Stryker: A Post-Apocalyptic Tale Read Online Free Page A

asked.
    “I made the down payment by wire
transfer yesterday.”
    “Have you confirmed the second deposit I
sent you?” Hans asked.
    “Yes, by telephone yesterday.”
    “So, I guess we’re done until we need the
vaccine.”
    “When do you think that will be?”
Richard asked.
    “Around thirty days.”
    “You have my email and phone number.
Just call or email me and I will forward the documents with the vaccine formula
to you by email attachment.”
    “It’s been a pleasure,” Hans said as he
offered his hand. Richard shook it briefly.
    “I better get to my flight,” Richard
said. He finished his coffee, stood with the briefcase in hand, and walked away
without looking back.
    Hans removed a newspaper from his jacket
pocket. When Richard was out of sight, he opened the briefcase and slipped the
syringe holding the single dose of the vaccine into his jacket pocket. He sat
at the same table for another fifteen minutes reading the paper.
     
    A swarthy-looking man entered the
restaurant with another identical bag, found Hans, and set the briefcase down
next to one of the chairs. Hans stared at him for a moment, noting the
hawk-like nose and the gleam of the zealot in his eyes. The man’s blue eyes
stood in sharp contrast to his other dark features, and he would be considered
handsome by most. He also wore a business suit and seemed to be a wealthy Arab
on a business trip.
    “Can I get you a coffee?” Hans asked.
The German-accented English had disappeared, replaced by Russian-accented
English.
    “Please, Serge,” the man replied.
    “Of course, Mohammed,” he replied. The
two men performed the same ritual as Hans and Richard had done, but neither
drank their coffee.
    “The scientist?” Mohammed asked.
    “He’ll be dead in a few hours.”
    “Poison?”
    “In the coffee. No matter. It’s not
traceable. The autopsy will indicate a heart attack. He’ll die somewhere
between here and Mallorca on the plane.”
    “So there is no antidote or vaccine for
the virus?”
    “No,” Serge lied.
    “Well done.”
    “I’ll be on my way,” Serge said, rising
and exiting with the briefcase Mohammed had left when he arrived. Serge
personally hated dealing with the ISIS operative, but they were his best
customers, so he tolerated the man to keep his weapons-trading business going.
He had neglected to inform him, however, of the vaccine. That was his little
secret. He had been scrupulous in his dealings with them until now, because
when your clients are perfectly capable of killing you anywhere in the world,
it’s a good idea to play it straight. This was his one exception. He had no
idea what the crazy bastards were planning to do with the virus, but he would
make sure the vaccine coursed through his blood before the end of the day.
    He seriously doubted Richard’s claims as
to how virulent the virus was. The weapon the little weasel described was
beyond anything he knew of and the man was a braggart. Serge decided to do the
transaction because it was very lucrative, he had the vaccine sample, and the
likelihood of the bumbling ISIS operatives actually pulling off anything
serious was laughable.
    Mohammed went into a stall in the
bathroom and extracted the vial from the briefcase, then shoved it into his
pocket and left the case in the stall. As he moved through the ticketing area,
he speed-dialed his contact in Afghanistan. The man answered in English. They
always spoke English as the NSA computers gave priority to any of the tribal
languages spoken in that part of the world.
    “Are the lambs all home safe?” he asked.
    “Yes, and may God be with you,” the
voice replied. “Do what you must do.”
    “I will,” he replied, and broke the
connection. What he just learned was that all the 12,000 zealots selected to
survive the end of the world were now safely in caves in the Hindu Kush area of Afghanistan. They had
picked 4000 of their toughest fighters, along with the most religious and pious
Muslims they could