perfect. Idyllic, even. The sky was an intense blue and air blowing through the cockpit was a pleasant eighty degrees. The entire scene had exactly the suspiciously utopian feel that Beamon had expected.
He pointed down and the pilot dropped the helicopter into the dirt next to four others. The rotors kicked up a swirl of dust that seemed to go completely unnoticed by a lone figure running at them with a familiar half-lope, half-waddle.
"Mark! What, did you stop for breakfast?"
Beamon climbed out of the helicopter, crouching against the downdraft as he ran alongside Terry Hirst. "What've you got?"
"A lot," he replied, leading Beamon to the main building as Jenna and Erin followed. "This is quite a spread."
"Do we know who owns it?"
"Nope. The paper trail runs in circles --just like in Canada. I will tell you this, though -- it's totally self-sustaining."
"I didn't know you were an expert."
"I'm not. I'm taking the word of the people living here."
"There were people here?" Beamon said, not sure why he was surprised. Livestock and crops didn't tend themselves.
"We talked to all of them individually and got the same story from everyone. They were hired before the place was even built for their expertise in alternative power and agriculture. They oversaw the construction and they've spent the last couple years taking care of the place and working out the bugs."
"Do you think they're involved?"
"Nah. They're all pretty rabid environmentalists, but not crazies like Jonas Metzger."
"So they were willing to talk?"
Hirst grimaced. "You can't get them to shut up. They're all feeling pretty smug with everything that's going on in the outside world right now."
They passed through the heavy front doors of the main building and into an expansive entryway where a mosaic of the sun covered most of the floor. The temperature inside was a good ten degrees cooler and the only light was provided by a chandelier hanging over a bulky wooden table. The overall impression was a kind of hippie version of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.
"The ultimate survivalist spa," Beamon commented.
"The place doesn't suck," Hirst agreed. "I mean, they've got pretty much all the creature comforts here -- the walls are something like five feet thick, so it never gets hot, and they have lots of well-placed glass to keep things warm and light in the winter. Nice stereo system, computers, a great kitchen with a huge wood-burning stove --"
"But we don't know for certain that it's Teague's," Beamon interrupted.
Hirst shook his head. "I don't think there's any way we can be absolutely sure unless we put it on TV and see if anyone claims it."
Erin jumped up on the table in the center of the room and grabbed the chandelier with both hands, hanging his entire weight on it. There was a dull cracking sound and a moment later, it pulled free, covering him with a shower of sparks and tiny chunks of the ceiling.
Beamon wasn't sure how to react and he leaned into Jenna. "Is this another one of his tantrums?"
She shook her head and indicated that Beamon should watch as Erin yanked down some wires and examined them.
"It's Teague's."
Beamon squinted at the wires, but they didn't look all that remarkable to him. "This is pretty important, Erin. Are you absolutely certain or are you just speculating?"
"Look at the electrical insulation on these. It's cloth. This stuff's been obsolete for decades. The only thing it had going for it is that it wouldn't be affected by the bacteria."
Beamon nodded silently and then wandered back outside into the sunlight. Another helicopter was coming in and he watched it land.
"Forensics people from San Francisco," Hirst explained.
Beamon watched them drag equipment out onto the ground for a few moments before pulling a phone from his pocket.
"You won't get a signal," Hirst said, holding out a satellite phone. "Try this one."
"You've got eight hours," Beamon said as he dialed. "Go over everything you can and make arrangements to take whatever you don't have time to look at."
"What happens in eight hours?"
Beamon ignored the question, listening to the phone ring before being picked up.
"General Vance's office," the woman on the other end said.
"Hi Kelly -- it's Mark Beamon. Put Chuck on. I need a little favor."
"Come on!" Beamon shouted as Erin and Jenna ran toward the helicopter spinning up behind him.
"This is the most incredible place I've ever seen!" Erin said as he helped Jenna into the back. He was a bit breathless, but Beamon wasn't sure if it was from the run or all the eco-gadgets he'd spent the day poring over.
"It's all state of the art and purpose-built. Even the solar panels are sealed in a way that won't let the bacteria damage them. There are three all-metal windmills lying at the edge of the forest. I assume they're going to set them up on high ground as soon as the government collapses and stops monitoring the use of public lands."
"Strap yourself in," Beamon said as the sound of the blades grew louder.
