Milwaukee Deep

All six men who were waiting in the White House briefing room stood up in unison as the two men entered the room.

“At ease,” Crane snapped as he walked in, the deep scar across his face evident from every angle.

The men sat down as their superior took his seat.

“We have a situation, gentlemen. At 22 hundred hours yesterday evening we lost contact with subject 432 – his name - Michael Burton. He was last seen driving a stolen taxi cab that was found later near the Brooklyn Bridge, unattended.”

Crane picked up the remote that sat on the table and pointed it at the panel screen on the wall. A photo of Michael appeared on the screen.

“This is Burton. He is contaminated and considered extremely hazardous. If he is not captured and eliminated within the next 24 hours we will be facing an extreme situation. Now I need every one of your people on alert and focused on nothing else other than finding this man.”

“Can we use the press to flush him out?” asked an overweight General, the buttons on his shirt stretched to capacity.

“No I don’t think that’s wise - the last thing we need is the press getting hold of any of this.”

Crane again clicked on the remote.

David Reese Ganton appeared on the screen.

“Now the situation has gotten a little more complicated since we last spoke, gentlemen. The man you see here is David Ganton. He too has escaped from Milwaukee Deep.”

“Hold on, there are two of them out there!?” exclaimed the obese General

Crane continued.

“We have not yet uncovered if he is contaminated and a risk, but I’m not willing to wait to find out. Our focus must now turn on both of these two targets. I want your men to ride every one of their contacts out there to find them. I mean it, every snitch, every low life, drill them, pay them - do whatever it takes to get what we need – kick over every rock - crawl into every hole. Find them and eliminate them.”

“Do we have any idea when the virus will become airborne?” asked another of the men in the room.

“No. I would suggest, however, that time is against us – that contamination is imminent. Now I will be downloading the briefing sheet directly to you. I suggest you do the same to your men immediately…no excuses, gentlemen. Dismissed.”

George Willow looked over to Karidis as his cell phone vibrated on the table next to where Myles sat.

“Hand me that will you,” Willow ordered.

Karidis walked over to the phone and handed it to the Secretary.

Willow flipped it open.

“Secretary of Defence George Willow.”

Harding was on the other end of the line – he was driving back towards Manhattan.

“Sir it’s Harding.”

“What is it, Tom?”

“Ganton’s address – did the FBI guys uncover it before you ended the call?”

Willow froze momentarily as the question was asked – Ganton was still out there – his daughter was still missing, more than likely dead.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m driving back from the warehouse – there are reports all over the news about this gymnasium thing and I’m starting to get the feeling that our guy Ganton’s somehow involved,” said Harding

“What gymnasium thing?” Asked Willow

“They found sixteen bodies in a gymnasium’s swimming pool in the Bronx, Sir. The water was contaminated with some kind of poison. I don’t know why, but given the situation, I thought I’d send the clean up crew down there to see if they could find anything.”

“Have they?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“So do you think Ganton’s infected?” Willow asked

“I’m not sure, but I’m not waiting to find out, Sir - now do you have that address?”

“Hold on.”

Willow placed the phone down to his side and walked over to Myles.

“You - tell me where you traced Ganton’s call to.”

Myles looked up at Willow – he couldn’t help but notice Karidis standing beside him with his weapon out.

“You mean the call that condemned your daughter.”

Willow raised his hand and brought it down hard across Myles left cheek.

“Tell me where the FUCK that call was traced TO!” he yelled.

Myles rubbed the side of his face. He opened his laptop and proceeded to look up the trace details.

“173 Westchester Avenue, New Jersey,” he replied as he looked up at Willow.

Willow raised the phone to his ear.

“173 Westchester Avenue, New Jersey,” he repeated.

“Got it,” retorted Harding.

Willow paused.

“Harding.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“If you can, please bring back my daughter.”

“How is he?” asked Sam as Dr Jensen walked back into the room.

“Stable. I’ve just finished the last of the tests. I’ve given him a sedative and he’ll sleep for the better part of the day.”

“I tell you, Phil, what we saw today … I mean, to have him go into seizure like that and for his body to be so stiff and rigid after it; can you recall anything like it?”

Jensen reached over and grabbed the pot of black coffee on the table and poured himself a cup.

“No I must say I haven’t. Hopefully the tests will tell us something.”

“Well something isn’t right, I tell you this whole thing’s a mess – the minute I made that call to that sheriff in Florida, things just haven’t sat right with me.”

“Tell me more.”

“The fact that this guy’s been missing for eighteen years, Phil, and he hasn’t aged one day can’t be put down to chance. I mean I left him alone with his wife for an hour and she ends up dead,” Sam stood up and made his way over to the table and also poured himself a cup of coffee, “he shows up a few hours later in the middle of the night with a bullet wound to the shoulder and hours later suffers a seizure that defies logic...I tell you, he’s either the unluckiest man alive or there’s a lot more to this than he lets on.”

Jensen was intrigued.

“So you think he’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know. To be honest if he is hiding something I don’t necessarily believe he knows it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well I remember what the doctor said in Florida – his memory loss isn’t related to any physical damage – the scans came up clean. It’s all psychological.”

“So let’s get him some professional help,” offered Jensen.

Sam looked at his friend.

“Do you know someone?” he asked

“Yeah I do.”

“Who?”

“A colleague of mine – she’s a psychiatrist specialising in hypnotherapy.”

“Do you think she’ll come here?” Sam asked

“I can ask – I can’t see why not. Give me five minutes to run it past her and then we should check on those results.”