stayed cool.
Tom Rogers was already waiting for him by his front door: punctual, just like the military.
“Mr. Thompson.” Rogers stood at attention and held his hand out.
“Max, please.” Max shook his hand warmly. “Thank you for coming, Tom.”
“You’re very welcome Mr… Ah, Max,” Tom responded and watched Max open his front door and walk in. “Don’t we need to suit up at Operations?” he asked.
Max closed the door behind them and turned the deadbolt.
Tom wasn’t sure that Max had heard him because he hadn’t responded and continued walking to what looked like a bathroom door. Tom figured the man really had to take a leak. Max slid a long key into a lock that looked like overkill for a bathroom and opened the door. The room’s lights flickered on.
“We have all we need in here,” Max finally answered, beckoning Tom to come in.
“You ain’t kidding,” Tom said.
Max knew it was a prepper’s wet dream: seven fully equipped M4s, a couple AKs, two Mossberg shotguns, multiple handguns with suppressors, grenades, tactical vests and helmets. In the middle of the small room was a table with shelves underneath. These were filled with C4, various comms equipment and ammo.
“Let’s get suited up,” Max said as he grabbed a vest and tossed it to Tom, “and let’s go hunting.”
9.
Bios-2
Westerling waited impatiently in front of an innocuous but very secure door marked B216 and below that Authorized Personnel Only . He studied a thick multi-page document, which was heavily annotated and underlined; half of its pages hung by a single staple in the top corner. He reread the main points, not caring at all to decipher the tech-ese that made up most of the report. The result was what he cared about, not the technical reason why it occurred. And the result was not good. But he had a solution.
He closed the pages, rolled them up like a club and clutched them, punctuating his displeasure with a loud sigh. He really didn’t care for it down here. Everything sounded hollow and the light was unnatural. Deep down, he felt he’d get sick if he stayed too long. He looked down the short end of the L-shaped hallway to B225 and the doorway to his bunker and winced at the thought of staying there for an extended period of time. If this necessary exercise doesn’t take too long, he could get out of here and go topside where he belonged.
An electronic click echoed from the far end of the long side of the L, followed by two sets of boot steps and a large door closing. The boot sounds reverberated louder as they neared his location. As the two men turned the corner and headed his way, he could see that Dr. Carrington Reid was in front of one of his guards. Dr. Reid wore a smirk of confidence crowned by a fedora and an overall attitude of someone who was in control. This, of course, was a façade because Westerling was the only one in control of what happened here. He wanted to enjoy rubbing Reid’s nose in his own self-righteousness, but his end purpose was greater. He needed this man, but he didn’t want him to know it.
When they arrived, the guard nodded at Westerling, who nodded back. “Thank you, Jones.”
“Sir.” Jones stood at ease but clearly alert.
“Dr. Reid, I know you know who I am and I know you, so let’s get down to why you are here.”
Westerling turned and pressed his thumb on a flat-plate above a keypad, and the door instantly clicked its acknowledgement that he was “authorized personnel.”
“After you.” Westerling motioned Carrington inside and looked at the guard. “Stay here until I return.” Jones promptly turned, back to the corner, so he could see down both hallways and stood at attention as Westerling closed the door behind them.
He was about to set into motion a plan that would have a disastrous effect on both their lives.
The first thing Carrington noticed was the humidity. It was sweltering inside, like being covered by a hot, soaking wet wool blanket.
Tom Rogers was already waiting for him by his front door: punctual, just like the military.
“Mr. Thompson.” Rogers stood at attention and held his hand out.
“Max, please.” Max shook his hand warmly. “Thank you for coming, Tom.”
“You’re very welcome Mr… Ah, Max,” Tom responded and watched Max open his front door and walk in. “Don’t we need to suit up at Operations?” he asked.
Max closed the door behind them and turned the deadbolt.
Tom wasn’t sure that Max had heard him because he hadn’t responded and continued walking to what looked like a bathroom door. Tom figured the man really had to take a leak. Max slid a long key into a lock that looked like overkill for a bathroom and opened the door. The room’s lights flickered on.
“We have all we need in here,” Max finally answered, beckoning Tom to come in.
“You ain’t kidding,” Tom said.
Max knew it was a prepper’s wet dream: seven fully equipped M4s, a couple AKs, two Mossberg shotguns, multiple handguns with suppressors, grenades, tactical vests and helmets. In the middle of the small room was a table with shelves underneath. These were filled with C4, various comms equipment and ammo.
“Let’s get suited up,” Max said as he grabbed a vest and tossed it to Tom, “and let’s go hunting.”
9.
Bios-2
Westerling waited impatiently in front of an innocuous but very secure door marked B216 and below that Authorized Personnel Only . He studied a thick multi-page document, which was heavily annotated and underlined; half of its pages hung by a single staple in the top corner. He reread the main points, not caring at all to decipher the tech-ese that made up most of the report. The result was what he cared about, not the technical reason why it occurred. And the result was not good. But he had a solution.
He closed the pages, rolled them up like a club and clutched them, punctuating his displeasure with a loud sigh. He really didn’t care for it down here. Everything sounded hollow and the light was unnatural. Deep down, he felt he’d get sick if he stayed too long. He looked down the short end of the L-shaped hallway to B225 and the doorway to his bunker and winced at the thought of staying there for an extended period of time. If this necessary exercise doesn’t take too long, he could get out of here and go topside where he belonged.
An electronic click echoed from the far end of the long side of the L, followed by two sets of boot steps and a large door closing. The boot sounds reverberated louder as they neared his location. As the two men turned the corner and headed his way, he could see that Dr. Carrington Reid was in front of one of his guards. Dr. Reid wore a smirk of confidence crowned by a fedora and an overall attitude of someone who was in control. This, of course, was a façade because Westerling was the only one in control of what happened here. He wanted to enjoy rubbing Reid’s nose in his own self-righteousness, but his end purpose was greater. He needed this man, but he didn’t want him to know it.
When they arrived, the guard nodded at Westerling, who nodded back. “Thank you, Jones.”
“Sir.” Jones stood at ease but clearly alert.
“Dr. Reid, I know you know who I am and I know you, so let’s get down to why you are here.”
Westerling turned and pressed his thumb on a flat-plate above a keypad, and the door instantly clicked its acknowledgement that he was “authorized personnel.”
“After you.” Westerling motioned Carrington inside and looked at the guard. “Stay here until I return.” Jones promptly turned, back to the corner, so he could see down both hallways and stood at attention as Westerling closed the door behind them.
He was about to set into motion a plan that would have a disastrous effect on both their lives.
The first thing Carrington noticed was the humidity. It was sweltering inside, like being covered by a hot, soaking wet wool blanket.
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