Guillermo del Toro - The Fall. Book II of The Strain Trilogy

Mr. Fitzwilliam stood just out of camera view, his hands clasped at belt level, looking outside the secure room into the larger facility. Most of the 130 workstations were occupied, and yet no work was being done. All eyes were turned to the hanging monitors.

After brief opening remarks, facing the half-full Capitol chamber, Palmer read from a prepared statement scrolling in large print on a teleprompter behind the camera.

“I want to address this public health emergency in terms of where myself and my Stoneheart Foundation are well-positioned to intervene, to respond, to reassure. What I can present to you today is a three-fold action plan for the United States of America, and the world beyond.

“First, I am pledging an immediate loan of three billion dollars to the city of New York, in order to keep city services functioning and to fund a citywide quarantine.

“Second, as the president and CEO of Stoneheart Industries, I want to extend my personal guarantee as to the capacity and security of this nation’s food delivery system, both through our essential transportation holdings and our various meatpacking facilities.

“Third, I would respectively recommend that the remaining Nuclear Regulatory Commission procedures be suspended in order that the completed Locust Valley Nuclear Power Plant be allowed to come online immediately, as a direct solution to New York’s current catastrophic power-grid problems.”

As head of the Canary Project in New York, Eph had been inside the OEM a few times before. He was familiar with the entrance procedures, which were secure and yet manned by armed professionals used to dealing with other armed professionals. So while Barnes’s identification was inspected rather closely, Eph simply dropped his shield and pistol into a basket and walked briskly through the metal detector.

“Would you like an escort, Director Barnes?” asked the security guard.

Eph grabbed his things and Barnes’s arm. “We know the way.”

Palmer’s questioning fell to a panel of three Democrats and two Republicans. He faced the most scrutiny from the ranking member of the Department of Homeland Security, Representative Nicholas Frone of the Third Congressional District of New York, also a member of the House Financial Committee. Voters were said not to trust baldness or beards, and yet, on both counts, Frone had bucked the trend now for three successive terms of office.

“As to this quarantine, Mr. Palmer — I have to say, hasn’t that horse already left the barn?”

Palmer sat with his hands set upon a single piece of paper in front of him. “I enjoy your folksy sayings, Representative Frone. But as someone who grew up in the seat of privilege, you might not realize that it is indeed possible for an industrious farmer to saddle and mount another horse in order to safely rein in the one that got away. America’s working farmers would never give up on a good horse. I think neither should we.”

“Also I find it interesting that you should tie your pet project, this nuclear reactor, that you have been trying to ram through regulatory procedures, into your proposal. I’m not at all convinced this is a good time to be rushing such a plant into production. And I would like to know how exactly it will help, when the problem, as I understand it, is not energy deficiency but interruptions in delivery.”

Palmer responded, “Representative Frone, two critical power plants servicing New York State are currently offline, due to voltage overload and power-line failure caused by widespread surges in the system. This starts a chain reaction of adverse effects. It decreases the water supply, due to a lack of pressure in the lines, which will lead to contamination if it is not immediately addressed. It has impacted rail transportation up and down the northeast corridor, the safe screening of passengers for air transportation, and even road travel, with the unavailability of electric gasoline pumps. It has disrupted mobile telephone communication, which impacts statewide emergency services, such as 911 response, placing citizens directly at risk.”

Palmer continued, “Now, as to nuclear power, this plant, located in your district, is ready to come online. It has passed every preliminary regulation without flaw, and yet bureaucratic procedures demand more waiting. You have a fully capable power plant — one that you yourself campaigned against and resisted every step of the way — that could power much of the city if activated. A hundred and four such plants supply twenty percent of this country’s electricity, and yet this is the first nuclear power plant to have been commissioned in the United States since the Three Mile Island incident in 1978. The word ‘nuclear’ dredges up negative connotations, but, in fact, it is a sustainable energy source that reduces carbon emissions. It is our only honest large-scale alternative to fossil fuels.”

Representative Frone said, “Let me interrupt your commercial message here, Mr. Palmer. With all due respect, isn’t this crisis nothing more than a fire sale for the superrich such as yourself? Pure ‘Shock Doctrine,’ is it not? I, for one, am very curious to know what you plan to do with New York City once you own it.”

“As I made clear previously, this would be an interest-free, twenty-year revolving line of credit…”

Eph dumped the FBI credentials in a wastebasket and continued with Barnes through the Emergency Operations Center that was the heart of the facility. The attention of everyone present was focused on Palmer, pictured on the many monitors overhead.

Eph saw dark-suited Stoneheart men clustered around a side hall leading to a pair of glass doors. The sign with the arrow read: SECURE CONFERENCE ROOM.

A chill washed over Eph, as he realized he was almost certain to die here. Certainly if he succeeded. Indeed, his worst fear was that he might be cut down without successfully assassinating Eldritch Palmer.

Eph guessed the direction of the parking lot exit. He turned to Barnes and whispered, “Act sick.”

“What?”

“Act sick. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for you.”

Eph continued with him past the conference-room hall toward the rear. Another Stoneheart man stood near a pair of doors. Before him hung a glowing sign for the men’s restroom.

“Here it is, sir,” said Eph, opening the door for Barnes. Barnes entered holding his belly, clearing his throat into his wrist. Eph rolled his eyes at the Stoneheart, whose facial expression did not change at all.

Inside the restroom, they were alone. Palmer’s words carried over speakers. Eph pulled out the gun. He walked Barnes into the farthest stall and sat him on the covered toilet.

“Get comfortable,” he said.

“Ephraim,” said Barnes. “They are certain to kill you.”

“I know,” Eph said, pistol-whipping Barnes before closing the door. “That’s what I came here for.”

Representative Frone continued, “Now, there were reports in the media, before all this began, that you and your minions had been undertaking a raid on the world silver market, trying to corner it. Frankly, there have been many wild stories regarding this outbreak. Some of them — true or not — have struck a chord. Plenty of people believe it. Are you, in fact, preying on people’s fears and superstitions? Or is this, as I hope, the lesser of two evils — a simple case of greed?”

Palmer picked up the piece of paper before him. He folded it once lengthwise, then once again across, and carefully slid the page into his inside breast pocket. He did so slowly, his eyes never leaving the camera connecting him to Washington, DC.

“Representative Frone, I believe that this is exactly the kind of pettiness and moral gridlock that has led us to this dark time. It is a matter of record that I have donated the maximum amount allowable by law to your opponent in each of your previous campaigns, and this is how you take—”