THE FLENSE: China: (Part 3 of THE FLENSE serial) Read online

  CONTENTS

  THE FLENSE: CHINA

  Part 3 Book 1

  Excerpt

  The Last Zookeeper

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  Copyright Notice

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Tanpepper Tidings Newsletter

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  THE FLENSE: CHINA

  Part 3 Book 1

  Contracted by a prepper group to investigate a series of seemingly disconnected global tragedies, a young freelance reporter, Angelique de l'Enfantine, uncovers a disturbing pattern: each event is preceded by the sudden spread of a mysterious ailment and is followed by the appearance of a man dressed in black and silver who witnesses claim is the devil himself. THE FLENSE is a 4-book serialized international thriller and companion to the post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12. Parts 1-3 are set in China. Parts 2-6 are set in Iceland.

  by Saul Tanpepper

  © 2015

  All rights reserved (full notice)

  [email protected]

  (rv.150914)

  Chapter Thirty Four

  "The train crash was planned?" Norstrom asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

  The tires juddered over an exceptionally rough patch of road, making an immediate response impossible. So the two men sat side by side and stared at each other, one smug in his superior position, the other showing the first cracks in his stony exterior. Aston took satisfaction in the look of surprise on Norstrom's face, in knowing that he had finally struck a nerve in the otherwise emotionless man. Oh, but he's so goddamned righteous in his indignation, isn't he? The man has probably murdered ten times as many people as me, and yet he sits there all high and mighty and thinks I'm some kind of monster for speaking the truth.

  "You're telling me this was part of some planned . . . experiment?"

  "The accident was planned, yes," Aston replied. "But the extent of the destruction wasn't. It wasn't supposed to be so . . . devastating. Something happened that we hadn't foreseen. We're still not sure what."

  He exhaled heavily and shook his head, as if he personally felt the weight of each death on his shoulders. He did honestly regret that so many people had perished, though not for the souls that had been lost; rather, he lamented the time and data the company would never recover, and the millions they had spent on setting it all up over the past sixteen months. Going forward, the miscalculation was likely to set their R and D program back by weeks, if not longer.

  "There were never supposed to be any casualties," he explained. "Or, rather, not many. A few were to be expected."

  "You . . . expected people to die?"

  "We accepted that there was uncertainty in the experiment and that death was a possible outcome. We did our best to calculate the effects of the train's speed and momentum, the number of people in each car, etcetera, etcetera, but we couldn't control everything. The randomness of their positions— where they were sitting or standing, for example. We could have erred on the side of caution and designed the crash to avoid all fatalities, but then we wouldn't have been testing for the full range of trauma, would we have?"

  "The full range of trauma?" Norstrom sputtered in disbelief. His mask had completely fallen away. "You designed the crash to test trauma?"

  Aston rolled his eyes impatiently. It was clear that Norstrom was simply incapable of seeing the Big Picture, much less the intricacies of such a large scale undertaking. Nevertheless, he was determined to try and explain it to him as much as possible. After all, the experiment had been his personal brainchild. And, privately, he hoped Norstrom would eventually see the genius in it and be forced to accede that he'd misjudged.

  "We needed a large test group with a full continuum of injuries ranging from minor bumps and scrapes to broken bones and lacerations. We wanted to see organ damage, even serious head trauma and amputations. A crash was the quickest and most efficient way to achieve it at this scale."

  Norstrom's jaw dropped. It was a primal reflex in a moment when he was completely unaware of himself. He suddenly realized that he was breathing the same air as a true madman. Those victims were nothing but lab rats to these people! He wanted to wrap his hands around the man's fleshy neck and squeeze until his eyes popped out of his skull. Instead, he quickly collected his thoughts and forced his mouth shut. It took all his strength to turn away.

  "We had always planned to validate the efficacy of our product under real-life conditions."

  "And what exactly is your product?" Norstrom asked, his voice now flat. "I was told you manufactured computer components."

  "Oh, that's what we tell people. But the truth is we make revolutionary medical devices to improve human health. The specific details are, of course, completely confidential. If I told you, I'd have to kill you." He chuckled wetly as Norstrom stared at him, the stone-faced mask now firmly back in place. "Joking, of course, but I am under NDA not to divulge any specifics. You understand the necessity for secrecy, I'm sure."

  "Is it a field trauma system?" Norstrom pushed. "Is that what you're talking about? I'm just trying to understand the scope, as you say, Aston. And why not use animal subjects? Wouldn't they have worked just as well?"

  "Five minutes, sir," came the voice of the driver over the intercom. Aston flicked off the privacy switch to thank him. Then he turned it back on.

  "Animal tests wouldn't provide the answers we need. Besides, the product is designed and coded for humans. It would take years to reengineer it for another species."

  They had been on a secondary road for the past ten minutes, a cut-off from the main highway bisecting the northwest part of Inner Mongolia from the southeast. Norstrom had become quite familiar with this stretch of it, having spent the better part of the past four days traversing it while prepping the second site.

  At the road's end was a small, remote settlement of abandoned yurts, and just beyond the village were the railroad tracks. This was where the fake crash had been staged. The structures were now occupied by a dozen people, each one fully prepped for the inevitable questions the Chinese government's accident investigator would ask them.

  "Look, Norstrom," Aston said, "all you need to know is that the fatalities weren't planned. They were an unfortunate, although not entirely unforeseen, consequence of the nature of the experiment. The crash itself was necessary." He paused for effect. "I know it's hard for you to understand, especially without possessing all of the key details. Very few people would be able to, certainly not the general public. That's why your particular brand of expertise was required, to keep it from getting out to the general population. If word got out, they'd come here and shut us down in a heartbeat, and that would be a terrible setback for all of us."

  They came over a rise and looked down into a valley. Smoke curled out of the roof openings of several of the yurts. About a hundred sheep foraged in the grass to the right, tended by a young boy. The scene would have been postcard perfect if not for the wreckage that lay beyond.

  From the elevated vantage point, the mangled cars and strewn freight painted a scene that lent itself to a single interpretation: the train had derailed at high speed. Both the directionality of the crash and its point of origin were starkly evident. The two men were still too far away to see the smaller details. The crumpled tracks themselves were hidden from view, but the ground bore a series of very convincing scars that could be seen for miles.

  A refrigerated truck resolved itself from the wreckage. Stored inside were five charred bodies, the remains of the phony train crew. In actuality, none o
f the men had ever held a job within China's railway system. They had all been casualties pulled from a warehouse explosion in the port city of Qinhuangdao that had coincidentally taken place just days before. They were among the dozens of bodies that would never be recovered.

  Norstrom had wondered several times if Aston or his people had had anything to do with that particular incident. The port city was at the other end of the very same railway line that had serviced the factory.

  "Looks like our Mister Wang Jingping has already arrived," Aston remarked, eyeing the half dozen official vehicles parked just short of the crash. Several people were standing about, and one man could be seen picking through the rubble. He turned and started to head back when Aston's driver honked.

  "It's a terrible tragedy," the large man said, drawing Norstrom's attention back to their conversation. "The people who died. But they signed up for this, all of them. They knew the risks. They signed legally-binding releases."

  But how many of them knew exactly what they were signing away? Norstrom wanted to ask. None, I bet.

  "Great leaps forward always require great sacrifice," Aston concluded.

  Yeah, Norstrom thought. Just not from you.

  Chapter Thirty Five

  They pulled to a stop beside the other official vehicles, and the driver got out. He circled the car and opened Aston's door. For once, the large man accepted the assistance, allowing himself to be pulled out of the seat. The door shut, leaving Norstrom alone to gather his thoughts.

  He watched the man for a moment making his way over the uneven ground, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen. It had started vibrating a few minutes before, and now there was a single text from his man at the factory instructing him to call ASAP. He thumbed to connect and waited.

  How soon can you get here?

  "We've only just now arrived at the staged site. The Chinese investigators are here early. Are you in the lab?"

  Yeah, but I'm not the only one. There's a woman here, sounds European. Says she's a reporter.

  Norstrom sat up in surprise. He'd been expecting him to call, but not about this. He was eager to learn if something had been found in the bone fragment the doctors had removed from the American's leg.

  Keeping the gruesome relic had been a hunch. After days of destroying evidence of a completely unknown nature at the crash site, evidence he had initially thought would be chemical or technological in nature, proprietary, he had began to suspect something much more sinister, especially as there had been nothing at the crash site except bodies. Now, after Aston's confession, he was eager to know if his hunch had been correct.

  It appeared he'd have to wait to know.

  "Reporter?" he said. "We're supposed to meet a reporter here."

  I believe it's the same one. She says they're expecting her. Claims that if she doesn't show up, someone will come looking for her.

  "Sounds like bluster. Do you—"

  HEY! GET YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!

  A female voice rose in the background. Norstrom couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like she was pleading.

  Okay, she's handing me some kind of . . . looks like identification. THROW IT ON THE TABLE! STAY THERE! It's, uh, it's just a press badge. MOVE! OVER THERE! AGAINST THE WALL!"

  "What's her na—?"

  DOWN! SIT DOWN ON THE FLOOR! I SAID SIT YOUR ASS DOWN!

  Norstrom pursed his lips. This was not what he needed right now, more people sticking their noses in where they didn't belong. "Make sure she's alone."

  Checking now. There's something else, something you should see for yourself.

  "What is it?"

  The bone they pulled out of the American woman. You wanted me to look at it.

  "Yes! You found something?"

  It's . . . . Well, you know I don't have a clue what I'm supposed to be looking at.

  Norstrom's gaze sought Aston out. The man was greeting each of the crash investigation team members now, individually shaking their hands. He managed to look solemn enough, sweeping an arm over the area while wiping a tear from his eye. He reached into the leather portfolio beneath his arm and extracted a bundle of papers and handed it to a middle-aged man with graying sideburns and a weathered face. Norstrom guessed that he was the lead agent. He wore a hard hat, leather gloves, and a green windbreaker with bright orange lettering on the back. The man standing between them appeared to be the interpreter.

  Aston looked over at the car and gestured for Norstrom to join them.

  Boss? What were you expecting to find?

  "I'm not sure. Did you look under the microscope?"

  Yes. And I think maybe you should come up and take a look for yourself.

  "What do you mean?"

  It's just . . . . I think the damn thing's still growing. Or was. It's changed since we picked it up.

  "How?"

  I don't know. The edges. They look like they're healing.

  "That's not possible."

  But the conversation with Aston replayed in Norstrom's mind, especially the part about testing trauma. What sort of technology were these people dabbling in?

  Maybe you should have Aston take a look.

  "No! Not Aston. It's probably nothing to bother him with."

  Norstrom stared hard at the group outside and wondered what Aston was hiding from everyone. What was the connection between the bone and the factory workers? He needed to find that out without Aston running interference.

  Okay, you're the boss.

  "Look, I'll try and leave here as soon as I can," he said at last. "But I'll have to come up with an excuse. Aston's not happy about you being there on your own, breaking into his precious lab. They're being unusually protective about something, so keep an eye out. I'll head straight out as soon as I can get away."

  What do you want me to do with the woman?

  "Just sit tight. Restrain her. Whatever means possible, just make sure she doesn't go anywhere. And see what you can get out of her. Nothing extreme. I'll interrogate her myself when I arrive, but get started."

  Got it. See you in a few.

  "I'll call when I'm on my way."

  Chapter Thirty Six

  "Shut up," the man snapped in reply to Angel's demand to tell her who he was. "You don't ask the questions."

  He edged his way over to the door and cautiously stuck his head out. After quickly checking the hallway in either direction, he glanced back in at her seated on the floor. The look on his face told her that he didn't see Jamie. She must have heard the man talking and realized what had happened and slipped away. But to where? Did she go back to the car? Did she leave? How far would she get in her condition?

  The man stepped back into the room, hesitated for a moment, then circled the bench toward the spot where he'd been sitting when Angel surprised him. Keeping his gun trained on her, he reached over the bench, snatched his phone up off the surface, and slipped it into his pocket.

  "Who were you talking to just now?" she asked.

  "Are you deaf or simply stupid? I said to shut the hell up." He started rifling through the drawers, yanking them open and slamming them shut again.

  "He said not to hurt me."

  "I swear, if you don't shut your damn mouth, I will! You're in big trouble coming here, you know that?"

  He pulled a coil of thin, clear tubing from a drawer and shook it loose. IV tubing, Angel realized. She guessed what he was planning to do with it.

  "On your stomach," he snapped at her. "Now! Hands behind your back."

  "You don't have to do this."

  "Oh, that's right! I could just let you walk right on out of here so you can go report to the world everything we're doing."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Lie down!"

  Angel did as he ordered, but she kept her eyes on him as he put one end of the tubing in his mouth and tugged the other with his free hand to test its strength. The gun lost its bearing on her, as did his eyes. But she didn't dare move
. There was no way she'd reach the door before he shot at her. Plus, she couldn't leave without knowing what had happened to Jamie. "Why are you interested in the bone?" she asked.

  Instead of answering, he stuck the gun into the back of his waistband, then stepped over and drove a knee into her back, knocking the breath out of her lungs. "Move and I will slam your goddamn head into the floor."

  "Look, I'm a medical doctor. If there's something about that bone—"

  "Shut up! Shut the hell up, for god's sake."

  The tubing bit into her flesh as he wrapped it around her wrist, and she cried out that he was cutting off the circulation. He grabbed her other wrist, brought it to the first, and viciously wrapped it even tighter than before. When he was finished, he gave the works a few tugs, wrenching her shoulders painfully in their sockets. Angel bit back a cry.

  "You think that hurts? I was being gentle." He started to pat her down, jamming his hand up into her armpits, underneath her belly, between her legs, searching for any weapons.

  Angel didn't care about the physical and emotional discomfort. She was too focused on figuring out a way to escape.

  He found her cell phone and removed it. There was a pause, then he flung it onto the benchtop. "Dead as a doornail. Who else knows you're here? Tell me now!" He pulled her head back by her hair, twisting it until she cried out in pain.

  "No one! I mean everyone!"

  Finally, the weight on her back lifted away. "Don't move!" he warned, and he resumed his search through the drawers.

  "I won't run. I promise. I can help. I'm a—"

  "You're a liar is what you are!" He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a moment. "First you're a reporter, but now you're a doctor? You really should get your story straight."

  "I'm b-both."

  He barked out a laugh. "And I'm Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny."

  "It's the truth," she said, panting. It was hard to breathe. "I'm a medical investigative reporter. I came here because there was some kind of infectious disease on the train that crashed." She had to strain her neck far enough around to see his face, but even at that awkward angle she saw his look of surprise. "If those people were sick—"