Code Monkey [Drunk Monkeys 8] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

She found herself slowly nodding in time with him. “O–okay. Good job.” She forced a sick-feeling smile. “We need to get back to work now.”

  He grinned and slowly disappeared behind his monitors again.

  As she turned to face her workstation, she stomped down the growing sense of dread inside her. Whatever was going on with him and Bailey was also happening to her brother.

  What the hell is going on?

  Chapter Eleven

  Ax was able to make contact with Tank again on Tuesday morning. Tank and her fourteen friends from the Freedom World Fighters were celebrating hacking into the servers at Edwards Air Force Base overnight and gaining access to some first-person footage filmed by helicopters and planes that partook of the destruction of Barstow. They’d already posted and mirrored the footage and hoped it would virally spread around the world to the point that the military’s geeks couldn’t keep up with squelching them fast enough.

  The problem with that theory, Ax knew, was that many of the people they would have counted on picking up the files and running with them were now dead from the Kite virus, or their country’s infrastructure had deteriorated to the point that they couldn’t get online.

  Tank’s group also knew it meant they’d have to move, which they were in the process of doing. In fact, five minutes after he logged on, she was logging off because they were loading up to leave.

  Ax sat back and thought about it for a couple of minutes before he got a secure sat-phone from Omega and called Lima.

  “What’s up? News on Mary Silo?”

  “No, I wish.” Ax filled him in about what Tank told him, but didn’t tell Lima he knew approximately where they were.

  “Hmm. Not our circus, not our monkeys, but I’ll pass it along to Bubba and see what, if anything, he wants to do with it. Thanks.”

  Ax took the phone back to Omega. He knew he was treading a fine line between not ratting out his friends and making sure he didn’t end up in solitary confinement somewhere for treason. He didn’t want to leave the safety of the Drunk Monkeys, but he knew that he couldn’t let Tank and their team do anything that might accidentally cause a problem with their mission, either. If their actions triggered some sort of chain-reaction that fell back on them, and he hadn’t notified anyone about it, that would be very, very bad.

  Crushing Silo was secondary to developing a Kite vaccine. Even Ax wanted it that way. He damn sure didn’t want to die from the shit. Enough people had died. Besides, a Kite vaccine the scientists from The List put out was one more fuck you in Hannibal Silo’s face.

  He couldn’t lose the Drunk Monkeys’ trust now, not when he was so tangibly close to realizing his goal.

  * * * *

  Delta and Juju located Ax early that afternoon to take him to a different gun range. He still didn’t like shooting but he was getting better at it every time. Today, after he’d gone through an entire box of ammunition, Juju made him break the gun down completely and clean it before reassembling it.

  Without help.

  Then he had to test fire a round from it.

  Fortunately, it worked.

  Juju smiled. “Good. Do it again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if you’re going to shoot, you need to know how to take one apart and put it back together in case it stovepipes on you or something and you need to clear it. Like computers. You understand how the Internet and shit works, right?”

  Ax nodded.

  “Same thing. You need to know how the gun works in case it stops working. It could mean the difference between saving your life, or one of our lives, and getting your head shot off.”

  Ax popped the empty mag from the gun and started breaking it down again. Slide came off first, and the barrel and spring mechanisms, until it was in pieces.

  Putting it back together was easier this time, he’d admit.

  Once it was assembled, he loaded one round into the mag and shot it.

  Without the men asking, he started breaking it down again.

  They were right. This was part of what he needed to do. He might not always have them protecting him, and if someone was one day relying on him to protect them, he’d need to be ready.

  Always be prepared.

  * * * *

  In shock, Jerald stared at his computer monitor. Using a burner cell, he’d placed a call to Senator Tom Davis and had him make some arrangements to get Jerald aerial photos of their disturbingly silent California church stronghold.

  It had been located outside of Borrego Springs, where there wasn’t much other than desert.

  It looked like it had burned to the ground. It was little more than a smoking crater. Well, minus the crater.

  Which wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Zooming in, he spotted what looked like damage at the front entrance.

  Finally, he picked up the phone and called Tom Davis back. “What, exactly, am I looking at?”

  “No discernable signs of life.”

  “But…can’t you send someone?”

  “Law enforcement no longer exists in that region. Nor does any cohesive military presence. And that’s not common knowledge, either. The analyst who pointed the satellite at it for me said it looks like it took a truck bomb or two right through the front gate. But it gets better.”

  “What?”

  “Looking at the damage pattern, he said it was someone on the inside trying to get out.”

  “Um…”

  “Look, Mr. Arbeid. I know I’m still beholden to Silo, but I’ve got to tell you. From Santa Barbara to San Diego, and everything west and south of I-10, and west of Highway 86, is considered lost.”

  “I thought San Diego was holding out against it?”

  “It was. Until a California National Guard unit who’d escaped from LA made it there before they started testing blue and spread it wherever they went. There are roadblocks on all roads east into Arizona and Nevada, with the personnel ordered to shoot to kill anyone who refuses to turn back. San Diego unofficially fell about six days ago. They’ve kept it out of the news media by installing jammers and cutting Internet lines and cell phone towers.”

  “But the Mexican border is right there.”

  “Yeah? And the Mexican army is shooting anyone trying to forcibly enter their country. They’ve closed the Tijuana, Tecate, and Mexicali crossings. There’s something my great-grandfather would laugh his ass off at. People trying to cross into Mexico from the US and being denied.”

  “What’s going to happen?” A kind of numbness had set in. This didn’t feel real. It felt like he was watching a horror movie, or reading a novel.

  That he could switch it off or close the book and everything would go back to normal.

  “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, right there. The military can’t pull another Barstow and say, ‘Oops! Our bad.’ No way in hell they could cover that up. There’s still no good consensus there. The Coast Guard is sinking any vessels trying to leave who won’t turn back, or ones who try to land from open ocean. The hope is they can contain it and everyone will die off in a few weeks. The most prevalent strain of Kite there has shown signs it’s mutating to a less-lethal version.”

  “Mutating? How do they know that?”

  “There’s a few health centers still operating and reporting in the last twenty-four hours that they have patients who are surviving this shit and coming out moderately normal on the other side. They ran out of po-clo a week ago, and it’s kind of hard to talk a doctor into shooting people in a crowded clinic. Not that they’d have enough bullets anyway.”

  “How are they handling them?”

  “After the local vets all ran out of the euthanasia stuff they use on animals, apparently they resorted to literally handcuffing people who were starting to rage to street lamps, strong fences, anything that would hold them, until either they died or they had someone come by who was willing to expend a couple of precious bullets to put them out of their misery. A few of them started surviving.”

&n
bsp; Jerald tried to process that. “And none of this made the news?”

  “It can’t. Everything’s locked down.”

  “But…how did you find out about what’s going on?”

  “A SOTIF unit that was in Camp Pendleton got word to one of the Coastie vessels. Sent out a drone with a recorded message. They’re stuck in there, too. Arliss can’t risk pulling them out of there. They’re going to try to make their way out via any means possible.”

  “Is it—”

  “SOTIF4,” Davis said before Jerald could finish the statement. “Don’t go getting your hopes up.”

  Dammit.

  He was still transfixed by the screen. “You can forget your payment for this month and the next, Tom,” Jerald said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He sounded doubtful. “Why?”

  “Because you’re worth far more to me in your current position than you are anywhere else. And this is between you and me. As far as Silo’s concerned, it’s business as usual, and you didn’t tell me jack shit. He doesn’t need to know any of this.”

  “What’s going on? Trouble in paradise?”

  “I’ve unleashed a monster,” Jerald admitted. Not like Tom Davis would tell anyone. “And now I’ve got to figure out how the hell to get him back in his cage without making a damned martyr out of him in the process. Good-bye.”

  He hung up and pulled the battery out of the burner cell. He’d dispose of it in the stronghold’s on-site incinerator later.

  This shifted everything, again.

  Drastically.

  That no one had been around, none of his usual contacts, to keep him informed of this troubling development spoke volumes.

  It was no longer a matter of if Silo had to die, but when.

  And waiting until Mary Silo was found might not be an option much longer.

  He closed out the pictures and used the internal phone system to call the stronghold manager. “Notify security that unless it’s a construction vehicle, or incoming delivery, no more vehicles are allowed inside the complex. Period. Excluding ambulances and fire trucks, of course. I want all vehicles parked outside from now on. Anyone handicapped who need an exemption can apply for one and they’ll be reviewed on a case-by-case basis.”

  “Uh, okay, but why?”

  “Security hazard,” Jerald said, which was sort of the truth. “If there’s a vehicle fire, our resources might not be enough to manage it.”

  Again, sort of the truth.

  So what had happened in Borrego Springs? Had Kite swept through the complex and people were trying to get out, but hadn’t been allowed to leave?

  He opened a new e-mail and CC’d it to all the stronghold managers.

  Including the one in Borrego Springs. He’d have to make it look like it was still business as usual. The strongholds didn’t have reason to talk to each other directly. To him, yes.

  FYI new security procedures:

  Starting immediately, unless a vehicle is being used for active construction, or a verified delivery, absolutely no vehicles are to be allowed within the stronghold complexes. The only exception to this is an ambulance transporting someone out of the complex, or fire rescue equipment. Anyone who is handicapped can apply for an exemption, which will be reviewed case-by-case.

  Hardened barriers to prevent incursion from vehicles will be installed immediately around all complex exterior walls. Out of an abundance of caution and after careful prayer and consideration, based on the events in Los Angeles, we want to make sure our personnel and residents are as safe as possible. Anyone needing assistance transporting items from vehicles to their residences inside should be helped by security, including allowing the use of golf carts. Ditto any unscheduled deliveries that need to be made.

  Jerald Arbeid

  He looked it over before hitting send.

  It would, no doubt, draw questions.

  If Silo asked him about it later, he’d simply lie out his ass and say that after what happened in LA they couldn’t be too careful.

  And he hoped to hell the old man didn’t ask any questions other than that.

  His eyes fell on a stack of folders in a tray on his desk.

  The girls Hannibal had selected.

  Marisol Johnson had been eighteen years old, a top student, an unquestionable leader in their Youth Corps, and had moved into the California stronghold with her mother, father, and little brother.

  She was also now very likely dead.

  Shit.

  He hadn’t wanted to locate the stronghold there. He’d wanted it far away from LA for just this reason, that he knew LA would devolve into chaos long before it came out the other side. He’d wanted something closer to the center of the state, around Fresno. But no.

  Hannibal had insisted that’s where it’d go, and Jerald had not been able to dissuade the man.

  So there it went.

  And now he couldn’t even tell Hannibal, “See? I told you so.”

  He also couldn’t believe he’d one day find himself rooting for the CDC to hurry up and come up with a Kite vaccine. Because at the rate the world was going to shit, they damn sure needed it.

  * * * *

  Kant sat in the lobby at the VA pain clinic in Houston before noon on Tuesday. He was registered as one Roger Billings, recently moved there from Chicago, complete with a fake case history already set up in the system.

  He wasn’t shocked to see how busy the place was. He was there for a late afternoon appointment, one of the last of the day, but that’s not why he was really there.

  He was fishing.

  Bubba had sent him more detailed info on the overdoses in the Houston area. There’d been another one since Kant had left Chicago. A woman this time, she’d died late Monday evening. She’d shown up at an ER, taken there by her roommate.

  The roommate reported the woman had been participating in some sort of program.

  She’d also been a twenty-six-year-old vet who’d been discharged eight months earlier after her lower right leg had been blown off while trying to defend an outpost base in Vietnam from Kiters. She and the other survivors had been evacced out, and she’d earned a one-way ticket home from Guam.

  She’d also had an appointment here at the VA pain clinic last Tuesday afternoon.

  Tuesday afternoons were a common theme with several of the previous overdoses, too.

  Hence, he sat.

  And he waited.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wednesday afternoon, a small contingent of the Drunk Monkeys were unloading from Panda’s plane.

  “You ever been to Houston before?” Yankee asked Ax.

  Ax shook his head. “I’ve never flown before I was with you guys.” He shouldered his laptop bag and grabbed the duffel bag he’d brought with him.

  “You’re going up in the world,” Oscar said with a good-natured smile as he smacked the computer guy’s shoulder.

  Delta kept his mouth shut and watched, listened.

  Ax had definitely not been comfortable during the flight. Lima had briefed them all during the journey—they were there to take out a Kite drug facility, which an as yet unknown friendly was trying to get a line on now. There were several Kite drug ODs that had been called into the Washington, DC office, but that office hadn’t passed the info along to Atlanta like they were supposed to. Their team was being moved into position so that once the target was acquired, they’d be ready to go in immediately and take it down.

  Oscar and Yankee’s presence on this mission meant that there was a better than odds-on chance something would be going boom.

  Shutting down a Kite lab didn’t exactly require finesse and politeness.

  It only required explosives and fire.

  Delta would have preferred a slightly different team roster. They had five Drunk Monkeys, and a hacker who could shoot.

  Sort of.

  Although they’d faced far worse odds with far fewer resources and manpower. Delta wouldn’t jinx them and say this was a cakewalk assignment, bu
t it certainly wouldn’t be a massive pucker factor mission.

  Hell, right now, he was only sitting on about a point-five.

  That was nothing. He’d had higher puckers running the breakfast chow gauntlet after Roscoe had managed to piss off one or more of the women in their unit.

  Including Roscoe’s own woman, Annie, if she was on mess duties that day.

  Still, he would have preferred Ax be replaced with someone more…shooty. Able to kick ass even without a firearm.

  Someone who was trial-by-fire tested and tempered and proven to be able to perform in a hot zone.

  Wasn’t his call. He’d been hoping for Omega or at least Echo, who was a chameleon when it came to disguises.

  Lima led the way and found their rental vehicles. They split up, Ax riding with Delta and Juju, and Lima riding with Oscar and Yankee. Panda would be staging out of a small airfield in Beaumont, to the east. There she would sit and hang tight, awaiting word from them to come grab them. And she was close enough that if something went wrong and they had to bug out of the city, they could easily drive to her and meet her there.

  They were in a motel not too far west of downtown, not the ritziest area, but not Skid Row, either. They needed to blend in with all the cases of equipment they’d brought, meaning they couldn’t exactly check into the ritziest hotel.

  Since they weren’t even sure what equipment they’d need yet, they’d overpacked.

  As usual.

  Another reason flying commercial wouldn’t have worked. Airlines tended to frown on passengers carrying explosives, even if they were trained and certified in their proper use and detonation.

  Their contact was staying someplace different, but he would touch base with them that evening and give them the skinny. He was doing the snoop and poop for them, blending in, according to Bubba, to get them the lead.

  They had two rooms, side-by-side, exterior ones right on the parking lot. But they’d all been sitting in one room, gathered around a detailed map of Houston Lima had pulled up on his tablet to familiarize them with the area, when the knock sounded close to sundown.