Deadly Undertaking - Allen Gregory (short story to read txt) 📗

Cinder gave Flint a salute as he prepared to enter the contaminated lab. He was carrying a bulky case containing the materials and equipment he used to analyze explosive debris. Cinder’s cheery voice echoed through the room’s loudspeakers as Linchpin’s CSI unit scurried around the room. “Hey! Stryker! How about after I’m done we go get a late lunch? Are you up for some curry?”

Flint’s stomach performed several convolutions as he imagined a steaming platter of Chicken Chettinad or Phall Curry being placed before him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to erase the image and stifle the hot gush of acid reflux.

“Asshole,” Flint muttered as he saw the CSI techs glance over their shoulders at him, huge grins on their faces.

“Funny guy,” Flint scoffed. “Let me know what you find, Cinder. I think I got a lead from Sherman that looks promising.”

“Copy that, buddy.” Cinder busied himself with the task of analyzing what little evidence remained.

Doctor Malloy motioned Flint over. “I’ve done a very rudimentary analysis of the toxins which were released in the room after the explosion, Mr. Stryker. The short story is, the toxins are all man-made and not consistent with any known viral pathogens. I’ll need to spend more time analyzing the microorganisms in greater detail, but suffice it to say, the toxins are fast-acting, very deadly, and highly contagious. Had the explosion taken place at Mr. Romero’s funeral, dozens would have been killed outright by the blast, and hundreds would have been infected by the spread of the contagion within minutes.”

Flint stared at Malloy, his mouth open in shock. “Everything that happened in here was all contained though, right?”

“Yes,” Malloy said evenly. “But, Mr. Stryker, had this happened in an unprotected environment, say, Mr. Romero’s funeral service, thousands would have been dead within hours. Once infected, it’s a short time before death occurs. The pathogens can be transmitted via clothing, skin, virtually any surface. Borne on the wind, the toxins could infect millions in days. Worst-case scenario? The death toll would be incalculable.”

Malloy’s face was grim as he sighed. “Now. What was it you said Mr. Peabody might have uncovered?”

Flint held his phone up to Dr. Malloy’s face, displaying the picture he’d taken of Peabody’s monitor with the cryptic message he’d uncovered. “This message was uploaded to the Dark Web within thirty seconds of the explosion. Those six X’s? Sherman says that are acknowledgments that the message was received.”

“Can he determine the source of the message and responses?” Malloy asked.

“Sherman says that normally, stuff on the Dark Web is highly encrypted, and is hard to track down. But he thinks he can find the sources relatively quickly. He says he knows . . .‘some tricks.’”

Malloy smiled and nodded. “Yes. I imagine he does. I’m grateful for our young Mr. Peabody. You know, when I found him, he was living alone . . .”

Flint’s mobile chirruped, interrupting Dr. Malloy’s reverie. He glanced at the caller ID and saw SHERMAN PEABODY. “Speak of the devil,” Flint mumbled.

“What’s up Sherm?” Malloy watched Flint’s face go from mild annoyance to complete shock within seconds. “Got it. We’ll be right there.”

“What is it, Mr. Stryker?” a concerned Malloy queried.

“Looks like the first one was just a test. There are six more scheduled for five o’clock. Unless we stop them, your worst-case scenario will become a reality.”