Cloud Dust: RD-1 (R-D #1)(79)

The Deputy Chief delivered the message. "He asks if you want to send drones," he held a hand over the receiver and asked.

"I want whatever it will take to stop these bastards," the President said. "I want an air strike on that convoy as quickly as possible. Send both, since we have no idea what kind of weapons they have."

"Yes, Madam President. Colonel Hunter, use whatever force is necessary to kill the rogues before they reach the next target. Send in manned and unmanned aircraft."

"Do not fire on any villages," the President added.

"Did you get that?" the Deputy Chief asked. "Good. Yes. Immediately. Madam President, he says he'll have bodies airlifted out when they're done," the Deputy Chief hung up the phone.

"Good. Thank you. Corinne, if you and James will come with me to the Oval Office? Andrew, ask Colonel Hunter and his guard to meet us there when everything is in motion."

"Yes, Madam President."

*

"Corinne, what can you tell me?" the President sat heavily on her desk chair and leaned her elbows on the desk.

"I couldn't get a clear count on fatalities," I said, slumping onto a guest chair. "I gave the village names to James, so he can tell you approximate populations. I believe the number of deaths they handed to the journalist are very conservative."

"Do we still have him in custody?" the President turned to one of her Secret Service agents. I recognized him as someone who'd ridden to the Vice President's funeral with us.

"We do, but he's protecting his source."

"Of course he is," the President muttered. She had a headache, just as I did, but her nose wasn't bleeding; mine was.

"Can I get a cold, wet cloth?" I asked, pulling the red-soaked tissue away from my nose.

The agent opened the door and shouted for someone to bring tissues and a cold, wet cloth. Leo, Rafe and Auggie walked in before the cloth arrived.

"Corinne?" Leo scooted James over on the sofa we occupied, then pulled my hand and the bloody tissue away from my nose.

"I have a headache," I mumbled.

"I don't doubt it," Leo muttered.

"Here's the cold cloth," the agent handed it to Leo.

"Lean forward a little," Leo said before placing the cold cloth on the bridge of my nose and pinching gently. "Breathe through your mouth if you have to," he said. "The pinching and the cold should help the blood clot," he explained.

In less than five minutes, the bleeding had stopped. "Thank you," I mumbled. "Can I have some water, now?"

Leo Shaw grinned and nodded. "Want something for your headache, too?"

"Ibuprofen?"

"We'll see."

*

An hour later, we received information that the convoy had been bombed and the cleanup crew dispatched to retrieve bodies, vehicles and weapons. Auggie had to stay with the President to field incoming questions and deal with the press. Rafe stayed with them. Leo, James and I were driven back to our ugly, temporary building.

"No more for you tonight," Leo said as I asked James for information on the ones who owned the Civilian Security Services; I knew they had to be responsible for the killings in Afghanistan. "James and I can handle that through regular channels," Leo continued. "You're going to bed."

After a dose of ibuprofen, I climbed into bed and attempted to sleep. That didn't take long—Leo told the nurse who brought the ibuprofen that it was only that. As it turns out, it held a sleep aid, too. I intended to have a talk with Dr. Leo Shaw—once I was fully conscious and not so sleepy I couldn't move.

*

Ilya

The only images televised were taken from far away with Telephoto lenses or from the air, also with Telephoto lenses. The air, too, about a football stadium in Georgia was being tested for remains of the drug.

Journalists were abuzz with the poison's second use—the same poison that reportedly killed two thousand or more in Montana. The government in that southeastern U.S. state had convened and officials from Homeland Security and other agencies were arriving quickly to discuss necessary actions and investigations.

Authorities were forced to examine the scene in hazmat suits—the drug had been loosed as mist by an innocent-looking small plane, dragging a congratulatory sign behind it. The concoction had been invisibly sprayed as families and graduates sat in a rapidly warming stadium with very little breeze to provide relief from the heat.

What I could see from televised images showed bodies slumped in their seats or scattered across the turf of the field. It looked as if a multicolored wheat field had been harvested by a giant sweep of a scythe.

Deaths occurred outside the stadium, too—it couldn't be avoided since the mist had been released in the air. That meant the college campus was on lockdown, and bodies lay on grassy lawns where they'd fallen, once the mist was inhaled.

The drug was being used as a form of chemical warfare, and that was unacceptable.

*

Notes—Colonel Hunter

I wanted to tell Shaw that anyone might have made the same mistake, especially a physician, when one of his patients needed rest. The truth was, if Corinne had been awake and allowed to study photographs of Dante Dolsen and three others connected to Civilian Security Services, she might have told us what else they'd planned.