Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(69)

"What the hell can cause that?" I asked. Hunter was right not to tell the rest of us; that was frightening.

"Farrell worries that it may be an overdose of the drug—like a suicide pill for anyone else. It might explain how easy it was to kill them—they were already dying."

"How the hell did Baikov get his hands on the drug?" I exploded. "I was told the Program was airtight."

"That's obviously not true," Colonel Hunter replied dryly. "Cutter saw to that, and who knows who may have leaked information before that. Farrell says the clones are at least in their mid-twenties."

"How long has the Program existed?" I hissed.

"Longer than I've been alive," Colonel Hunter sighed. "Perhaps not longer than you've been alive, but who actually knows?"

"Farrell," I said. "He knows; I'll bet money on it."

"It's likely classified. Without the President's permission, I can't allow you to ask."

"We need Corinne. Fucking hell. I need Corinne," I growled.

"If I were in the President's good graces at the moment, I'd talk to her about this. As it is," Colonel Hunter shrugged uncomfortably.

"She's responsible for this mess, too, don't forget that," I said.

"But you know how that works. It's never the boss's fault."

"I know that better than anyone."

*

Corinne

How convenient was it that he'd traveled outside the country? I stared at a photograph of the previous President. Gary Bridges had given the photographer a slight smile for the image used on his library website.

"You know something, don't you?" I muttered. I'd spent time attempting to track those who'd funded his campaign. Somehow, they and Cutter were mixed up in all of this. It wouldn't surprise me at all if former President Bridges didn't hold vital cards.

How do you accuse a former President?

He still had Secret Service agents surrounding him, wherever he was. With the current laws, too, it wasn't necessary to reveal or even claim knowledge of those who'd ran ads and alternate campaigns on his behalf. As long as the money didn't go directly into anybody's war chest, then government was for sale to the highest bidders.

Sure, the IRS was attempting to crack down on those nonprofits who pushed their chosen candidates toward election. They had varying degrees of success. I figured with enough money, you could hide anything from anybody.

Whoever backed Mary Evans, General Baikov and a certain Asian dictator would know how to accomplish all those things. If he, she or they could steal crowns and priceless works of art, then kill anybody they wanted no matter whom, where or when, they could hide whatever they wanted.

Forcing my mind away from that puzzle, I went in search of possibilities. The Russians had the drug. Somehow, they'd gotten their hands on it. They'd gone after a different result than we had, however. They'd found people who survived the drug, then set about cloning them. Who knows how long that had taken?

I'd seen something in Richard Farrell's face, though. Saw his suspicions, although he hadn't been present at the time. The ones who had been present during the drug's discovery were all dead.

That sucked. It made me wonder if any of the others (now dead) had tried the drug and didn't survive. Dr. Farrell didn't know of it, but it could have happened.

I wanted to discuss these things with Auggie and Rafe, then remembered I was pissed at both and far away from them on top of that. Taking a seat at the kitchen island, I opened my laptop and focused on two reported incidents occurring in Russia; one in 1969 and the other in 1986.

*

"What's the population?" Death asked.

"Around twenty-five hundred," War replied.

"This one will be easy, but anything after that will pose problems," Famine pointed out.

"Are we sure this will work?" Conquest wondered.

"I'm sure," Death answered. "Very sure. The experiments prove it."

"That was only five people," War pointed out. He sneezed, then took time to adjust his mask and red robes.

"Are we sure," Conquest began again.

"We have been appointed. Stop whining," Death hissed. He was dressed in silvery-gray and a hood covered his face.

"We will not question he who appointed us," War said. "We have agreed. It is done. I merely question the efficacy of the derivative—to make sure it is ready."

"I still say we should have someone else deliver it," Conquest suggested.

"No. We only need someone to get us into the closed system first. This task is appointed to us. We will make the first kill. All will know that we are bringing the apocalypse with us."

"Except we get to ride in style, instead of on horses," Famine, dressed in black robes and hood, laughed.

"Remember when the book was written," Death chided. "Vehicles were unheard of. Instead, we have horsepower to take us where we wish to go."

"Then let's go. People are waiting to die in Montana. After that, we will bring war."

*

Corinne

Richard, I thought at Dr. Farrell, I hope you've found the locating chip on Mary Evans by now. If you haven't, you may get surprise visitors.