Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter 12

Spokane, Washington, International Airport:
The man leaned back and relaxed in his seat as the airplane descended, touching down on the runway with the normal bump and jostle of its passengers. As the plane taxied slowly to the terminal, he remained seated and unmoving, his sharp mind listening and processing the varied conversations that had been happening around him for the last few hours.

For him, it was simply an exercise. His target was nowhere near him and at the moment, he was in no hurry to make contact. But the flights that brought him from Venezuela into the heart of the United States’ Pacific Northwest gave him the opportunity to exercise his mind, and he never missed out on a chance to do so. For example, he knew that the lady sitting two rows behind him was filing for divorce from her husband, just as soon as she completed her week-long visit to her alleged “sister” in California. He knew that the man sitting across from him was involved in an illegal trading scam with his investment firm and that his mounting nervousness would soon get him caught. He also knew that the young blonde airline attendant who had served him coffee while making a point to lean over and display her ample cleavage to him, was involved with the married co-pilot and that the two were planning a rendezvous at the hotel upon landing in Los Angeles.

He knew all these things because that was what he was trained for. He knew how to listen, to size up a situation, to discard the useless information and to take full advantage of the rest of it. He had been doing it for years, and something as simple as a flight from one city to the next afforded him excellent opportunities to keep his senses sharp. Those unsuspecting people around him would be eternally mortified if they knew what he knew about them. But by the same token, they could be equally grateful to know that, to him, they were nothing.

As the passengers began to disembark from the plane, the Venezuelan slowly stood and pretended to stretch. It was a ruse, as was everything else about him, performed to put anyone else around him at ease. In truth, his body was honed to near physical perfection, on par with his mind, and he could sit for hours in a cramped position waiting for a kill shot opportunity and then explode into action with no protests from muscles that would be cramped into immobility for anyone else.

Picking up his laptop case from the floor near his seat, he draped the carrying strap over his shoulder and then opened the overhead compartment to take down his carry-on. A few moments later, he was walking down the jetway and into the terminal, mentally reviewing any and all information he had on Perry Edwards and the company known as FutureTek.
 

Bethany Edwards felt her body go numb as the wriggling alien tendril pushed through the skin and soft cartilage of her left temple and into her brain. She felt strangely disconnected with her body as the second one entered her skull through her right temple, and a third entered through her right eye. Optical fluid from the ruined orb ran down her face, but strangely, she felt no pain. Somehow, though, she didn’t think it mattered anymore.

“It’s okay, Beth,” she heard a soothing voice coming from somewhere in the fog that was rapidly descending on her mind.

It took a moment before she thought she recognized it. “Perry?” she said, but while her words were clear in her mind, her mouth only moved silently, her one remaining eye open and unseeing, her body held easily in the grasp of her attacker.

“Yes, it’s me,” Perry answered his wife in her mind, even as he fed on it.

“But…you’re dead,” she thought back after a bit, oddly unconcerned that her thoughts seemed to be fragmenting.

“No, I’m not,” he countered with what had to be a mental chuckle. “Definitely not death. I prefer to call it freedom.”

Beth became vaguely aware of her body again and felt a slight twinge of pain inside her head. But a shifting of the wriggling things that were eating through her brain sent the physical sensations flying away as leaves on the wind.

“See how easy it is?” he went on.

“I…don’t....understand,” she tried to say and found the words were coming much harder now.

“There’s nothing to understand,” Perry’s voice answered almost coldly as he continued.

For Bethany Edwards, her own thoughts were beginning to grind to a stop and she began to see flashes of her past brought before her. Dreams and memories, thoughts and ideas came flooding out, as if someone had uncorked the part of her mind that stored everything about her, letting it all spill out unbidden.

“Isn’t that better?” Perry asked, a smile in his voice as he savored the experience.

It took Beth an eternity to bring forth the only word she was able. It would also be the last word she ever uttered. “Why?”

“Because I can,” he answered with finality, driving deep into her brain with a final thrust. Bethany Edwards’ body shivered violently for a few moments, before finally going still. For a few moments, her killer continued to hold her, drawing out the last physical remnants of her brain, before finally withdrawing and letting her lifeless body fall to the floor.

He looked down at her mortal shell and at the holes driven into the sides of her head and through her eye, which leaked a small amount of blood. For a moment, he considered the implications of what he had done, but in the end, it did not matter. He had simply done what had to be done. Without a word, he turned and walked back out the door and into the night.
 

Marquis Chavandar watched the figure disappear into the darkness and considered following him for a moment. But since the man wasn’t his target, he quickly abandoned that idea and moved forward through the darkness of the night. He was mildly surprised to see the door standing open, with no lights shining from windows.

He paused to evaluate the situation. His instincts told him that something else was at play here and he found himself wondering if another organization had become involved. As far as he knew, Perry Edwards had only been working with the Venezuelan group, but he recognized that anything else was certainly possible in his realm of work.

He slipped his hand inside his jacket and withdrew his Glock. The barrel was long, a silencer already screwed onto it. He remained still for several more minutes, listening closely for any sounds that would alert him to dangers unseen. Finally, hearing nothing more than a soft breeze through the trees around him, he moved forward again, cautiously picking his way across the lawn, staying within the darkest of shadows. Finally, from the edge of the porch, he paused again, taking in all his surroundings. Seeing nothing that would alarm him, he silently and quickly vaulted over the railing and slipped inside the open door, closing it silently behind him.

Once more he remained frozen, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker interior of the hall and letting his exceptional hearing take in any and all sounds. This house was dead silent. Finally satisfied that no one was moving about, he pulled out a small LED flashlight and snapped it on. The light from the small cylinder was bright, but tightly focused, and there was very little glow that escaped the beam. At the moment, the light was aimed at the floor and illuminating the face of a dead young woman. It was Bethany Edwards, which was something of problem for him. Her husband, Perry, was his target.

The Venezuelan knelt down to examine her, the light playing over her face and head. She had a hole punched through both temples and her right eye was gone. Initially, he assumed she had been shot. But upon closer examination, when shining the light closer to her empty eye socket, he was shocked to see the light penetrate all the way to the back of her skull. He didn’t have to be a medical doctor to see that her brain was gone.

Chavandar had been in the assassination business for many years and had seen some truly gruesome sights in his time. But this one unnerved him. Standing quickly, he gripped his weapon tighter and flashed the beam quickly around the room, absorbing the layout of the place. It was a typical American household, full of furniture and personal knick knacks. Other than the dead woman lying on the floor in the entry hall, nothing else appeared out of place. Controlling his own rising apprehension, he began to move through the house, searching until he was satisfied the house was empty.

He then returned to the office that could only be Perry’s. Now in more of a hurry to leave, he risked turning on the light to facilitate his search. Keeping his weapon out and ready, he went through the room quickly and efficiently. The office appeared to have been cleaned out recently and it didn’t take him long to realize that the item he was looking for was not in the office and, by the looks of things, probably would not be back. This situation had been fluid from the beginning and he believed he was now working against the clock.

Turning so that his back was against the far wall and he was facing the doorway, he pulled out his cell phone and thumbed a number. One ring later, the phone was answered on the other end by a woman who spoke a single word. “
¿Sí?
”

“
Ha desarrollado u
n problema
,” Chavandar spoke in Spanish. “
Conécteme a nuestro contacto americano inmediatamente
.
” There was a short pause before the line was connected.

After half a dozen rings, it answered. The voice sounded tired. “Yeah?”

“We have a problem,” the Venezuelan said quietly, speaking English now. “The courier and the package have moved.”

“The courier is dead,” the voice on the other end replied, suddenly awake. “Where are you?”

“Unimportant,” Chavandar answered, suddenly tense. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“It just happened the other day,” the voice on the other end snapped. “However, I can only converse with you when your corporation makes contact with me. They haven’t called me for several days.”

“A necessary precaution,” he replied coolly, referring to the fact that his company acted as an intermediary between him and their business contacts abroad. That kept both sides safely anonymous and afforded a great amount of protection in the event of a mishandled job. The only downside was that potentially important information could take longer to get to the proper person. It was a downside, however, that the corporation deemed acceptable, which was why it employed people like Marquis Chavandar who could think on their feet and required no supervision. “What is the status of the package?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” was the answer.

“Do not trifle with me,” Chavandar warned ominously.

“I’m not,” the voice on the other end responded sharply. “Look, I want my cut as much as you want the item. This whole thing has gotten way out of hand because of Edwards. If he hadn’t gotten greedy, this would all be over with by now.”

“You are as much a part of this deal as he was,” Chavandar said icily. “While you will of course be compensated at the agreed price, upon successful acquisition of the package, you also bear the same responsibility that he did. If we do not acquire the item for our buyer, it will be most unfortunate for you that he is already dead.”

“Look, man,” the voice replied with a hint of fear. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know why Perry decided to cut and run on us, but he got Homeland Security involved. They have the device.”

“Then perhaps you should get it back.”

“Are you kidding? They know what Perry was trying to do and they’re calling him an enemy of the state. That prototype is locked up tight right now.”

“I am familiar with FutureTek’s employee manifest and their families,” Chavandar said, letting the threat loom large. “I suggest you do everything in your power to ensure we receive that which is due to us before there are more casualties.”

Chavandar thumbed the call over and pocketed his phone. In truth, the fact that Edwards was dead simply saved him a bullet. He was under orders to kill Edwards once he had the device, but the other phone contact didn’t need to know that, particularly since there was a contract on his life as well. With half a billion dollars in the swing for the tech, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that the corporation would take steps to ensure they never paid the money. He would have to get his hands on the item first, though.

For the moment, though, he would have to improvise in order to track down the technology and that likely meant another killing, which really meant nothing to him in the end. He had killed many people in his career, many of them contracts and many more as simply necessary to complete a certain contract. This would be no different.

Shutting off the light, he waited only until his vision had readjusted to the dark before leaving the room. A short time later, Chavandar slipped back out the front door and disappeared into the night.
 

Chapter 13

Sherrard Residence, Helena, Montana:
“Honey?” Jen Sherrard’s voice slipped into Jon’s subconscious, beckoning him to awaken. “Jon?” she called out as he struggled to open his eyes and focus.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, reaching up and pressing the palm of his hand to his aching forehead.

“About nine,” she answered, a trace of worry in her voice. She was sitting on the bed next to him, her hand resting softly on his shoulder. “You need to get up.”

“Why?” he groaned, wanting nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep and sleep off the horrible headache that was blasting through his brain at the moment.

After a short pause, she answered. “The police are here.”

Jon opened his eyes a little more, but that only increased the magnitude of his headache, so he closed them again. “What do they want?” he grumbled.

“I don’t know,” Jen answered and he detected the barest hint of distrust in her voice. It reminded him what his wife’s former occupation was and that brought all his senses online. “They said they would like to talk to both of us.”

Pushing down his worry, Jon heaved a great sigh and rolled out of bed, putting his feet on the floor. Leaning his head between his legs, he said quietly, “I’ve got a terrific headache.”

“I’m worried about you, Jon,” she said softly, taking his hand and squeezing it.

“I know, hon,” he replied, placing his hand over hers. “Look, let me get some clothes on and grab something for this headache and I’ll be right out. Then maybe we can try to figure things out.”

“Okay,” she answered and stood up. Casting another worried glance at her husband, she turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Five minutes later, he followed her out, clad in old sweats and pressing a cold compress to his forehead. Two police officers were seated on the couch in his living room, his wife talking quietly with them. As he walked into the living room, they both stood, offering greetings and handshakes.

“Officer Garrison,” the first officer introduced himself. “Are you all right, Mister Sherrard?”

“Other than a splitting headache, I’m fine,” Jon answered grumpily.

“Well, we won’t keep you long, Mister Sherrard,” Garrison said. “We just have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

“About what?” he pressed.

“Mister Sherrard, you and your wife are familiar with the Edwards’, right? Perry and Bethany?”

“Yeah,” he answered darkly, looking quickly at his wife. Her face was a mask and he knew she was very interested in how he answered the questions. “Perry was a friend of mind, but we’ve already been through this whole investigation thing with Agent Alders of Homeland Security and I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I had no idea what Perry was up to.”

“Well, Mister Sherrard,” the officer cut in politely. “While we are aware of the alleged actions of Mister Edwards, that’s a federal matter entirely and this isn’t about that, at least for the moment.”

“Then what is it?” Jon asked in surprise, momentarily forgetting his aching head.

“When was the last time either of you saw Bethany Edwards?” Garrison asked again, evading the direct question.

“I was with her yesterday morning,” Jen answered, momentarily distracted from her husband. “Beth is having a hard time with what happened with Perry, so I was over there yesterday, trying to help her cope. Why?”

“What about you, Mister Sherrard?” Garrison asked, again evading the question.

Jon shook his head, acutely aware that his wife’s focus was back on him. “I have no idea, officer,” he answered, his patience waning. “Perry was my friend and he did some things he shouldn’t have done. It’s a little awkward right now for me to be making social calls to his recently widowed wife, if you know what I mean.”

The officer peered a little closer at Jon Sherrard, again taking the conversation in a different direction, keeping the man off balance. “Did you cut yourself shaving this morning, Mister Sherrard?” he asked, noting the four small band aids adorning Jon’s face.

“Did I what? What kind of question is that?” Jon demanded.

Garrison shrugged. “Just a simple question,” he answered innocently enough.

Jon shook his head again, wincing at the wave of pain that accompanied the movement. “While I don’t think it’s any of your business,” he said, reaching up and ripping off one of the band-aids to reveal the circular weal which was larger than before, “I didn’t cut myself shaving. As a matter of fact, I have no idea what this thing is and neither does my doctor. But if you have any suggestions on how to remove the parasite that caused it, I’m sure we’d be more than happy to hear them.”

“Jon, it’s all right,” Jennifer soothed, inwardly glad at her husband’s outburst. It actually put her at ease, helping quell the growing suspicion that had been building in her for the past couple days.

“No, it’s not all right,” he snapped back, uncaring now at who he was yelling at. “My head is killing me and I’ve got something inside of me and no one knows what the hell it is. Now, I’m playing twenty questions with the police. So either tell us what you came to tell us or get out of my house and let me go back to bed!”

The police officers exchanged looks and Garrison spoke again. “I apologize if I’ve upset you, Mister Sherrard,” he said easily. “But the questions are just routine. You and your wife were here last night?”

“Yes,” he snapped back. “We watched some TV and then went to bed. Why?”

“All night?”

“Yes! All night! Why?”

“Bethany Edwards was found murdered in her home this morning,” Garrison answered, his eyes locked on Jon’s.

Jen sucked in her breath in shock and Jon just stared as the officer continued. “The coroner estimates she was killed sometime last night or early this morning. We understand you and your wife were fairly close to the Edwards’, so we came here to ask some questions and maybe find out if you might know who would do something like that.”

“How...how did she die?” he stammered as Jen held a hand to her mouth, her face ashen.

“I’m not at liberty to say right now,” was the answer, “other than the fact that she was murdered. You don’t happen to know if Bethany Edwards had any enemies, do you?”

Jon shook his head. “No,” he answered. “But I would guess Perry might have made a few if everything they’re saying about him is true.”

“We’ve considered that, Mister Sherrard, and have alerted Agent Alders of Homeland Security to what has happened,” Garrison said as he stood up. His partner followed suit. “We’re sorry to have bothered you. You understand that our visit was just routine.”

“Yeah, I understand,” he answered quietly, somewhat in shock about the whole thing.

“An investigator will be taking over the case later today,” the officer went on. “So you may get a visit sometime soon concerning what happened. Can we count on your cooperation?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jon answered absently.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’re sorry for the loss of your friend, but rest assured we will find out who is responsible for this. We’ll let ourselves out.”

Jon Sherrard barely heard them. He was thinking about bad dreams and suddenly, he was very much afraid.