Brett Battles - Exit 9

“Take me back! Take me back right now!” she demanded.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Are you kidnapping me? My parents do not have any money.”

“I’m not kidnapping you. I’m saving you.”

“What do you mean? Saving me?”

Without warning, he stabbed the needle into her arm and depressed the plunger. She tried to pull away, but he injected all the vaccine before she did.

“What is this?” she asked, staggering back from him. “Are you drugging me? What is wrong with you, Sanjay?”

“I’m not drugging you. I told you, I’m saving your life.”

He put the other needle into his own arm.

“What is that stuff?”

“A vaccine.”

“A vaccine? For what?”

When he told her, she didn’t believe him.

Not at first.

I.D. MINUS 9 HOURS 29 MINUTES

LOCAL TIME 8:31 PM

Palmer groaned. The phone was ringing again. How was he supposed to ever get out of there if he had to keep answering it?

As usual, he was the last one in the office. He’d been hoping that in another five minutes, he’d be out the door and on his way to his friend Curtis’s house for the waiting beer and steak he’d been promised. But the damn phone! Every time it rang, it pushed his departure back further and further. Unfortunately, as the owner, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let calls go to voice mail if he was actually there. You never knew when the opportunity for new work might come in.

On the third ring, he grabbed the receiver. “Palmer Transport amp;Shipping. This is John Palmer.”

“Mr. Palmer, thank God you’re still there. This is Jordan Evans with the World Health Organization.”

Palmer paused, caught off guard. “I’m sorry. Where?”

“WHO. The World Health Organization.”

Palmer leaned back. Maybe this was more work.

“And what can Palmer Transport do for the World Health Organization?”

“We understand that you may have been hired to do some work for a company called Hidde-Kel Holdings. Is that correct?”

Frowning, Palmer said, “I don’t make it a habit to talk about clients.”

“But Hidde-Kel is a client, right?”

“I’ve done some work for them. Why is that important?”

“Did it involve the transportation of any shipping containers?”

“That’s a large part of the work we do here, so it wouldn’t be unusual.”

“And where did you take them?”

“Listen, Mr. Evans. I don’t care who you are with. If you don’t tell me why you’re asking these things, I’ll hang up right now.”

Silence at first, then, “There was apparently a mix-up when Hidde-Kel’s containers were loaded. We believe the contents have been contaminated with material that was meant to be shipped to the Centers for Disease Control in the States.”

Centers for Disease Control?

“What kind of…material are we talking about?”

“Contagious material.”

“ What ?”

“Mr. Palmer, some, if not all, of the containers you handled for Hidde-Kel could be extremely harmful to whoever opens them up.”

“This is a joke, right? Who is this, really?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Palmer. I wish it were a joke.”

Palmer was stunned.

“There’s another problem,” Evans said. “According to our experts here, there’s a good chance that by tomorrow, the contamination will leak out of the containers and affect anyone nearby.” He paused. “Are you there?”

“I’m here,” Palmer said.

“Listen very carefully. We need you to collect all of the containers that came through your facility and-”

“I’m not going to let my men near those things!”

“I understand your feelings, but I can assure you that at this point, your men won’t be harmed. You have a chance to do something about this. If you don’t, and it starts to affect others tomorrow, you will be responsible.”

“Don’t you try to put this on me.”

“I’m not,” Evans said. “You’re just in the unfortunate position of being caught in the middle. The people who will blame you will be the media when they realize who put the containers in their neighborhoods. How long do you think your business could last after that happened?”

As much as Palmer hated to admit it, the man was right. It wouldn’t matter that he’d just been doing the job he was hired to do. Once he was associated with any problems-or, God forbid, deaths-he’d be ruined.

“What…what do I do with them once I have them?”

“You need to dump them in the sea so that they are completely submerged.”

“I’m sorry. Dump them in the sea?”

“It’s a drastic measure, but the only one that will ensure no one is harmed. We have dispatched a crisis team to your location, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow. They’ll deal with things at that point. But all the containers need to be disposed tonight.”

“Tonight? Do you realize what time it is? It’s getting on nine p.m.”

“This is a health emergency, Mr. Palmer. The time of day is not important.”

Palmer thought for a moment. He could probably round up enough drivers to get the containers in the Perth area, but elsewhere? “Some of the containers are quite far away. I don’t see how I could possibly get them all tonight.”

“It doesn’t matter where they are. It needs to happen. Can you do it?”

Palmer stared blankly at the wall across from his desk. “I’ll…try.”

“Good. Let me give the number you can call if you have any further questions.”

There were nearly two dozen people in the Bunker making calls around the world, doing whatever they could to put a dent in the Project’s plans.

As soon as Jordan hung up, Matt asked, “Did he buy it?”

“I think so.”

“Will he be able to do it, though?”

“He wasn’t sure, but he was going to try.”

“Okay,” Matt said, wishing the answer had been more definitive. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Jordan nodded, looked down at his list, and dialed the next number.

Palmer looked out his window at the night sky.

Contaminated. Extremely harmful to whoever opens them.

How the hell had that happened?

He turned back around and reached for his phone, intending to call his assistant Cora at home and have her get as many drivers as quickly as possible, but he paused, his fingers touching the handset.

Why hadn’t Mr. Vanduffel called him about this? Did the people at Hidde-Kel Holdings not even know? That seemed unlikely.

He hesitated a few seconds longer then called Cora anyway, so that the drivers would be ready to go. As soon as he finished with her, he dialed a much longer number.

“Hidde-Kel Holdings,” a male voice said.

“Mr. Vanduffel, please.”

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“John Palmer. Palmer Transport amp; Shipping in Perth.”

“One moment, Mr. Palmer.”

It was over a minute before the line clicked.

“Mr. Palmer? I didn’t expect to hear from you. Is there a problem?”

“A big problem. Why didn’t you tell me your containers are contaminated?”

Silence. “Did something happen?”

“I got a phone call is what happened, from someone at the World Health Organization. He tells me your containers are contaminated and I need to dump them in the sea before tomorrow.”

More silence. “Who exactly called you?”

“A man named Jordan Evans.”

“Did he give you a number?”

“Have you not heard from them?”

“No. We haven’t.”

“So you know nothing about this?”

“Not a thing.”

Palmer frowned. “I thought they’d have called you first.”