Land of the Free!
By: Chris Alleyne
Tags: Controversary, Short Story, Conspiracy Theories, Politics And Elections

Reed MacIntosh drove out of the garage, out to the gate, and turned left into the surrounding countryside. Half an hour driving put him forty miles outside the city, in the rolling hills. He turned onto a tree-lined lane off the paved road and dove another 20 minutes, until he could pull off the road into a green and grassy meadow overlooking a small river.

He ambled over to a pile of stones and sat, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he did so. He checked to see if he had a signal. He did but not a very strong one.

Reed struggled over the day’s events. He was sure that there was something wrong and felt that he needed to say something to someone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts, the pressed ‘Send’. The phone rang twice.

Jeannie’s voice on the other end. “Hey, Boss. I was starting to worry. You disappear from the lab as if you’ve seen a ghost and, when I come looking, Rosanne tells me that you disappeared out of the building as if all the hounds of Hell were on your tail. What’s going on?”

Reed spoke with a quivering voice. “I’ll be back in about an hour. I would appreciate if you could stay on. Can you do that?”

He could almost hear her thinking. Then, “Ok. We had been talking about going for pizza later, but Bob will understand.” Bob was Jeannie’s latest, a half-hippy type who seemed to live with his head floating around above everyone else. Not a bad guy, thought Reed, but not exactly who I would choose for my own daughter. If I had one, that is.

“I really appreciate that. Have a late pizza on me.” He stood and walked slowly back to his car.

He pulled into the Institute car park ten minutes earlier than he had expected. Grabbed his notes, locked the car, and headed into his office.

No Jeannie. He checked the lab, to find her with a pile of notes scattered around, her laptop in her knee. “Ah,” she said. “There you are. Do you want to do this here, or in your office?”

He motioned his head in the direction of his office. “Have you heard anything more about this new thing?” he asked.

She nodded. “They’ve been hauling people into the hospitals all day. The doctors are saying that it seems to be a more aggressive strain of the same virus. Instead of taking days or weeks to mature, this is killing people within 24 hours. And, so far, it seems to be affecting people who were vaccinated.”

Reed felt a chill go up his spine. He quickened his pace until they reached his office. He let Jeannie precede him into the room, then locked the door behind him.

She looked at him quizzically. “Okay. Now give,” she instructed, tucking her feet up under her on the couch. Reed went to his desk, pulled his notes out of his pack, and handed them to her. He said nothing, just sat on the edge of his desk as she read.

Her face ran the gamut of expressions as she worked her way through the sheaf of paper. “But, my god, Boss. This suggests that someone knew exactly what they were doing. Could Blair be this callous with people’s lives?”

He scratched his scruffy hair. “It’s hard to credit, but The Investigation Bureau was fast enough to see me, and then to tell me not to talk to anyone about it.”

“So?” Jeannie shrugged. “I know I’m not a big-up here. How come you didn’t take it to Old Man Winfield?” referring to the son of the Institute’s father, himself old enough to have earned the ‘Old Man’ title.

“I don’t know why I didn’t. That’s why I wanted to talk to you and leave a copy of my notes with you. If I should suddenly disappear, please take the notes and this letter to Barry Winfield and let him decide what to do with it. He seems like a half-wit sometimes, but I’ve learnt that it’s all a put-on. He’s one of the sharpest men I know, and he’ll know how to deal with this.”

“I’ll make a copy and leave it in your desk in a bit.”

He stood and pulled some bills out of his pocket. “Take this and buy yourself and Bob a good dinner and a bottle of wine on me, No pizza, now. Real food.”

Jeannie rose uncertainly, but Reed shuffled her unceremoniously out of his office. “Have a good night. I’m at the AIB tomorrow around 10.30, so I’ll be in after lunch.”

He grabbed his file and headed off to the copy centre to finish his night’s chore.

Two hours later, he pulled up at home and entered his simple apartment where he lived alone. Could never find a woman who would put up with his habits anyhow. Better this way, he thought, before turning in for the night.

At 10.15 the next morning, Reed MacIntosh stopped at the security check at AIB HQ. The guard opened the gate and, as he drove in, said, ‘The director asked if you would park against the back wall. He has some heavy equipment coming in, and wants to be sure that your car is out of the way.”

Reed did as instructed, rode the elevator up to street level, and checked in with the receptionist. Took a seat.

Within minutes, he was greeted by SA Billy Jones, who escorted him past the elevators they had used the previous day and further into the rear of the building. Reed caught Jones’ eye and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“The Director has asked that we use some offices which are being renovated. There’s no-one around back there, and we won’t be disturbed.”

They took a service elevator up to the third floor, picked their way carefully around piles of construction stuff until Jones knocked on a blank door. “Come in,” a voice said.

When they entered, the Director was sitting at a desk with a chair in front of it. Another small table stood off to one side with a laptop computer humming softly.

Jonson waved Reed to the chair and said, “Have a seat Professor. We’ve looked into some of the stuff you left us yesterday, and it brings up some troublesome questions.” He stroked his chin, a habit which Reed had noticed before. “So I take it that this little thing is still our secret? Yes?”

Reed nodded. “I can’t wait to get it off my hands and have you guys deal with it all. It scares me.”

“I would think so,” The Director said solemnly. “Now, I need you to just go over to that computer over there and take a few minutes to type up what you think is happening here.”

Reed saw no other chair, so he dragged the light metal chair that he had been sitting in up to the computer table, opened it, and started typing. Within five minutes he was totally absorbed in the task.

Johnson glanced at Agent Jones and nodded, and the man slipped quietly out the door, returning again even more quietly. This time he had a pistol in his hand. Very slowly he pushed his left hand into his left suit pocket and withdrew a cylindrical object about four inches long.

He screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the pistol and moved silently behind the typing man.

Photo by Charles Fair on Unsplash

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