Resistant

—LANCASTER R. HILL, SERMON AT HIGHBRIDGE BAPTIST CHURCH, NEWTOWN, GEORGIA, SEPTEMBER 21, 1933

With the map of Red Cliff in one hand and his Glock in the other, Lou made his way along the windowless stone passageways illuminated by gas lanterns. The smell of Jessup’s burning flesh lingered in his nose and throat.

He passed by a series of staircases, some straight and others spiraling, but knew not to take them. His course—his true north—was to follow a snaking trail of hallways to Bacon’s study. After a minute, he saw light up ahead and soon emerged through a stone antechamber into a large, greenhouse-like space—a covered courtyard with a glass ceiling. In the center of the space was a rectangular swimming pool surrounded by magnificent fountains and a rich variety of plants. Bacon’s version of a program of entitlement.

Battered and exhausted, Lou circled the pool and headed deeper into Red Cliff, leaving behind the only way out he knew. It was getting close to the time he had instructed Kazimi to bolt, and try to make it to the town of Mount William—maybe five or six miles. Humphrey had argued for the microbiologist to stay, but the debate had never been resolved. Hopefully, Kazimi would do what was right. But exactly what, Lou asked himself, was that?

The corridor narrowed. Lou felt certain he had arrived at the south end of the castle and the door to Bacon’s study. Unlike his attack on Jessup’s surveillance office, this time he had no specific plan except to barge in, gun ready. If Bacon was still on his videoconference, so much the better. The attendees could watch the beginning of the end of their movement. The apprehension that had dominated much of his odyssey since landing with Vaill was gone.

He was ready.

Again, Lou checked his watch. Twelve minutes gone. If things were happening the way he wanted them to, Kazimi was through the tunnel and outside the stone guardhouse, headed for town with Lou’s cell phone and the number of the FBI in his pocket. There was no cell phone signal in Red Cliff. Perhaps closer to Mount William.

Wondering what he would do if the door was locked, Lou eased down on the latch. There was a soft click as the door’s mechanism engaged. Adrenaline pumping, gun in hand, he opened the door slowly and stepped inside a large, oval room. Huge windows framed by burgundy velvet curtains lined the walls. Beyond them, Lou saw the moat and the stretch of lawn where Vaill had gunned down Drake. On the wall was the mammoth monitor Lou had seen through the windows. None of the men and women on the screens seemed to be looking in his direction.

Directly in front of him, facing away, was a massive, high-backed oxblood leather desk chair on rollers. All he could see of Doug Bacon were his spit-polished black boots and his arms. His left hand, poking out from the armrest, cradled a tumbler of whiskey.

Lou aimed the gun at the back of the impressive chair.

“Okay, Bacon, it’s over,” he said. “Keep your hands where I can see them and turn around nice and slowly.”

A few tense seconds passed before the chair swiveled. When it came to a stop, Lou could only stare, struggling to process what he was seeing. The man seated there was not the stocky fellow Lou had seen through the windows. Rather, this man was old and withered. Harris, Bacon’s butler. Before Lou could react, he was startled by a voice from behind him.

“Before you move, Dr. Welcome, I’ll need you to drop your gun. The other choice is I’ll shoot you through the back of your head right now. The count begins at one and ends at two. One…”

Lou dropped his gun and raised his hands. The people on the screens in front of him had gone silent, motionless.

“Good,” Bacon said in a distinct Southern drawl. “Now, then, turn around slowly … slowly … that’s it.”

Lou turned to see the man he knew was Doug Bacon pointing his cane at Lou’s chest. The head of the cane, a resplendent, glittering gold lion’s head, was flipped down, revealing the muzzle of a rifle.

“This beauty cost me over ten thousand dollars,” Bacon said, addressing the videoconference attendees as much as his captive. “A master Swiss watchmaker put the mechanism together. It’s a mechanical marvel. Believe it or not, the magazine actually holds five bullets. But, especially at this range, I am a deadly shot with it, so I expect if that is what I wish to do, I will only have to use up one.”

These monsters are going to sit wherever they are and watch my execution, Lou thought.

“But I will add one for what I owe you for my friend, Alexander,” Bacon was saying, “and one for each of the men you killed outside, and probably one for the good fellow you murdered in my surveillance room. He is dead, isn’t he?”

“Define dead,” Lou said.

“You should be praying, doctor, not being snide.”

“I do snide better. Face it, Bacon. You’ve lost. All of you. You’ve all lost. The FBI knows who you are, and they’re on their way. Whether you kill me or not, you’re finished.”

“I don’t think so. We purposely have no cell phone signal here except for the network connected to my phone.” He patted his breast pocket. “Same with radios. If you really knew anything, you would have been here with more than just the two of you. When the cause is right and just, victory is inevitable. You’re finding that out.”

“Is that a bit of your propaganda?” Lou asked. “Because it’s crap. Hey, here’s one for you. ‘No matter how right you think you are, you’re not.’ Dennis Welcome. That’s how he used to win arguments against me.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Bacon countered, his genteel charm all but gone. “These first couple of shots will just hurt, doctor, but be patient. I choose shoulder.”

Without another word, he fired. A flash erupted from the muzzle of his gun, accompanied by a surprisingly muffled pop. Instantly, Lou felt pain explode from just above his right armpit, and also in his back. He pitched to his knees, knowing the shot had gone through and through. Blood was already flowing from the entrance hole.

“These are going to hurt you more than they hurt me, Dr. Snide. Wait, did I have that right?”

Incongruously, all Lou could think of at the moment of his death was the anatomical pathway the first bullet must have taken. He tried, but could not move his arm. Clenching his teeth, he breathed rapidly through his nose. Tears blurred his vision. But he had learned about courage and not giving up from Cap Duncan and Tim Vaill, and, anticipating a second shot, he still scanned about him for anything he could use as a weapon.

I love you, Em …

I … love … you … baby.

The Oriental rug beneath him began to swirl.

Where is my gun? Got to get my gun …

Lou knew he had only seconds to live.

Not eight feet away from him, Bacon raised his cane once more, this time, it seemed, at Lou’s face.

“Sooner or later, you people are going to lose,” Bacon said. “You’re just doing it sooner.”

Lou straightened up and locked his eyes on his tormentor.

“Go to hell,” he said.

“You, first, sir. You first. I choose groin.”

Bacon adjusted his aim lower. Lou clenched his teeth. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw a movement from the doorway to his right, and heard a chilling scream. At virtually the same instant, Bacon pulled the trigger. Lou closed his eyes, flinching at the sound. But there was no impact … no pain. He looked just in time to see Ahmed Kazimi’s body in flight. His arms and legs were outstretched. The bullet from Bacon’s gun had struck him squarely in the chest. There was another scream, this one of agony, as Kazimi crumpled to the floor.

In the moment Kazimi had given him, using reflexes he had mastered in the ring under Cap’s guidance, Lou pushed up from the floor and threw himself at Bacon. The rotund man did not have the reaction to respond. Closing the gap between them with startling quickness, Lou slammed his left fist into Bacon’s doughy abdomen. The pain rifling down his right arm went virtually unnoticed. The director of One Hundred Neighbors doubled over and splayed backward, flailing as he tried to regain his balance.

“Combinations,” Cap had preached. “Always think in combinations and never rely on one punch when you can get in a second.”

Lou struck again, this time hitting Bacon with a vicious jab to the chest, followed instantly by an uppercut that connected full force with the underside of his jaw.

How’s that for a fucking combination, Cap?

Bacon’s head snapped back. Lou saw a white tooth shoot from the man’s bloodied mouth and land on the floor. The cane tumbled away and bounced within Lou’s reach like a dropped baton.

With his eyes glazed over, Bacon actually managed to stagger to his feet, blood flowing from his flattened nostrils. Pivoting now, Lou delivered an explosive kick to his face. The older man dropped like a sack of sand. From the corner of his eye, Lou could see Harris cowering by the windows, and beside him, the screens.

Kazimi was crumpled on the floor, blood expanding from the wound to his chest.

Process.

Lou’s mind calmed as it so often did in the ER.

Easy does it … First things first … Deep breath … Focus.

The scientist was unconscious, but still breathing, albeit shallowly. That observation was step one. Step two was ensuring that the resilient Bacon was neutralized, but not so permanently that Vaill’s friends at the agency couldn’t use him to dissolve the Neighbors.

Ignoring the tearing discomfort in his shoulder, but aware of increasing light-headedness, he retrieved the cane and used it to help himself over to Bacon, who was on his back, moaning and dazed. Lou stepped on the heavy man’s meaty throat and retrieved the cell phone from his breast pocket. Then he fumbled with the ten-thousand-dollar cane, aiming the muzzle at the mogul’s thigh, at the exact spot where the spear of Cap’s femur had thrust through.

Irony. This one is for you, buddy.

“That’s enough, Lou!” a voice from the doorway cried.

It was a woman’s voice.

It can’t be.…

Lou whirled. The woman standing fiercely in the doorway looked like the demure, fascinating researcher he had been attracted to from the moment they met, but her eyes were ice.

The pistol held comfortably, professionally in Vicki Banks’s hand was pointed at Lou’s head.

“I told you that night in the Blue Ox I was damaged goods,” she said.

Lou continued to apply pressure to Bacon’s throat and now the big man had begun to gag and squirm.

“Vicki. This can’t be right. You’re Bacon’s scientist?”

“I don’t belong to Bacon, I belong to the Neighbors. Our cause has given my life true meaning for the first time. I have paid them back for their confidence by discovering and developing the Janus strain. And I intend to keep paying them back. Now, move your foot, and do what you can to save this guy so he can help us if we need him. If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Remember, I grew up on the streets. I’ve been connected to guns since I was a teen. Look at me, Lou, and you’ll know I mean it. I will kill you and then go out for ice cream.”

It only took Lou a second to comply and turn to Kazimi. Behind him, Doug Bacon was out cold. Off to his right, the screens continued flickering—the show of shows.

“I might seem like Scupman’s lab jockey to you,” Vicki said as Lou checked Kazimi’s airway and pulses, and then tore open his shirt to expose a nasty wound just above his left nipple, “but I’m far more capable than I’ve revealed to anyone but my people. You’re really very sweet, Lou. I was deeply touched by how hard you fought for your friend. I’m just sorry you’re playing for the wrong side.”

Kazimi was salvageable, but would not be for long. And worst of all, there was nothing Lou could do. Clearly, the bullet had missed the heart, but there was damage to any number of structures surrounding it that sooner or later would prove lethal. He tore off a strip of fabric, and for a few seconds, applied pressure. But he knew the exercise was fruitless. There was nothing to compress.

The heavy sadness in his own chest was quickly replaced by anger. He looked up at the screens.

“Do you see?” he shouted. “Do you see what kind of people you’ve all gotten involved with? I don’t care how bright and talented you all are, or how much money you have. Everyone of you is misguided and stupid! That’s right, stupid!”

“Enough!” Vicki snapped. “I have heard all I fucking care to!”

She turned her head minutely as a machinery whine came up behind her—a whirring motor. Humphrey let go an animal-like cry as he drove his wheelchair into the back of Vicki’s legs. The impact was not hard, but it was startling, and firm enough to disrupt her balance.

Instantly, Lou was in motion. Bacon’s cane was next to his hand. He seized it by the lower end and swung a looping backhand that would have made the Slugger proud.

Good left-handed power, Lou Welcome. You gonna hit homer to opposite field like that.

The lion’s head gave him more than enough heft. Arcing in a golden blur, it smashed Vicki squarely in her jaw. There was a volley of nauseating cracks—multiple bones shattering at almost once. The force of the blow sent her spinning into the door frame. She slammed against the wood, then fell over Humphrey’s heavy wheelchair, and smacked the back of her head against the other side of the doorjamb, before tumbling unconscious to the floor.

Driven by an intense rage, Lou whirled and raised the cane at Harris. “You come at me and you die!” Lou snapped, battling back a wave of light-headedness.

Behind him, Kazimi had started moaning.

At least he was alive.

Lou leveled the cane at Harris once more.

“Get some pressure on the wound right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Harris said. “There’s an emergency medical kit under the desk. I do have some training, sir.”

Bacon was moaning now. From where he stood, Lou could not tell if Vicki Banks was breathing or not. Her once-interesting face was a mass of blood.

Damaged goods. Is that what you said you were?

Fighting unsteadiness and working for every breath, Lou opened his wallet, pulled out a card, and dialed. It only took a minute for him to get connected.

“FBI, Atlanta. How may I help you?”