Chapter Thirty-Nine
Tony ran a hand down his face and dropped heavily onto his bed. His legs had threatened to give out long before Naura’s perilous escape into the gulf.
His chest ached with the knowledge that he’d almost lost her a second time.
There wouldn’t be a third, he silently vowed, throwing an arm across his eyes. He’d keep her safe if he had to handcuff her to his wrist.
“Permission to enter,” Vaulcron called from the doorway.
Tony threw his feet over the side of the bed and sat up. “Come in.”
“I spoke with Miguel. He was frantic when he returned to retrieve Naura only to find her gone.”
“What the hell happened there?”
Vaulcron took a seat in a chair next to the bed. “According to Miguel, something known as the cartel attacked Playa Pilar, killing several of the locals and someone named Tourist.”
“The cartel isn’t a something; it’s several someones. And a tourist is a type of person, not a person’s name.”
“Ah, that makes more sense,” Vaulcron murmured. “Why would this cartel want to kill innocent land walkers?”
“It would seem that your friend Miguel is mixed up in something other than helping Bracadytes.”
Vaulcron tilted his head to the side. “I do not understand.”
Tony spent the next ten minutes explaining drugs, gambling and prostitution to Naura’s brother.
“The land walkers have no loyalty, no conscience.”
“Not all of us are bad, Vaulcron. Just a lot of us.”
“You group yourself into that mold?”
Tony thought about the life he’d led, the people he’d killed, and the women he had hurt along the way. “Not the drugs.”
He could see the understanding settle in Vaulcron’s eyes.
“It matters not what you have done in your past. You have remained loyal to us, and I shall not forget that.”
Something stirred in Tony’s chest. A feeling of camaraderie, of belonging. He decided to change the subject before he went all sappy on the big Bracadyte. “Miguel made it out unharmed?”
“He did. But he claims it is unsafe for us to return anytime soon. He will contact us when the threat has passed.”
Vaulcron briefly paused. “Naura will be approaching tonight.”
“I know. I’ll be heading down to the pool to wait on her arrival. It worries me about the amount of divers the military might have out there. I hope she’s not seen.”
“It pains me not to send scouts to watch for her. But I could not risk one of them catching the military’s notice. Naura is safer on her own.”
As much as Tony hated to agree, he knew that Vaulcron spoke the truth. Naura stood a better chance of slipping through unnoticed than she did with more bodies in tow.
“I’m going on to the pool,” Tony blurted, getting to his feet. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
Vaulcron stood also. “I’ll come with you.”
* * * *
President Rueben Howell ground his teeth in frustration and gripped the phone receiver tightly in his hand.
There had been no sign of Anthony Vaughn or Sutherland’s daughter. They had to be somewhere in the gulf. Rueben was sure of it.
“We can bomb that area, sir,” Kerik repeated. “If we get close enough to their lair, it will rattle them, if not kill some of them.”
“No,” Rueben barked. “We can’t risk injuring Abbie or that alien spawn she has. I need them alive.”
“If I send some men down first to clear the area, we can drop a warning bomb that will possibly cause some of them to surface.”
Rueben hesitated. “Can you assure me that you will not be dropping it on top of them?”
“It’s impossible to be certain, sir. But I will do my level best to avoid a direct hit at all costs.”
“Then do it. At this rate, there will be nothing left to fight for if we don’t do something. And soon.”
Kerik disconnected the call, leaving Rueben alone with his thoughts. He hated like hell to resort to force, but Vaughn and the Sutherland woman had left him no choice.
Rueben either dropped a bomb in the gulf and hoped for the best, or did nothing while the virus continued to eliminate the human population.
The headache he’d been fighting all morning took root, spreading behind his eyes to throb in his temples.
He pressed the green button on his desk phone. “Sally? Can you bring me something for a headache?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring the whole bottle.”
Rueben took a seat behind his desk and swiveled his chair around to admire the paintings on his wall.
Thoughts of the morning reports sent more pain shooting behind his eyes.
The mortality rate of Incola victims had doubled in the past six months, bringing the death toll to more than sixty thousand. And that was only the cases they had knowledge of.
God knew how many homeless had died without seeking treatment, Rueben thought, gazing at a dark forest painting.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed at his aching temples in an effort to relieve the continuous throbbing and reflected on his time in the presidential seat.
He hadn’t been completely naive about what his duties as the leader of the United States would entail, but he’d never dreamed he would be nothing more than a puppet, having his strings pulled by the elite financial supporters that truly owned the government.
If it were up to Rueben, he would fire the head of CDC, Martin Raducha, for his decision to mutate the Incola virus without first consulting his colleagues. The man’s arrogance was astounding.
Rueben had been directed to keep his mouth shut about the virus mutation, smile for the cameras, and handle the extraction of Abbigail Sutherland.
He figured the puppeteers hadn’t counted on Vaughn’s interference, or had they? Rueben wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Your pain reliever, sir.” Sally came around the desk and handed him a pill bottle, followed by a glass of water.
“Thank you,” he murmured, accepting the medicine and water. He quickly popped the top and took four of the white tablets.
Sally’s eyes showed pity. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I don’t know, Sally. The virus is mutating to the point that it will be airborne in a matter of months if we don’t create a vaccine in time. And I just don’t see how that’s going to be possible.”