CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Sector 12 was established 100 years ago, when the City's planners were hastily throwing up apartment buildings in a desperate attempt to house a fast growing population. Many buildings now had terminal concrete cancer. Their diseased facades were chipped and stained, and many balconies had either sagged or fallen right off. The apartments themselves were small, cold and dark.
As Davidson drove along the sector's cracked and buckled streets, he saw obvious signs the government was losing its grip. Five years ago, the police would have ensured there was no graffiti on the walls. Now it was everywhere, either criticizing the Chancellor or supporting the Freedom Alliance. The police would have also rounded up any unemployed youths wandering the streets and sent them to a work camp. Now, dozens strolled about or stood in conspiratorial groups with impunity.
He parked outside the six-story apartment building in which Fiona Clarkson lived, and enjoyed the worried looks of several loitering youths as he crossed the pavement and entered the building. There was no elevator, so he walked up the fire-escape to the top floor and knock on a warped pine door.
"Who's that?" a female voice said.
"Major Davidson from the Internal Security Bureau - we spoke yesterday."
A long silence.
"Open up or I'll knock down the door. I mean you no harm, seriously."
Another long silence. "What do you want?"
"Open the door," he said wearily.
After another long wait, the door slowly swung open. Fiona Clarkson wore a terrified expression and a plain floral dress. She glanced nervously at his face and the pistol on his hip.
He said: "Don't worry, I just want to ask a few more questions."
"W-w-w-hy are you here? We can talk at work - at the CDC."
"True. But I'm here now, so let's get this over and done with. Can we talk inside?"
A nervous shrug. "OK."
He strolled past her into a small two-room apartment with worn-out furniture on a half-dead rug, and plenty of clutter. "Who do you live with?"
"My parents. They're at work right now."
"What do they do?"
"Dad's an assembly worker at the car factory; Mum's a nurse."
"Alright. Where do you want to talk?"
She pointed at a lumpy couch. "Sit there."
He sat and she perched bird-like on the armchair opposite, as if ready to flutter out the window.
She said: "What do you want to know?"
"For a start, what was Robert Matthews testing at the CDC when he died?"
She knotted her fingers. "I think he was testing a new vaccine against measles."
"Really? What about the latest seasonal flu vaccine? Was he involved in testing that?"
Her face flushed. "No, we were ... we were told we didn't need to test that."
"Really? Who told you that?"
"Doctor Carpenter. He said there was no problem with this year's batch and it didn't need testing."
"Is it usually tested?"
"Yes. This is the first year it wasn't. I mean, we don't give the latest flu vaccine the full range of tests we'd give a brand new vaccine, because it's just a variation of the previous year's, but we usually do some testing."
"Did Doctor Carpenter say why it didn't need testing?"
"Not really. He just said there were no safety issues."
"How did he know there were no safety issues if it wasn't tested?"
"That's what I thought. So I assumed someone else did it."
"Any idea who?"
"No."
"Then why did Robert Meredith take some of the new flu vaccine home with him?"
Her eyes widened. "He did?"
"Yes. I found this ampoule in his fridge." He took the ampoule from his pocket and handed it over.
She studied the writing on the side. "My God. You got this from his fridge?"
"Yes. What was it doing there?"
"I don't know. He shouldn't have taken home any of the new flu vaccine. It's all kept in the Vaccine Storage Area and nobody is supposed to touch it."
"Maybe he tested it himself, without authority?"
"That's possible, I guess."
"In his apartment, I also found a notebook." He extracted the notebook from his breast pocket and handed it to her. "Is that his handwriting?"
She flipped through the pages. "Yes. This is his lab book. It's where he noted up the results of his tests."
"Look at the last page. He's written "EBOV and Variola antigens" and circled that several times. Why did he do that?"
Her eyes almost exploded. "My God. EBOV and Variola are the scientific terms for Ebola and smallpox."
"So what?"
"An antigen is the active agent in a vaccine. It's a disable or dead form of a bacteria or virus. It stimulates the immune system to make antibodies that will fight the real disease when it arrives. So he's written that he detected Ebola and smallpox antigens in something he tested."
"Was he testing a vaccine against them?"
"I don't think so."
"Would he have told you if he was?"
"Yes."
"Maybe he found the Ebola and smallpox antigens in this year's flu vaccine."
She shook her head vehemently. "Impossible. There is no way those antigens would be in that vaccine - no way. It was intended to protect against the flu, not Ebola or smallpox."
Davidson felt his stomach drop and head grow faint. A dark thought seeped into his brain. "Can you examine the flu shot I just gave you and see if it has Ebola and smallpox antigens?"
"There's no point - it won't."
"Will you examine it anyway?"
She shrugged and stood up. "OK, if you insist. I've got a microscope in my bedroom. I'll get it."
"Thanks."
She strode into a bedroom and returned, 30 seconds later, with a large microscope that she put on the coffee table.
He said: "If the vaccine has Ebola and smallpox antigens, is it dangerous?"
"No. Those viruses will - should - be disabled. That's the whole point."
"OK. Go ahead."
She used a pin to puncture the seal on the ampoule he gave her and smeared a small amount on a slide, which she pushed under the lens. She studied the slide and her feet started drumming on the floor. "Wow. Wow. Yes, there's a smallpox antigen: Variola has a very distinctive sushi-like shape."
"What about an Ebola antigen?"
"I don't know what that looks like, I'm afraid, so I can't tell you." She looked up, eyes glowing with excitement and fear. "There is absolutely no way that a smallpox antigen should be in a seasonal flu vaccine. What's it doing there?"
Davidson remembered the Chancellor's description of the City as a bonsai tree that had to be trimmed and pruned to make sure it stayed just the right size and shape. The Chancellor obviously intended to release a super-virus to prune back - wipe out - the Outlaws. But first, he had to give the citizens of the City a seasonal flu vaccine with antigens that protected them against that super-virus.
The enormity of the crime Davidson suspected almost made his head explode. He stood up, walked over to the balcony and tried to suck oxygen into empty lungs. The rickety balcony was dotted with dead pot-plants; a gaping hole framed the street below.
He knew he should keep his fears to himself. But it was impossible to stay quiet about such a monstrous crime. "The super-virus that caused the Great Plague included genetically engineered Ebola and smallpox, didn't it?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then, isn't it obvious? The Chancellor intends to release the same sort of super-virus."
"My God. Why would he do that?"
"To wipe out all the Outlaws, including the Freedom Alliance. But first, he has to make sure that the citizens of Webster City will survive the plague. So, during Immunization Week, they will be given a flu vaccine with antigens that protect them against the super-virus."
"That's crazy."
"Not to him. The Outlaw community grows bigger every day and
the City is losing its fight with the Freedom Alliance. This is his last throw of the dice. Militarily, it makes perfect sense."
"You're talking about mass-murder. This City was founded by people who survived a pandemic. The Chancellor wouldn't start another one."
A shrug. "Why not? He loves power and doesn't want to die. That gives him a big incentive."
"He's the head of our church."
"He inherited that title; he didn't earn it with good works."
"I think you're wrong."
"If you've got a better theory, tell me."
A long pause and a shudder. "Maybe you're right. I mean, your theory would explain why Robert argued with Doctor Carpenter just before he died."
Davidson felt a jolt. "He did?"
"Yes, I saw him as he left work that day. He looked upset. I asked him what was wrong. He said he'd just had an argument with Carpenter."
"Did he say why?"
"No, he wouldn't tell me. Then he disappeared."
It was now obvious why Robert Meredith plunged off the balcony of his apartment. When Carpenter told him not to test the new seasonal flu vaccine, he got curious and put it under a microscope. He saw the Ebola and smallpox antigens and realized a deeply evil plan had been hatched. Maybe he even suspected a conspiracy to release a super-virus to wipe out the Outlaws. Anyway, he told Carpenter about the antigens, not realizing Carpenter was part of the conspiracy. Carpenter told him to keep quiet. They argued and Meredith went home. Carpenter informed a fellow conspirator - maybe even the Chancellor - that Meredith was a threat. That fellow conspirator dispatched a killer to Meredith's apartment who threw Meredith off the balcony.
Davidson said: "So, now we know that Meredith was murdered."
"He was?"
"Yes. Carpenter is obviously part of the conspiracy to release the super-virus. When Robert told him about the antigens, Robert sealed his own fate. He was thrown off the balcony to keep him quiet."
"That's horrible - horrible." She leaned over and sobbed. "Bastards."
"Were you having a relationship with him?"
Her eyes flickered away. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. He bought some flowers for his apartment just before he died. A woman was obviously going to visit. Were you that woman?"
A long sigh. "Yes. I sometimes stayed overnight. He was a lovely guy - lovely." She sobbed some more.
"It sounds like it. My commiserations."
Davidson strolled back to the balcony glass doors and stared at the diseased facade of the neighboring apartment building. His doubts about the integrity of the Chancellor and his oppressive regime had grown steadily over the years. Now he had indisputable proof the Chancellor was rotten to the core. Time to face the ugly truth that he had fought for the wrong side and done many evil things for which he must make amends. He also realized that if his brother, Ted, was still alive in the Badlands, the super-virus would kill him. The chance of Ted being alive was slight, but Davidson couldn't take that risk.
She said: "Are you alright?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You look upset."
"Of course I'm upset. I've just found that the Chancellor and his pals want to release an Armageddon virus to wipe out a million people."
"What are you going to do about that?"
Somehow, he had to stop the Chancellor releasing the super-virus. If he did, he would at least wipe off some of the blood on his hands. "I'm going to stop them."
"How?"
"I don't know yet - but I will."
It occurred to Davidson that, if the conspirators silenced Robert Meredith for getting a sniff of their plans, they would probably try to silence anyone close to him, like his laboratory assistant. Indeed, if they discovered Davidson knew about their plans, they would target him as well.
He was about to warn Fiona of the danger she faced when he heard a knock on the door.
His heart rate jumped. Their eyes swiveled around to stare at it.
He spoke softly: "Who's that? One of your parents?"
"No, they'll still be at work."
"OK. Find out who it is and get rid of him."
"I will."
He smiled. "And sound relaxed."
Like most apartments in Webster City, this one had a small kitchen near the front door, off the hallway. As Fiona Clarkson approached the door, Davidson slipped into the kitchen, took a silencer out of a belt pouch and screwed it onto his Glock.
Fiona sounded nervous. "Hello, who is it?"
A male voice that sounded familiar. "The mailman. I've got a parcel to deliver."
"Oh? Who's it from?"
A pause. "I don't know. It doesn't say on the package."
"I'm, umm, getting dressed. Put it down outside and I'll collect it later."
"You've got to sign."
"Do what I say."
Davidson suddenly heard the sound of the door being busted down. The flimsy frame shrieked as it came off its hinges.
Fiona screamed.
The intruder yelled: "Don't fucking move or I'll shoot you dead. Get inside."
A loud gasp. "Why - what do you want?"
"Shut up and get inside."
From where he stood, against a wall, Davidson could only see a sliver of the hallway. Fiona Clarkson and a large man with blond hair, wearing dark clothes and holding a pistol, flitted past. However, Davidson now had a good idea who the intruder was.
They reached the living room and the man said: "Get on the couch."
"W-w-what do you want? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to shut you up for good. But seeing you're kinda cute - a bit chunky, but cute - I'm gonna have some fun first."
Davidson was now certain who the guy was. Pistol extended, he slipped out of the kitchen and edged along the hallway. A tall man with golden hair, wearing an ISB uniform stood over a cowering Fiona Clarkson. The man had put his pistol on the coffee table and was fumbling with his pants.
Fiona screamed. "No, don't."
Davidson said: "Freeze, right now."
Captain Tony Delray, a.k.a. Captain Handsome, turned and glanced at Davidson's face and pistol. His eyes ignited. "What the hell? Hello, Carl. Umm, what are you doing here?"
"Don't move a muscle. You reach for your pistol and I will shoot you dead, understand?"
Delray glanced at his pistol on the coffee table and knew Davidson would cut him down long before he reached it. "What are you talking about? We're both on the same side."
"We're not. So don't make me shoot you."
Delray showed his palms and looked perplexed. "OK, OK, I won't. But of course we're, ummm ..."
"No, we're not colleagues or friends. You kid yourself that we are, and I will have to kill you. Now, tell me: why are you here?"
"Why do you want to know?"
Davidson raised his pistol to eye-level. "Tell me or I shoot you dead, right now."
For the first time, Delray showed real fear. "OK, OK. I came to, umm, talk to this woman."
"What about?"
"That's confidential."
"You're even dumber than I thought. You were sent here to kill her, weren't you?"
"That's none of your business."
"Answer my question or I'll kill you and go have lunch."
"We're on the same side ..."
"We're not. So talk or die - that simple."
Delray glanced nervously at his pistol on the coffee table and decided again he would never reach it. "OK, OK. I was sent here to, umm, kill her."
"Who sent you?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"I'm not allowed to say."
Davidson chuckled. "Really? You've seen me kill before and I've now threatened to kill you. Do you think I'm joking?"
Delray's eyes darted about and sweat broke out on his high forehead. "Alright, alright, if you must know, it was, umm, Colonel Prentice."
Davidson was a little surprised. "Really? Why does he want her dead?"
"He didn't say."
"You mean, he told you to kill someone and you didn't ask why?"
A nervous shrug. "He's the boss. He tells me to do something and I do it." A dry giggle. "You know me, I'm a bit of a suck-ass; I do what I'm told. Now, put down the pistol and let's go have a beer."
"Prentice also told you to kill Robert Meredith, didn't he?"
A deep frown. "Look, put down the pistol. This isn't funny anymore."
Davidson waggled his pistol. "Answer my question."
"Yes, yes, he told me to kill Meredith. So I tossed him off the balcony."
"Why did he want Meredith dead?"
"Once again, I didn't ask. I just followed orders. Now come on, pal, stop being a hard-ass and let's have a drink together."
"You mean, after you've killed this woman?"
"Of course."
Davidson had no intention of letting Delray kill Fiona Clarkson. Nor could he let Delray live after this face-off. His heart rate lifted a gear and he sighed inwardly. "I can't let you do that. In fact, now you have to die."
Delray's eyes exploded with fear and he opened his mouth to respond. Before he could, Davidson's pistol plopped three times. The bullets slammed into Delray's chest and toppled him over backward onto the floor.
Fiona Clarkson screamed.
Davidson yelled for her to shut up as he strode over to Delray's body and looked down. Lifeless eyes stared out of a noble face that death did nothing to diminish.
Fiona sat quivering on the couch. "He's dead?"
"Definitely. You OK?"
She dry-retched and croaked: "Of course not. You just shot him."
"He was going to rape and shoot you."
"You mean, he was really going to do that?"
"Of course. He wasn't playing games. You need a glass of water?"
"Y-y-yes."
Heart still thumping, he ducked into the kitchen and used a trembling hand to take a smudged glass out of a cupboard. He filled it with tap water, returned to the living room and passed it over. "Here."
She gulped down the water, spilling plenty onto her dress, while he unscrewed the silencer.
She dry-retched once more. "W-w-why did he want to kill me?"
He holstered his pistol and tucked away the silencer. "Same reason he killed Robert Meredith - to shut you up."
"But I didn't know the Ebola and smallpox antigens were in the vaccine until you came here."
"They didn't know that. You worked as Robert Meredith's lab assistant. There was a good chance he told you about it. That was enough to make them kill you."
"And will they, umm, try to kill me again."
"Of course."
"Jesus."
"That's why you've got to leave this apartment now - with your parents - understand? Your life's in real danger. In fact, if you can get out of the City, you should. Do you know how?"
A wary look. "Why are you helping me? Why did you shoot him?"
"I'm not a good person, but I can't let them release the super-virus. Can you get out of the City?"
"Maybe. I think I know someone who will help us."
"Good. Then get out, fast." He nodded towards the opened vaccine ampoule on the coffee table. "Can you still use that vaccine?"
"I don't know. It might not be effective anymore."
"Take it and use it if you want."
"You don't want it?"
He smiled. "I don't like injections."
She nodded towards the corpse on the floor. "What about him? What are you going to do with his body?"
Davidson turned his attention back to Delray. Like most ISB officers, Delray kept a notebook. Maybe it contained some information about the plot to release a super-virus.
Davidson bent over, reached into Delray's tunic pocket and extracted his small leather-bound notebook. As he opened it up, a small red paper object fluttered out and landed on the threadbare rug. He picked up an origami model of a horse, exactly the same as the one Barbara created the night before.
Jesus. He'd suspected Barbara was cheating on him. This model proved he was right. His heart thumped and anger at both of them surged through him. But his main emotion was relief. He now had proof that his marriage was a sham and a good excuse to move on, which he would do.
Fiona Clarkson said: "What's that?"
"It's an origami model of a horse."
"You look surprised."
"I am. My wife made it."
"Really? How did he get it?"
"She must have given it to him."
A long pause and raised eyebrows. "Oh, I see. You mean, you think they ...?'"
"Yes, I do think that."
"Wow. Then I guess you're glad you shot him."
A half-smile. "I'm not upset."
After slipping the origami model into a trouser pocket, he glanced through the notebook and saw Delray hadn't been using it for long. There were only a few entries and none mentioned a plot to release a super-virus. However, scrawled at the bottom of one page was the phone number of the school where Barbara worked - further proof they were having an affair.
Fiona Clarkson said: "What are you going to do about the body?"
He tucked the notebook inside his tunic and turned to her. "Can I borrow your rug?"
She shrugged. "I guess I won't need it now."