Dead Man Running (29 page)

"And this works?" Mookie asked.  "I thought you magicians have to do your shit 'live and in person'?"

"It works,"
Hamid
said.  "It was
Mira
's idea on how to overcome that obstacle."  He smiled at his granddaughter.  "We bewitched the entire country," he said.

Mira
picked up the story.  "Again using your FCC converts, we sent out a subliminal message on all known broadcast channels – cell phone, radio, satellite and broadcast.  The message was actually a spell, a very simple one.  The spell convinces anyone
hearing
the messages coming from the
device
that, instead of a recorded
voice only
, they are seeing my grandfather in person.  We ha
d
to change their perspective.
" 

She
nodded at Mookie, who she merely tolerated as one of Wiley's pets.  "Mookie is correct, magic needs to be worked live with the subject.  The spell fools the brain into thinking that is the case."

"I would like to see a demonstration of the device," Wiley said.

"Certainly," replied Allen.  "We're prepared to show you
its
full capabilities.  Please follow me."

The group
– minus the warm blooded
humans
Mira
and
Hamid
-
ended up in the stands of a deserted Palestra, Penn's famed basketball arena.  Two
zombie
scientists held a man and woman.  The woman was young, white or Puerto Rican, and scantily dressed.  The man was just a slight bit older, white,
and dressed
in a leather jacket with tats and bling ringing his neck.

"A pimp and his whore," said Allen, stating the obvious.

"Yo brother!" shouted Mookie. 

Wiley smiled at his friend.  "The building is secure?" he asked.

Allen nodded.  "Our people made arrangements to close the building.  We have swept the
premises
twice for any unwanted witnesses."

"I want a true demonstration," he said.  "Tell the guards to release the man and woman and step away."

Allen spoke into his radio and soon the guards were walking toward the stands.  The two prisoners bolted for the exits, each going in a different direction.

Allen's
assistant
dropped two globes on the stairs and the machines instantly activated, rolled down the stairs and accelerated toward the victims. 

The girl was caught before
she hit the exits.  The globe deployed, the darts raining down on her, striking her body over a dozen times.  Given the amount of poison entering her bloodstream, the effect was quick.  She fell to the ground, retched several times, and then she died.  It all happened in less than a minute.

Her pimp was futilely pulling on the locked exit doors when his globe deployed.  He managed to stop most of the darts with his thick leather coat but the cloud of cyanide did its job.  He stumbled around for several minutes, his mean face turning blue in the process.  He finally collapsed and he died in about twelve
minute's
time.

Wiley and the others watched from up close as the inner core opened and the
device
began its sinister message.   Soon the two law breakers were part of the new dawn of
America
.  Wiley instructed them to clean up the mess created by their conversion then to go on with their normal lives until called upon.

Mira
and
Hamid
observed
from a small office above the scoreboard. 
Hamid
had produced a small video recorder and recorded the entire demonstration.  "For our protection," he answered when she asked why he had concealed a camera in the heel of his left shoe. 

They watched in silence as the globes were deployed and the humans were transformed
.

Taping done
,
Hamid
placed the recorder
back
in
to
his heel.  They watched as Wiley and his group walked toward the exits. 

Hamid
looked at
Mira
. The look on her grandfather's face troubled her.

"You don't trust Wiley?" she asked.

"I don't trust that he won't stop trying to find ways to break our hold on him.  He wants absolute power,
so
he's trying to figure out how he can kill us or convert us and he would still be alive.  We make lie to his claim of absolute power.  The others will always see us as the puppet masters."

"You thought he would stop with the presidency?"

Hamid
nodded.  "
I thought he n
ever had a chance at president."

"He's a step closer."

"Yes but that's not really the problem.  I mean, t
he presidency is mostly an inert position.  What harm can the man actually do?  So, he serves a term or two –
America
is broke an
d Congress is a bunch of squabbling children.  Nothing will get done. 
He
would bask in the power for a while then go away.
  Maybe help our people as a bonus for our
assistance
.
"

"But he wants to take over the world and we're helping him."

Hamid faced his granddaughter. 
"Only until I can figure out how to stop him."

"We have a way – you killing yourself w
ould
destroy Wiley.  I would have to die to stop the ones I've created.  The spell that gives them life ends when our lives end."

He took her hand.  "We need to find another way."

She squeezed his hand tightly.  "What if there is no other way?  And how many do we let him kill before we stop trying to figure it out?"

The elderly man was crying. 
Mira
wiped away his tears.  "I wanted so much for you.  I am so sorry I led us to this
."

"We'll find a way, grandfather
Hamid
."

Hamid
nodded, took
Mira
's hand and led her out
of
the room.  "We have to catch up with the others," he said.

Their shoes echoed on the well worn hallway floor.  "I have Biran doing some research."  Biran
Hidar
was
Mira
's brother who had not been blessed with the gift of magic.  What he did possess, as the family's historian, was a knowledge of ancient spells and incantations that may be useful.  He also had contacts throughout the world of magic and mysticism
that
could be valuable resources in the fight against Wiley.

Mira
thought about her 'friend with benefits', Congressman Turnbull. 
Is he an ally? 
She didn't know the answer to that question and it troubled her.  She needed to be cautious around him but she should probe his feelings.  Was he thinking the same way?

At some point she would have to risk it – her life and that of her grandfather – and confront him.  If he sided with Wiley
they
may not
have
a
choice – she
and her grandfather would have to kill themselves to stop this horror.

Back in the laboratory, Wiley congratulated Allen
,
his team and
Hamid
.  He was exhilarated with the results and told them so.

Mira
had been quiet
once back in Wiley's presence
.  Her shock and wonder at the demonstration had turned into a cold feeling of regret. 
"What have we
let loose
up
on the world?"
she asked herself.

The answer to that question would come in time and further steel her resolve to undo what she has wrought.

SIX
TEEN

WASHINGTON
DC – SEPTEMBER 2011

Elias Turnbull was nothing but a creature of habit.  If important enough to kill, he would be very easy to kill.  Up by five, he worked out in the fitness room of his luxury apartment building, was in the shower by five thirty and out his front door by six.  At eight minutes after six he hit the first Starbucks that crossed his path on the way to the Capital building.  Inside his order never changed: v
enti half white mocha, half cafe vanilla, e
asy
ice, with 2 shots pour
ed
appigato style (over the top) with
whip
and caramel drizzle frappachino.

He left the Starbucks and made a left turn.  Before reaching the end of the block a homeless man called for his attention.   He was a thin white man with stringy blond hair in severe need of a shampoo.  His clothes were classic homeless trash.  He wore several days' growth on his face and a layer of dirt that almost made him appear black.  He waved Elias toward him.  "A little help, congressman?"

Elias looked around – his fellow pedestrians were watching.  God help him if someone pulled out a cell and began to record him ignoring this bum.  He smiled at his fellow sidewalk surfers and turned toward the man casually set up on the early fall sidewalk.

Elias reached into his pocket and handed the man the dollar bill he kept handy for beggars.  It was something his mentor Ben Wiley had taught him.

The man reached out and took the money.  With his other hand he handed Elias a slip of paper.

"I hear that the capital is crawling with zombies, Representative Turnbull.  And that the zombie in charge is your former boss."

Elias stumbled backward.  This was no bum, the man spoke with the crisp diction of an
Oxford
professor.  Who was he?  Secret Service?  CIA?  FBI?
MI6?

He quick walked away from the corner.  It was four blocks before he remembered the piece of paper in his hand.  It read simply, "MEET ME" and gave a time and address.  As he trudged through another day of DC politics Elias considered the meeting.  Finally, he decided to show up. 

He made one other fateful decision - he decided to keep the meeting secret from Wiley and his growing army of undead.  A decision like that, if found out, could make him the main course at a zombie banquet.

Congressman Turnbull sat in the upper
deck
of
Nationals
Park
.
  Below him, far below, the inept
Nat
s toiled in a desultory late season contest against the
Philadelphia Phillies
.  A lifetime
Mets
fan, Elias was rooting hard for the
Nat
s but it was no good.  They were
serving
up
moon
shot
after moon shot
–
pitching
and defense seemed toxic concepts to this group.  It was the
sixth inning
and the
Nationals
trailed by
ten runs
. 

Elias had been surrounded by several fans, seemingly drawn by one dollar dog night. 
As the beat down continued, the crowd diminished. 
His closest neighbor, six rows away, had consumed six
combos of
watered down beer
s
and
steroid filled mystery meat
dog
s
.  The man had spent most of the past ninety minutes either at the concession stand or in the bathroom.  As the blowout deepened and the sparse crowd thinned out further, the man eliminated the need to hit the bathroom by whizzing into his empty beer cup
s
. 

The man was pulling down his fly for another piss when
someone
sat next to Elias.  Surrounded by
dozens of empty seats, Elias expected
it was
the bum from earlier
who sat
beside
him. 

What he got was a man dressed in pressed jeans, a silk shirt, Timberlake boots and leather jacket.  He had to stare hard before he realized that he was viewing the same man from before, only a younger, infinitely cleaner version.  Gone were the beard, stringy blond hair, blackened teeth and God awful smell.  This gentleman could
easily
have stepped out of GQ.

"Manchester Lee," the man said.  He extended his right hand and the two shook.

Elias looked around.  "I don't know what you want to discuss with me, Mr. Lee, but I think it should be a private discussion."

To either side of them, the nearest person was forty feet away.  The 'crowd' continued to bleed out as the
Nat
s were not giving anyone much hope for a comeback.