The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 8

  All Benny had ever seen of Joey told him the man had as much muscle between his ears as in his biceps. Simple, loyal, Joey the Giant. Christ! What a mess. He turned to his nearest lieutenant. “Put them in the store room ‘til I’ve had a chance to think.”

  When they were gone he motioned another of his men over and said, “Round up some of Joey's boys, and search his place again. I need to find out if he's got any other secrets.”

  *

  The Oval Office

  “Yes, Mr. Prime Minister, it is terrible, but thank you for your support.” Hammond Powell hung up.

  “Terrible?” Farley Moffat said with raised eyebrows.

  “Never underestimate the British sense of understatement,” the President said. “My grandfather once told me he heard a British sailor describe a force five gale as, ‘a bit of a blow.’”

  Farley managed a polite chuckle.

  “Anyhow,” the President continued, “that takes care of Canada and the Brits. Our neighbors to the North have offered refugee camp sites in Alberta and Saskatchewan--provided we build and supply them, of course.” He looked at a list of countries that included all the nuclear powers plus Mexico, Australia, Japan, Israel, South Africa, and several South American nations.

  “Mexico next?”

  “No, Enrique is in town and I want you to set up a meeting tonight. Unfortunately it’s time to call the Russians.”

  “They still celebrating being off the target list?” Farley asked.

  “They’re insufferable. I’m beginning to think they hope it will hit,” Hammond Powell said. “They seem to think their civil defense preparations will get them through in much better shape than us.

  Farley did a double take, then nodded. “I can see why they’d think that. Their civil defense planning far exceeded ours during the Cold War.”

  He glanced at his ever-present notebook and said, “You know the story is going to leak now”

  “Rumors will fly for a few days and then I’ll address the U.N.”

  Farley sighed. “Yes, then all hell will break loose.”

  *

  Foley, Alabama

  Sometimes Bill Dean wondered what the world was coming to, but more often than not he figured it was on a direct path to Hell. This latest thing with a military convoy being attacked right here in the United States really got to him though. Shit like that only happened in third world countries.

  He shook his head at the thought, but he had a business to run and it was time to open up, so no use dwelling on crap he couldn’t help. Still, he’d say a prayer for that fine young Corporal who’d escaped the ambush.

  The door of Dean’s Feed and Seed and Whatever You Need squeaked when he opened it so he grabbed a can of 3-in-1 oil and applied it to the hinges. He’d just stepped back behind the counter when the door opened and the bell chimed and Eileen Massey walked in. Eileen always looked like she was ready to explode but he figured that was because of her blazing red hair and perpetual sunburn.

  “Hey, Bill,” she said, stifling a sneeze.

  “Eileen,” he said, nodding his head to accent the greeting. “What can I do for you?”

  “Looking for some Erythromycin for my fish,” she said.

  He pointed toward the back of the store where he kept aquarium supplies and said, “Aisle 14, next to the fish food. Look for Fish Flex Forte. That’s 500 mg so be careful of the dose.”

  Bill knew Eileen didn’t own any fish, but he also knew that she and several price-savvy locals used fish, horse or large dog antibiotics when they got sick. The drugs were the exact same type as for people because fish, and horses especially, had delicate constitutions that required pure people-grade antibiotics. They just had to adjust the dose for their body weight. Long story short, what could cost seventy-five dollars at the pharmacy ran less than twenty at his store.

  Folks like Eileen, who lived on a fixed income, could be very ingenious at stretching dollars.

  A loud sneeze echoed from the fish aisle and Bill shouted, “Bless you!”

  *

  The Freeholds

  Leona Perry faced the classroom full of eight-year-olds and asked, “What do we know about handling guns?”

  “Assume all guns are loaded,” the children said, in mass. “Never touch a gun without an adult around. Never point a gun at anything you don’t want to shoot. Keep you finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Now remember all that when we go to the range.”

  The children, especially the boys, fidgeted in their seats and sneaked quick, smiling glances at each other. Firearms Safety and Instruction was their favorite part of the school day, well...next to recess.

  *

  Fort Benning, Georgia

  Colonel Adam Young, steely eyes, iron-gray crew-cut hair, steel in his backbone too, clenched his teeth and knitted his brows as he examined his orders. His nose twitched.

  Noting his scowl, General Arnold Allison, commander of the 3rd Brigade--3rd Infantry Division said, “Do you have a problem, soldier?”

  Colonel Young opened his mouth, thought better of it and said, “No Sir. I will execute my orders, Sir. Though I never expected to see such orders issued in the United States of America...Sir.” He was a short man who stood tall on matters of principle.

  “Careful, Colonel, insubordination wouldn’t look good in your record.”

  “I understand, General. That’s why, upon completion of my orders, I will be resigning my commission.”

  The General drew back, eyes wide open. “For confiscating supplies from hoarders?”

  “They aren’t hoarders, Sir. They are American citizens practicing their religion, which I thought was guaranteed by the First Amendment.”

  “This is a National Security issue, Colonel. Under the National Defense Authorization Act keeping more than seven days worth of food is hoarding. But I’m not going to stand here debating with you, Colonel. You have your orders...unless you’d prefer to resign your commission immediately.”

  “No, Sir. I’ll complete my mission. I’m one of them, Sir. They know me and they’ll listen to me. I’m afraid if you sent anyone else to seize their goods you’d have an insurrection on your hands.”

  Chapter 10: The Prototype

  Jamal Rashid watched with regret as the men left Joey Scarlatti's warehouse. His beady black eyes and scarecrow-thin form twitched in nervous anticipation as he sunk low in the seat to keep from being seen. He'd arrived too late to remove the stabilizer and since Jamal recognized Benny the Bug's men, he had no doubt Joey was in big trouble. He decided to follow them, knowing his nondescript beige Chevy Cavalier would be hard to spot. Maybe they would lead him to Joey.

  He wasn’t sure why he was so loyal to the big man. As he tailed the black Ford Explorer he decided it came down to respect. He’d seen through Joey’s dumb thug act almost at once and took the chance of letting him know it. Ever unpredictable, Joey reacted by rewarding him with promotions, money, and respect. No one in Joey’s organization made sand nigger, camel jockey or rag head cracks about him. It wasn’t much, but for a kid raised in a Palestinian refugee camp it was enough.

  *

  Beverly Hills

  “What the hell is it?” Benny Bonificio asked, looking at the Styrofoam encased gyroscopic stabilizer.

  “I think it's the thing that's got the Feds so het up, Boss,” Alonzo Bonetti said, adding with pride, “My boy Nicolo found it in a hidden room in Joey's warehouse.”

  Nicolo Bonetti, tall and handsome, with wavy dark hair, black eyes and a body builder's physique, looked almost embarrassed to receive such praise in front of Benny.

  “Boss, the government's offering a million dollar reward,” Alonzo continued.

  “It goes to you and your boy,” Benny said, taking pleasure in their surprised expressions. “Hell, it'll be worth a million to get the damn Feds off my back.” The heat was costing his organization more than a million a day.

  “Call Richie Carr
erra at the Feebs and tell him you got a present for him. Keep my name out of it. Matter of fact, tell him you bought it off those niggers in Denver. Tell him it cost you two million and ask if they’ll reimburse. That way we each score a mil and the Feds are still happy.” Benny said, never one to miss an opportunity.

  And in a few days, after this has blown over, he’d take Joey and his boys for a ride in the desert.

  Less than one minute after Alonzo called, Richie Carrerra, the FBI agent was on the phone to the Director, Royce Bannister.

  *

  “You’re sure the room isn’t bugged?” Joseph asked. The storage room was an old walk-in freezer that Benny used for unsavory purposes, judging by the blood stains on the concrete floor. It wasn’t cold inside because the freezer was empty and the thermostat was set to room temperature.

  “No pinhole cameras,” Anthony said.

  “And no hidden mikes,” John added. “So you think we’re good?”

  Joey smirked. “Yeah, he bought it all the way, the dumb Guinea. He’s just letting us cool our heels to teach us a lesson. His boys will be along any time now to let us out.”

  “Man, I thought we were dead,” John said.

  “Have a little faith, boy,” Joey said. “We’ve had Benny fooled for years so he’s much more likely to believe the reports were wrong than that poor, stupid, Joey the Giant’s been pulling the wool over his eyes. Simple psychology. In fact, I’ll bet he’s...”

  John and Anthony looked at each other and carefully refrained from rolling their eyes. When the old man got like this it was better to nod and play along. Healthier too.

  “Still,” Joey said, finishing up, “Better safe than sorry.” He cupped his hands to his ears and pointed to the doorway. It wasn’t as well insulated as the rest of the room.

  John leaned the side of his head against the door, but Anthony dropped to the floor and pressed his ear to the concrete.

  *

  Ten minutes later Anthony waved his arm and whispered, “Footsteps.” Then his eyes widened and he said, “Shit! Rifle bolts being racked.”

  Joey motioned his sons to either side of the door, saving the middle for himself. He held up three fingers.

  Two fingers.

  At the count of one they heard the latch snap open and the giants charged.

  They slammed into the doors, bursting them open--and froze. Instead of slamming the doors into unsuspecting men they faced a semi-circle of armed thugs who were ready for them. Sergeant Carswell lay moaning on the floor, holding a nose broken by the door.

  “Mr. Bonificio would like a word,” Alonzo Bonetti said, placing a gun to John’s head.

  How did they know about Carswell? Joey saw Nicolo lurking in the back of the mob and understood. The boy had been secretly working for him since he was twelve. At least they didn’t have Jamal yet, but that was a brief flicker of hope. Nothing Jamal could do to save them.

  Joey shook his head. If they went along, Benny would kill them slowly. Better a quick death in combat.

  Alonzo cocked his pistol and Joey met John’s eyes--and swiftly looked away.

  Then Benny stepped forward, placed a .45 caliber Colt against Anthony’s temple and said, “Decide.”

  John saw his father’s shoulders slump and bitterness gnawed at him like a worm in an apple. His father was willing to let him die, but not precious Anthony. It was too much.

  He exploded into action, batting Alonzo’s gun hand away from his head, snatching the pistol from Alonzo’s nerveless fingers and firing into the crowd, then whirling into them like a gigantic, maniac dervish.

  Anthony went down, Benny beating on his head with his pistols.

  But Joey was in his element. Berserker crazy, roaring like a bear, he crushed two men’s heads together so hard they popped like light bulbs--threw one of them into a cluster of mobsters who were regrouping--and used the other like a flail. He whipped the man’s body around with superhuman strength, beating his opponents to the floor or knocking them aside like tenpins. Bones cracked and popped like Rice Krispies on steroids.

  Then Benny aimed and fired.

  The slug glanced off Joey’s thick skull and he toppled into John, knocking him to the floor. They were swarmed under while Benny screamed, “Alive! I want them alive!”

  *

  Team Garcia's Lab

  “What do you mean, it wobbles?” Carl Borzowski asked.

  “Carl,” Raoul said, his voice low and sad, face ashen, “the intensity of the beam at the point of impact is largely a function of distance, surface area, and duration.”

  Carl nodded, of course.

  “The Sunflower's wobble is rapid enough to effect duration and surface area. Instead of concentrating all the power on one tiny point and holding it there, the beam will be diffused over a larger area for a shorter time.”

  Ariel spoke up, the bags under her eyes matching Raoul's. “Since there's no atmospheric diffraction, the laser will cause a series of small explosions instead of the single big one we need. It may carve Havoc up some, but it won't cause complete destruction.

  “We thought we could shift the point of aim fast enough to compensate for the oscillation and result in a steady state, but the targeting mechanism is an inherent part of the defective gyroscopic stabilizer. There are no independent gyros to aim Sunflower.”

  Carl slumped in his chair, head in hands, his voice a strangled whisper. “Then it will hit.”

  “Not necessarily,” Harry Garrison said as he entered the room waving a fax. To their hope-filled faces he said, “The FBI has been approached by the people who have the missing stabilizer.” His eyes targeted Raoul and Ariel. “If you two can finish the second Sunflower and if we can get the stabilizer back fast enough, we can mount the assembly on a military booster and get it into orbit. We have three days.”

  Raoul's eyes locked on Ariel's. “The prototype!” Both shouted at once.

  Harry asked, “What prototype?” But his question bounced off their backs as they ran from the room.

  *

  Pueblo Colorado

  “Dad, it’s so good to see you.” Heather wrapped her father in a big hug. “Come on in,” she said, stepping back from the doorway. “You look great, by the way. I’m guessing you could still run a company of recruits ragged.”

  Emil Smolensky grinned at his daughter, picked up his duffle bag, slung it over his still solid shoulder and stepped inside. He might be up there in years and have an artificial leg but he hadn’t gone soft.

  “Where’s Darla?” he asked as he scanned the room. He took in the old beige couch and chairs set he and Lorraine had given Heather as a wedding gift. Photos of Darla as an infant, a toddler, riding a bicycle, then a horse decorated one pale blue wall. The speckled beige Berber carpet had fresh vacuum cleaner marks in it. Cream colored drapes framed a picture window that looked out across a juniper hedge and a patchy lawn to the street.

  “She went tubing with her best friend’s family,” Heather said. Glancing at her wristwatch she added, “She should be back before dinner and that will give us a chance to talk. But first let’s get you settled in.”

  Emil followed her down a hallway to a modest bedroom and deposited his duffle. The rest of his stuff could wait. He studied his daughter and was concerned at what he saw. Heather had always been thin but now her bones showed plain on her arms and her skin looked like it had been stretched over her face. Her pink and green flower patterned dress hung loose on her gaunt frame and her auburn hair that used to shine, thick and glossy, was now limp and stringy. Her large brown eyes looked tired.

  “So when do you start chemo?”

  “Early next week,” she said. “But we didn’t catch it in time, dad. Breast cancer took mom and it’s going to take me.”

  He stiffened at her words and wanted to scream, “Don’t say that,” but he’d seen how the disease wasted his Lorraine and knew his daughter was telling the truth.

  “Don’t worry about anything, pumpkin,” he said, so
ftly. “I’m here and I’ll take good care of Darla and everything else.”

  He opened his arms and she stepped into them, sobbing softly.

  *

  The White House

  Eli Cohen, from NASA, passed a hand over his balding head and said, “The Russians just launched from Cosomograd, Mr. President. Of course, we’ll continue to launch supply rockets until the gantry’s fail but when the Russians dock, the crew of the ISS will be provisioned for the duration.”

  Hammond Powell looked at the small wrinkled man who reminded him of a white raisin, and said, “We don’t know how long the duration will be, Eli. Never mind. What about our shuttles?”

  “All parked at the ISS. Right now there are seventeen women and four men on board. They represent all races and twenty-one nations and they have the best seats in the house.”

  The President shook his head and gazed out the large glass doors to the White House lawn below. Two inches of rain made everything look clean and new. To think it had come to this.

  “The Auroras?” he asked.

  “We’re holding the space planes in reserve until we get both Sunflower’s up in orbit.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “That’s why we get the big bucks, sir,” Eli said with a wry smile.

  *

  The International Space Station

  The Russian floated from the Soyuz into the ISS. She grabbed a bulkhead and stopped, looking over the greeting party.

  “Colonel Ludmilla Gagarin,” she said. She was small and attractive, as were most of the men and women aboard, with curly brown hair, gray eyes and a pert nose.

  “Welcome aboard, I’m Commander Kent,” said a carrot-topped man with a British accent. “I’m a great fan of your great-grandfather.”

  Ludmilla smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth, and said, “I have heard of your famous namesake too, Mister Superman.”