Pale Horse (A Project Eden Thriller) (15 page)

“Kusum?” her mother called out.

Kusum batted a hand at her, telling her to be quiet, and kept going. When she reached the other side of the street, she walked past each cab, glancing through the driver’s-side windows. The keys to the second cab, the one in back, were just visible on the floor in front of the seat.

She glanced into the restaurant. There were two men at a table near the middle. They were the only customers, and their eyes were glued to a television on a shelf near the back. She was sure they were the drivers.

Looking back at her father, she motioned to the second cab, and moved her hand in front of her mouth in a broad gesture she hoped they’d understand to mean they needed to be quiet as they entered the vehicle. After her father nodded, she walked into the restaurant, and passed the table with the two men. There she stopped and looked up at the TV. The news was the same as it had been before, so while she pretended to pay attention, she wasn’t really listening.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her family approach the taxi.

“Have they found anything here?” she asked, not having to fake a concerned tone.

One of the drivers looked at her, then back at the TV. “Nothing yet.”

“You think they will?”

“I hope not.”

A sound from the back of the restaurant caused her to look over. A woman wearing an apron and carrying two bottles of beer came out through a door and walked toward the occupied table. Kusum quickly repositioned herself to block the woman’s view of the cabs out front. The woman set the beers down, and looked at Kusum.

“Sit wherever you want. I’ll be back in a moment,” she said.

“I’m, uh, just watching the TV.”

A moment of displeasure crossed the woman’s lips, but she shrugged and hurried back the way she’d come. Just before she passed through the kitchen door and out of sight, the woman coughed twice, deep and wet.

Kusum stared after her, momentarily frozen in place. She turned back toward the street, searching for any of the sheen from the spray, but there was none. Maybe the woman just had a cold.

Or maybe
, Kusum thought
, she passed through an area that had been sprayed on her way to the restaurant.

Kusum glanced at the taxi and saw that everyone was inside. Her father gave her a quick wave and a nod from the driver’s seat, indicating they were ready. As casually as she could, she stepped back until she was no longer in the men’s direct view. She then turned and hurried to the cab.

Jabala, in the front passenger seat, had left enough room for Kusum to squeeze in beside her. As Kusum reached the open door, her father turned the ignition.

“Go!” she yelled as she jumped in next to her sister.

Her father shoved the vehicle into gear and hit the gas.

“Hey!” One of the men in the restaurant jumped out of his seat. “Hey! Come back! That’s my taxi!”

“Faster! Faster!” Kusum urged her father, sure the two drivers would get into the other cab and chase them down.

Her father turned from road to road, trying to mask their path. Whether it was because of that, or because the two men never left the restaurant, Kusum didn’t know, but after several minutes it was clear no one was following them.

“Which way now?” her father asked.

“Northeast,” she told him. “Out of the city.”

__________

T
HE AREA AROUND
the Pishon Chem compound had not yet been sprayed. Perhaps they were saving it for the end, Sanjay thought. Or perhaps the managers were worried that even though they’d been vaccinated, the disease might still affect them.

Sanjay parked near the gate that led to the dormitories many of the workers, including him, had been using. As usual, there was a guard at the gate, a local, but not one Sanjay had seen before.

“Private property,” the man said as Sanjay approached. “You cannot enter.”

“I work for the company,” Sanjay told him. “For Pishon Chem. I’m one of the coordinators. I have something I must talk to Mr. Dettling about.”

As with the man at the building, the use of an actual manager’s name caused the guard to relax. “Do you have your ID card?”

Every employee had been issued one. It had been a point of pride among the men. Sanjay did indeed have his ID in his pocket, but he was concerned all the guards had been given his name and told to detain him if he ever showed up.

“Of course I have one,” Sanjay said. “But things were so busy this morning, I left it in the dormitory. I can bring it to you when I leave.”

Though he was using all the right terms, he could see the guard was still hesitant to let him through.

“You understand how important today is, I am sure,” Sanjay said. “Any delay could cause major problems, and if you do not let me go see Mr. Dettling, there
will
be delays. Do you want this to be your fault?”

“Maybe I should call him.”

“Please, do it. Whatever will make this go faster.”

“Your name?”

Sanjay gave him the name of one of the other coordinators, and the man disappeared inside the little hut that served as his only shelter from the sun. Sanjay could hear him on the phone, and knew before the man returned that the ploy had worked.

“Okay,” the guard said. “You know where to go?”

“Of course.”

“Mr. Dettling said he will be in the conference room.”

“Thank you.”

Sanjay headed in the direction of the building the managers used. Once he was out of sight of the gate, he cut down between two of the dormitory buildings, and around the side of the administration building so he could enter through the less-used back entrance.

There were a few people at the far end of the compound where the excess barrels of spray were kept. Their job, Sanjay knew, was to send full ones out to any zone experiencing a shortage. None of the men paid him even the slightest bit of attention as he opened the rear door and went inside.

The building was two stories. The top floor served as the living quarters for the managers, while all the business was done on the ground floor. The question was, where would they keep the vaccine? Surely there would be some on the premises just in case of an emergency. The top floor would keep it more isolated, which might be desirable to the managers. Then again, the first floor would make it more accessible in case they needed it in a hurry.

This being the day of the spraying, he figured that most, if not all, the managers would be downstairs in the work area, leaving the living quarters empty, so he decided to check there first.

Based on the vaccine he’d taken, he knew what he was looking for—small jars of slightly orange-tinted liquid. He was painfully aware there could be other things that looked the same, but there had been no label on the jar of vaccine he was given, so there was no way to identify it by name.

The stairway to the upper floor let out on a wide corridor. Every twenty feet or so, there was a door on either side. These would be the apartments, he guessed. Toward the middle was an open doorway that led to a dining area. Adjacent to this was a kitchen. Sanjay could hear the sounds of food being chopped up and dishes knocking together. He hadn’t even thought about the fact there might be people working up here. He would have to be extra careful.

He slipped by the dining room and continued down the hall. More doors like before, all the way to the end. He frowned. He’d been hoping for a clearly labeled medical room or something similar. He didn’t think they would store surplus vaccine in one of the private quarters. But, with the exception of the kitchen, there seemed to be only private apartments.

Downstairs, then
, he thought.

As he walked back toward the stairway, he heard the distinctive sound of a door latch being disengaged. He looked around quickly, but there was nowhere to hide.

A door about twenty feet ahead of him opened.

All he could do was pretend he belonged there, so he walked with purpose toward the stairs, his head held up.

The man who came out of the room barely glanced in his direction, but Sanjay recognized him immediately. It was the senior manager, a gray-haired man Sanjay believed to be German.

Sanjay’s muscles tensed with a sudden surge of rage. Here was the person in charge of the operation. The man had already taken Ayush’s life, and now was trying to take those of the people Sanjay passed on the street every day, the food stall owners he visited, the men who’d been recruited, like him, to work for Pishon Chem. And, of course, Kusum’s family.

Everyone
.

A new plan quickly took shape in Sanjay’s mind.

He slowed his pace so that he reached the senior manager just as the man was about to close his door.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sanjay said. “I have a message for you.”

The man looked over. “What message?”

“I was told to give it to you in private.”

The manager glanced down the empty hallway. “I think we are private here.”

“If you say so, sir.” Sanjay paused, then said in a low, concerned voice, “There have been some deaths.”

“Excuse me?”

“From the spray. Mr. Reiner said to tell you it’s working too fast.” Mr. Reiner was another manager, one who was supposed to be out in the field during the spraying.

The gray-haired man’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible,” he said, more to himself than to Sanjay.

“There’s more,” Sanjay told him.

“What?”

Sanjay tried to look as uncomfortable as possible. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather hear this…”

It took a second, but finally the man pushed the door to his apartment open again, and said, “Come in.”

He entered first, Sanjay coming in right behind him.

Once the door was closed, he said, “What else?”

The last time Sanjay had hit anyone, he was thirteen, but he had never forgotten what Ayush taught him after he lost that fight. “The elbow can be much more effective than the hand.”

Sanjay’s elbow proved the point as it slammed into the side of the man’s head, and the senior manager dropped straight to the ground.

__________

N
OT KNOWING HOW
much time he had, Sanjay quickly searched the room. In the nightstand next to the bed, he found a handgun. He’d never held one in his life, let alone used one. He took it anyway. The rest of the apartment seemed to only have what one would expect to find—clothes, a few personal items, toiletries. As far as he could tell, there were no little bottles of vaccine present.

Using the laces from a pair of shoes in the closet, he tied the man’s hands together, then took a pillowcase off one of the pillows and tied it across the man’s mouth. All the jerking around caused the manager to stir, and after a few more moments, his eyes opened to find Sanjay crouching nearby with the gun in his hand.

“You will do as I say, do you understand?” Sanjay asked.

The man tried to speak, but all he managed through the gag was a muffled jumble of sounds.

“Do you understand?” Sanjay said again.

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

“I know about the spray, and what it really is.”

The man’s expression remained unchanged.

“You are going to kill my countrymen with a disease like what happened in America.”

This time one of the man’s eyebrows twitched.

“If I could stop you, I would. But I know that’s not possible. I don’t understand how you can live with what you are doing, but I can’t worry about that right now. You are going to help me.”

A muffled huff.

“If you don’t help me, I will kill you and find someone else who can.” Though killing was against almost everything Sanjay believed in, he would be able to justify it in this one instance.

The man apparently didn’t see the resolve in Sanjay’s eye, because he laughed.

Without hesitating, Sanjay jammed the muzzle of the gun against the man’s left shoulder and pulled the trigger. The sound was loud, but not as loud as he’d expected.

The man screamed through the pillowcase. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, then opened again in disbelief as he twisted back and forth in pain.

“I will say it again. You are going to help me.”

This time there was no laugh, just a nod.

“You will take me to the vaccine.”

The man looked surprised.

Sanjay shifted the gun to the man’s other shoulder. “You will take me to the vaccine.”

The man nodded again, the look on his face pleading with Sanjay not to pull the trigger again.

__________

T
HE GUNSHOT HAD
not gone unnoticed.

When Sanjay opened the apartment door, he found two men standing in the hallway. Thankfully, they were not other managers, but Indians like him. Their aprons and grease-stained shirts identified them as the men from the kitchen. As soon as they saw the gun, they started to run.

“Stop!” Sanjay ordered.

They froze where they were, no doubt thinking they might get shot in the back.

“I am not going to hurt you.”

“Then let us go,” one of the men said.

“If I do, you will die.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounded like.”

“Please,” the other man said. “We have families. Just let us go.”

Sanjay knew the task ahead would be difficult to complete on his own, if not impossible. Who knew how many managers were still downstairs.

“Come back here. I promise I won’t shoot you if you do,” he lied. He had no intention of shooting them at all. They had done nothing but take work in a kitchen to support their families.

“Why should we?”

“Because there’s something you need to know.”

It took a bit more persuading, but finally the men came back to the manager’s apartment. When they saw the injured man lying on the floor, gagged with his hands tied behind his back, they almost ran out, but Sanjay had already moved between them and the door, his gun convincing them to stay where they were.

“So what do you think we need to know?” the first man said.

As quickly as he could, Sanjay explained what was really going on with Pishon Chem and the spray. The men looked at him skeptically.