"I'll turn you over to my friends here, and your screams will fill this building for hours, eventually replaced with the begging and the sobbing. But here's the twist — they're going to be really careful this time. I want you to survive, Michael. I want you to sit here on this floor for the next week or two with your new best friend. Thirsty, Douglass?"
Daniel took a bottle of Crystal Source water sitting on the table above them and stepped back, slowly twisting open the cap in front of them. He brought the bottle to the trembling man's lips and paused when Michael Brooks yelled, "Don't drink that, Doug! Who knows what they did to it?"
"That's true, Doug. Maybe we should take one out of a fresh crate. Fresh water please!" Daniel said.
Melendez stepped into the room carrying the shrink-wrapped case and slammed it down in front of the two men. Daniel ripped open the plastic on one of the sides and started digging through to one of the bottles in the middle. He pulled one out and opened it, holding it out toward Douglass.
"Now here's a fresh one. Found the crate sitting inside the loading bay. Probably left behind for the security guys. Nothing like a clean bottle of Crystal Source after a long day of digging graves. Right, Michael?"
"Don't do it, Doug. They could have poisoned all of the bottles," Brooks said.
"You think we poisoned all of the bottles and then somehow packaged them up to look like they came from the Crystal Source bottling factory? That sounds like an insane conspiracy, Michael. Right? You better get used to this stuff. It's all we're leaving behind for you. Go ahead, Douglass."
He held it closer to the man's lips.
"Douglass, listen to me. They're fucking crazy. We're dead no matter what."
Daniel removed the bottle of water and poured it over Michael's head. He watched the man blow out of his nose and press his eyes and mouth shut until the water ran its course.
"Wow. Did you see that, Doug? He almost had a panic attack."
Daniel dried his head with a towel handed to him by Paracha. He waited until Brooks opened his eyes again, then opened another bottle and put it up to Kemp's lips. The man closed his eyes and mouth, twisting his body and turning his head away from the bottle.
"Damn. Now Doug doesn't want the water. Too bad he already drank a ton of it."
Melendez reentered the room, carrying a transparent plastic bag filled with at least ten empty bottles. He kicked the half-empty case of water along the floor through the doorway.
"We used these bottles to waterboard Mr. Kemp. Don't worry, Mikey. We used the tap water on you."
Kemp looked despondent and utterly confused. Brooks looked horrified.
"Do you want to tell him what's going to happen, or should I? This may come as a complete shock to you, Mikey, but I led a CIA-sanctioned special operations team into Russia a few weeks ago. I saw what happens firsthand in Monchegorsk. You have no concept of what your organization just unleashed on this country…but you'll get to experience it firsthand, chained to this table. It's going to be a long week for you, Michael. Watching Doug and waiting."
"What is he talking about, Mr. Brooks?"
Michael Brooks stayed silent.
"Mr. Brooks?"
Brooks stared off into space. A quick slap from Daniel brought him back into the conversation.
"Doug, the water you swallowed and took into your lungs was infected with a weaponized form of viral encephalitis. A demented scientist from Russia's premier virology lab designed this particular strain to maximize the amount of damage inflicted on the brain's temporal lobe. At first, you'll start to experience typical flu-like symptoms. Weakness, chills, cough, congestion…the usual stuff. A few days later…"
Daniel shook his head slowly back and forth.
"What?" Kemp said.
"The hallmark symptoms of this virus are rage, aggression, violence, murderous impulses. At least that's what I saw in most of the infected population. The destruction of the temporal lobe results in irreversible brain damage and permanent regression to these savage instincts. Mr. Brooks had every reason to keep you from drinking that water. You're chained to the table next to him. He doesn't want to wake up in a few days to find you gnawing on his head."
Douglass Kemp tried to distance himself from Brooks, but Daniel had attached their handcuffs to the table less than a foot apart. No matter how hard the two of them tried, they would always be within biting distance.
"History in the making, Doug! You'll be the first to experience the start of True America's New Recovery plan. Turning American citizens into rabid zombies."
"They sent this into the population?" Kemp yelled at Brooks.
Brooks glared at Daniel, shaking his head.
"Thousands of bottles are headed to one of the distribution plants. I need to know which one. Right now, my plan is to free one of Doug's hands, leave the two of you several jugs of tap water, and never return. What are your thoughts about that course of action, Michael? Do you think Doug will put the jug to your lips and let you drink? Or will he bash your skull against the table out of principle? Maybe he won't be able to kill you in cold blood. He'll help you drink, still hopeful that someone might be coming, which they won't be. Then, one day within the next week or so, he'll bite your face off and spit it out in your lap."
"You'll let us go if I tell you?" Brooks said.
"No. I'll drop Mr. Kemp off in town, where he'll seek medical treatment. High-dose, intravenous acyclovir should kill the virus. We'll let him know when he can come back out here to get you or send someone else. Mr. Kemp's choice. If he attempts to warn anyone before that, we'll bring his three children here to the laboratory and cuff them to this little stretch of table with Daddy and Uncle Mike. Thanks to your excellent record-keeping, we know where his ex-wife lives. You won't fuck with us, will you, Mr. Kemp?"
"No, sir. I won't say a word. I'll go about my business like this never happened. Why would you have my ex-wife's address in a file?"
"Leverage, Doug. That's what security people do. They collect information to use against you," Daniel said.
Brooks shook his head and said, "Don't listen to him, Doug. He's clearly insane. How long will I have to wait?"
Daniel looked at his watch. "If you stop wasting my time, I'll be done within a few hours. The rest will be up to Doug. He doesn't look happy."
Brooks looked around at everyone. Doug refused to meet his eyes. He stared at Daniel for several seconds and glanced away before he started talking.
Chapter 54
Frederick Shelby knocked on the hospital room door and entered. Special Agent Ryan Sharpe sat upright in a sturdy hospital bed, staring out the window. His right cheek was bandaged with a thick gauze pad stretched in several directions by surgical tape. A similar bandage covered his forehead. Beyond that, Shelby could see that his left arm was in a thick cast, supported by a stainless-steel bracket mounted to the top of his bed frame. His leg lay in an unsupported cast above the blankets at the foot of the bed. He turned his head and forced a thin smile at the sight of the director.
"You're looking a little better than last night. Still look like crap, but at least you're awake," Shelby said, taking a seat under the raised television. "I'm really sorry to hear about Frank. He was one of our best agents. I struggled to decide who should run that task force."
Sharpe smiled a little more, which was a good sign. Sharpe had contacted him as soon as he regained consciousness this morning. Shelby didn't want to descend upon him like a vulture, but they were having an impossible time trying to piece the investigation back together without the help of key task force personnel. O'Reilly was still unconscious, having been shielded by Hesterman, who was killed instantly. Digital playback clearly showed the two hundred and twenty-five pound ex-linebacker from Michigan intentionally hovering over O'Reilly less than a second before the bomb detonated. Mendoza was gone, along with most of the FBI agents sitting near O'Reilly. From what Sharpe had told him a few days ago, O'Reilly had arranged the workstations so that the more important agents sat close by. Nobody within twenty feet of her survived.