One Rule - No Surrender, page 26
part #2 of One Rule Series
"Ah, fuck it," he growled. "Your people get to live another day."
He was turning back to her and aiming his pistol when a huge, debris-coated head burst through the rubble – followed by an equally massive body. Grunfield swiveled stiffly as Plato charged. Grunfield popped off one errant shot and was down. He did not get his arm up in time to prevent the monster dog from reaching his throat. Thalma rolled over and pinned his pistol hand. Grunfield managed a short, gurgling scream before Plato ripped his throat out.
Louis shoved the basement door all the way open and Socrates trotted out to sniff Grunfield's twitching body as Plato backed off.
"Baby!"
Louis rushed to her, gripping her shoulders, trying to lift her but settling for helping her sit up. Laura and her mom walked up, Elena's arm around the girl's shoulders, steering her away from Grunfield's body, their faces almost as white as the sheetrock powdering their skin.
"You're wounded!" Louis cried, his eyes fixing in horror on the four craters in her chest.
"Just some, uh, shrapnel. I'm fine. How are you guys?"
"Okay, I think." He looked at Laura and Elena. Elena gave her a grim nod. "What the hell happened up here?"
"They tried to force their way into the house," said Thalma. "When I didn't let them, it all went downhill fast."
"Your mom told us some WSGI asshole pulled a gun on you and you took him down. We thought we heard shots – down there they sounded like raindrops on a tin roof. Then the lights went out. And – "
"The room shook like some giant freaking earthquake!" Laura erupted.
"What the fuck?" Louis looked around wonderingly. "They blew the house up?"
"Drone missiles," said Thalma.
She pushed slowly to her feet. Louis wrapped his arms around her. Laura broke free of her mom and started toward them, but then turned and dragged Elena Engstrom along with her to Louis and Thalma. Laura snuggled between Thalma and Louis, tugging her mother in with her. Elena Engstrom placed a stiff forearm on Thalma's shoulder.
Gazing over Louis's shoulder, Thalma spotted a tall shadowy figure lurking in the woods a short distance from the yard. After a moment, the figure turned and moved away.
A cavalcade of police cars and two ambulances entered the driveway, stopping in a loose semi-circle fifty yards from the house. Moments later, Tahoe's sole black MRAP vehicle rolled in, inching through the police cruisers and ambulances to the outer ring of WSGI SUVs – two of which were still smoking from the grenades. A third vehicle lay on its side, possibly blown over by the Hellfire missiles. Beyond the ring of carnage, Thalma's pickup stood untouched.
The MRAP drove around the SUVs right up to the edge of the house. SWAT police clothed in green military garb and helmets and sporting M4 rifles scrambled out the rear doors and eased cautiously along the armored vehicle's sides under the watchful eyes of the man in its gun turret/observation port. Discussions between radios crackled through the still air. Socrates and Plato rumbled warning growls.
"Please step out on the yard with your hands on your heads," a voice boomed from the MRAP speakers.
Thalma's ribcage and shoulders ached as she raised her hands. They started a slow shuffle through the debris. Thalma stumbled, and Louis and Laura moved quickly to her sides, keeping one hand on their head as they supported her with a free arm. Thalma couldn’t recall ever feeling this weak and lightheaded. She hoped it was more about her body drawing energy for its usual super-speed healing than the injuries themselves.
When they reached the yard, the SWAT men closed in and performed a perfunctory pat-down. A short radio message summoned the police from their vehicles along with a pair of paramedics rolling a stretcher. At forefront of the Tahoe police was the familiar face of Detective John Dahlgren.
"What in God's name happened here?" he asked her.
Thalma smiled at him, a portrait of innocence. "Gas leak?"
Maggie drove up then, carefully navigating her van through the horde of police vehicles and past the ambulances. Thalma waved off the paramedics as Maggie walked up to her, staring in wide-eyed disbelief at the ruins of the house behind them.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine," said Thalma. She raised her voice for the paramedics. "We're all fine. Let's get out of here."
"Hold on," said Dahlgren. "We'll need to talk to you about this."
"I know. I think we'll spend the night at my husband's shop. You can find us there."
Dahlgren frowned but didn't interfere as she summoned Louis, Laura, and her mom with an urgent nod and commanded the dogs to follow her in a bee-line to Maggie's van. The last thing she wanted now was to get stuck in a lengthy interrogation or in a hospital. Not only would that mean having to explain what happened – and she doubted she was mentally with-it enough now to provide non-incriminating explanations – but more importantly that could leave them vulnerable to a second attack.
"All right," said Dahlgren, stepping aside with obvious reluctance. "We'll catch up with you at your husband's place then." He eyed her wounds. "But you'd better get checked up at the hospital first."
"I might do that, Detective. Talk to you later."
Chapter 17
THEY DROVE OFF IN Maggie's van, accelerating well beyond the speed limit at Thalma's urging the moment they were clear of the driveway. Downtown, they hung a left at the "Y" and continued north on Lake Tahoe Boulevard to the North Tahoe house where Thalma had been keeping the dogs.
Thalma took the opportunity during the drive to fill in all the missing details of the encounter – except the part about her father's appearance. She was still debating what to say if anything about that. No mention about being shot, either. Maybe later she'd level with Louis – with all of them - but for now she didn't want to freak out Louis any more than he already was.
"I can't believe they actually sent a predator drone after you!" Laura cried.
"Reaper, actually. It's a lot more expensive." Thalma gave her sister a faint smile. "The Predator only carries two Hellfire missiles."
"What did you think when you saw the missiles coming at you? I would've been freaking out."
"I was sort of freaking out, too. But there wasn't much I could do. I didn't think there was enough time to get to the basement."
"Damn, Thalma," said Maggie. "Again, I'm sorry I wasn't there. I don't know what I could've done, but still..."
You could've gotten yourself blown up. Thalma tucked away that realistic but uncharitable thought. It was reassuring to know she was so bullet-resistant, but she reminded herself that a bullet to the head or from a higher caliber could have less fortunate consequences. Not to mention a Hellfire missile.
"I think these people will find," said Elena in cool, measured tones, "that my daughter is extremely difficult to kill."
"No kidding," Maggie murmured. "If they haven't already figured that out, they will when they learn she survived those missiles."
They drove for a while, Thalma pondering whether she wanted to say anything now about her father's bizarre appearance. What decided her was that it was tearing her up to keep it inside.
"There's something else," she said. "After the missiles hit and I was lying in the debris, my father showed up."
Thalma let that sink in for a few moments, though judging from the expressions it wasn't sinking very far.
"Huh?" said Louis. "Thal...are you sure you weren't dreaming or hallucinating. You just got hit by missiles, after all. Probably had a concussion or something."
"What did he say to you?" her mother asked in a tense voice.
"First he warned me someone was coming to kill me. He said he wouldn't help, that is was up to me to do something if I wanted to survive. He joked about it as though he didn't give a shit either way."
"Wait a minute," Maggie broke in. "Didn't you say that WSGI asshole – Grunfield? – showed up with another guy and you exchanged fire, killing the other guy? Where was your dad while that was happening?"
"Just sitting there. I know it sounds crazy..."
"What did Grunfield and his friend think about this dude sitting there? I would think they might be kinda curious about him."
"Grunfield asked who he was. My father told him to ignore him."
"I'm having a little trouble seeing that happening," said Maggie.
"He has the ability to bend people to his will," said Elena. "Some kind of power of suggestion when he speaks to people in a certain tone. I saw him do it on more than one occasion."
Maggie smiled in a way that suggested she thought Elena might be suffering from a concussion, too.
"He just shows up out of the blue?" asked Louis. "Why?"
"I have no idea, and he didn't offer any explanation. Except..."
Louis eyed her. "What?"
"Except, though he sneered at me and said nasty things, he did warn me – might've even saved my life." She had a wondering sense of revelation. "He said he wouldn't help me, but he did."
"He didn't try to explain anything to you?" Laura asked. "Like where he'd been, who he was?"
Thalma shook her head. "He did say something about threatening me as a kid so I would learn how to defend myself." She turned to Louis. "Remember that day when I was a kid and he pretended to try to kill me, he said he was coming back and that I'd better learn to defend myself?"
Louis frowned. "I remember."
"That actually worked. When I joined the Army, and WASP, I was thinking of him. I would make myself skilled and strong enough to take him out when he came back. He told me that was about making me strong enough to defeat people who tried to kill me."
"That almost makes sense," said Maggie. "But why would he think people would try to kill you? I mean, you're a little prickly sometimes but you're basically a nice person."
"Thanks." Thalma shot her a dry smile. "He didn't explain that part."
"He knew the world would try to hurt you," said Elena. "That's what I always tried to protect you from."
"Because she's different?" asked Laura.
"Yes. People fear differences. My own parents and relatives even worried about me because I was different – and my differences are minuscule compared to Thalma's. And frightened people can be dangerous."
Thalma felt as if she'd been swimming along in a sea of certain assumptions – and suddenly a powerful current had seized her, dragging her far away from familiar waters. Talk about a "sea change"! Everything she'd assumed to be truth – her mom an unfeeling, controlling bitch, her father a psycho-killer – was disintegrating before her eyes. Her mom did care about her in her own emotionally rigid way and had tried to control her in order to protect her. Her father might be a cold son of a bitch, but he'd also acted to protect her with an act that looked now like a ridiculously over-the-top case of "tough love." Today, despite his harsh manner, he'd warned her about the upcoming threat. Would he really have stood by and watched her be executed? Maybe, but maybe not. Appearances were proving to be deceiving.
"So you really did care about me," Thalma said to her mom.
"Of course I cared about you. Still care about you." A small note of emotion peeked through her cool voice. "But with your strength and willfulness, I couldn't afford to coddle you."
Thalma wanted to reply that maybe if she'd shown her some love she would've been a lot easier to control, but why ruin this warm and fuzzy moment?
They arrived at their destination about thirty minutes later: a nice, four thousand square foot vacation rental home that she'd removed from her vacation property company's list for her private use. More high plains desert than her preferred mountain forests - a few scraggly pine trees, some patches of native grass, and rocks - but Thalma was deeply appreciating the option at this moment.
After spending fifteen minutes in the bathroom out of sight of squeamish eyes removing the bullets that were already pushing out of her flesh with a needle nose pliers, Thalma wolfed down eight eggs Louis had thoughtfully scrambled up, anticipating her healing needs. Then she was back on the road in an armored van registered to a different owner – her next identity, if need be. By now, she assumed, Detective Dahlgren and the Tahoe Police Department, if not the FBI, would be swarming around Tahoe looking for her, but they would have no chance of tracing her to this van. She passed a number of Tahoe police cruisers, but they continued on by.
Thalma picked up a twelve-piece meal at KFC in the drive-thru, which she consumed non-stop until she reached her property. The police had cordoned off the yard. She parked in the trees at the northern edge of her property and hiked in through the woods guided by a mini-tactical flashlight to a particular fir tree indistinguishable from the others except for three rocks placed around its base. She shimmied up a good twenty feet before reaching a green carbon polymer box hanging like a big leaf from a thick limb. She dialed the combination and removed a memory stick drive and a small packet.
The WSGI had tried to murder her and her family. It was her turn to strike back. With any luck it would be a devastating blow. But not as devastating as the follow-up punch she had planned. That was where the contents of the small packet would make their contribution.
Murphy might not be happy. Maybe he was in negotiations right now with some WSGI corporate mucky-muck trying to exercise damage control. Avoid a war. But there was no avoiding a war with her – a war that could only end with one side surrendering. But there would be no surrender from her.
Back in her van, Thalma booted up her computer, obtained a satellite signal, and uploaded in swift succession the entire active contents of the memory stick – the videos from the homes visited by Dr. MacDougal, the not-so-good doctor's confession in the motel, and all the files they'd taken from the CDC – copying the upload to all the major newspapers and television news media, several alternate news sites, as well as to the U.S. Justice Department, the FBI, and Homeland Security. Some of them might prefer to suppress or ignore the information, but sheer numbers would make that impossible.
She severed the satellite link and shut down the computers, permitting herself a few moments of quiet satisfaction before turning the van around and heading back to North Tahoe. She'd gone about fifteen minutes before her cell buzzed.
"Holy fuck, girlfriend!" Maggie half-laughed, half-cried. "Looks like you just stirred the hornet's nest with a red-hot poker!"
"That was fast. Where did you see it?"
"It was Laura. She was cruising her usual conspiracy haunts when she ran into one of Dr. MacDougal's house visits. I went online myself, and it's pretty much everywhere. At least one person with a big following Tweeted it, and it snowballed from there."
Thalma smiled. The modern world was a strange mix of near-anarchistic freedom and iron-fisted repression – a world where cops beat up a young mother of two for a seatbelt violation but a video recording helped her win justice. Today freedom and justice would win. Tomorrow, they'd probably try to kill her. If I don't get to them first.
"I should probably check the skies for drones," Maggie said with a hoarse laugh. "After this, they may send a whole fleet of them after you."
"I don't see how they could find me – or us. Not this soon."
"No. But Murphy might shit IEDs when he finds out. This could flush whatever negotiations he's doing with WSGI down the tubes."
"Murphy wasn't the one targeted by a drone strike. Screw his negotiations with the devil."
"Devils, probably."
Thalma tamped down her swell of anger with a grim smile. "Right. I don't want to mess up Murphy, but this is more important than him – or me, for that matter."
Maggie waited enough time to make Thalma check their connection before saying in a subdued voice, "I hear you. Unfortunately."
Fifteen minutes later Thalma was back at their new "digs." Her mother and Maggie had whipped up a dinner of chicken and salmon raided from the freezer. Maggie's laptop beeped while they ate, and after checking the sender she slid her computer across the oak dining table to Thalma.
It was, predictably, Murphy. Type appeared in the encrypted chat box.
It appears you've had a busy day.
Thalma wiped her fingers and typed back: That's one word for it.
I see you took the liberty of spreading the glad vaccine tidings to the world.
Are you pissed?
I would've preferred to have talked with you about it, but I understand, in light of the day's events, why you chose that course.
Thanks for your understanding.
And I am, of course, exceedingly glad that you and your family survived. It is with the intent of continuing that good fortune that I have sent ten of my best men to your area. They will be staying at the Mariott hotel under the guise of attending a local gun convention. I'm listing the number for the agent in charge.
I appreciate that. How are things at your end?
I'm afraid we're in a bit of a sticky wicket here. After their operation against you and your rather emphatic response, all our lines of communications have gone dark. I do believe they may have designs on my life. Or so the rumor mill indicates.
Since we are both persona non grata with these people, I thought perhaps I might solicit your unique services towards resolving our mutual problem. I'm sending you a file that might prove of interest to you.
An email appeared in the inbox with several attachments. Thalma opened what seemed to be a dossier of the World Security Group International CEO and co-founder, Charles Boehner. The silver-haired mover and shaker was rarely spotted in public and routinely turned down interviews. His name came up from time to time in association with apparently noble philanthropic ventures such as the Food For All campaign in Africa, and the World Vaccination Program, administered by the Charles Boehner Foundation. He currently resided in a reclusive gated neighborhood in New York White Plains. The email provided his address, schematics` of his mansion, numbers and placement of his security staff, and his schedule for the next week.
