Extinction Machine

Chapter Forty-one

Private airfield

Near Baltimore, Maryland

Sunday, October 20, 9:34 a.m.

Tull brought the Mustang down out of a clear sky and landed on an empty runway in a deserted airfield. Except for Aldo seated beside him, the world could have been completely empty of people. There were no cars at the airport, no other planes taking off or landing. Only the Mustang. Tull taxied it toward the lee of the tiny airport’s main hangar.

Tull debated letting this all go. He could pull a gun on Aldo, force his friend off the plane, and then take off again. He had enough fuel to get to West Virginia or Pennsylvania, find a place to refuel and then vanish off the grid. Tull had enough identities prepared, accounts in a dozen names, safe houses and bolt-holes. Even some friends in low places who could help him get so far off the radar that even M3 couldn’t find him.

Would that do it? he wondered. If he cut all ties with the Project, with Majestic Three and the Closers and all of it, would that be enough to allow him to change who he was? Would it allow him to finally be human in every sense of the word? Most of him already was, maybe the rest was buried somewhere, like junk DNA waiting for the right trigger to activate it. If M3 was totally out of his life, would that give him a life?

And … what would that feel like?

Most of him yearned to find out, ached to know.

A smaller part of him cringed back from that thought. What if becoming fully human meant that his conscience would try to catch up on all of the sins he’d committed? He wondered if taking Aldo’s cue and confessing to a priest would really save him from the agony of feeling something about what he’d done.

What if he got away and then every time he closed his eyes he relived that last moment with Berenice? Even now, when he thought about the surprise and doubt and sudden horrible understanding in her eyes as she stared past the barrel of his pistol and into his eyes, there was some flicker of something deep in his mind. Was that a nascent conscience fearing to be born?

“Yo,” said Aldo, and Tull realized that it wasn’t the first time his friend had spoken. He blinked his eyes like a reptile and then he was back in the present moment.

“What?”

“Earth calling Erasmus Tull. Where the hell’d you go?”

Tull sighed. “Getting my head in the game is all.”

Aldo gave him a curious look, but said nothing.

As they unbuckled and gathered up their gear, it occurred to Tull that if he did try to run from M3, the governors would almost certainly send Aldo after him. It saddened him. Not that his friend would accept the hit, but the thought of killing Aldo. Tull had no other friends.

They opened the door, folded down the stairs and deplaned. Tull was pleased to see a car waiting for them when they descended from the Mustang. It was three-year-old black GMC Yukon. Clean but not gleaming, with visible wear on the bumpers and some scuffing on the sidewalls. Bumper stickers on the back from half a dozen family resorts where fishing was an attraction. Strip across the back window that said their kid went to Morgan State University. Trailer hitch. The kind of vehicle no one would look twice at.

Tull nodded his approval.

The key was in a magnetic box under the rear fender. They stowed their gear on the rear seat and went to the back. The spare was a fake and it opened on a hinge to reveal a flat steel safe. Aldo punched in the code and opened it to uncover the first layer of goodies. Two Sig Sauer pistols and multiple preloaded magazines, two microwave pulse pistols with one extra battery each, various small electronic gadgets, a spare battery pack for the Ghost Box, and leather wallets with ID, cash, and credit cards in six different names each. They lifted out the top layer and poked at the devices snugged into carefully molded foam-cushion slots.

Aldo whistled. “Holy rat shit f*ck. They weren’t joking about the clean sweep.”

“Be prepared,” said Tull. “A million Boy Scouts can’t all be wrong.”

They replaced the top layer and studied the weapons. Tull had his personal .22 pistol strapped to his ankle, but he selected a 9mm Sig Sauer, dropped the empty mag that had been put in place for transport, worked the slide to make sure there was no bullet in the chamber. He removed a full magazine of hollowpoints, slapped it into place, set the safety, and snugged the gun in a shoulder holster. Aldo did the same.

They stuffed several gadgets into their pockets, closed the false tire into its compartment, and shut the rear door.

After they climbed into the cab, Aldo said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why?”

“You’re making a face.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What kind of face?”

“I don’t know. A face. Like something’s grabbing your balls. You sweating the fact that we have to take a run at your old boss?”

“No, it has nothing to do with that.” Tull gave him a short, bitter laugh and clapped Aldo on the shoulder. “I just think that it would be better for everyone if I’d stayed retired.”

“Yeah,” said Aldo, eyeing him dubiously, “well life’s a kick in the nuts sometimes.”

“Yes it is.”

“You really out after this?” asked Aldo. “For good, I mean. No more farewell tours.”

“Definitely. What about you?”

Aldo looked up into the dark blue sky. “You’re gonna laugh, but I always wanted to open a barber shop. Not a hair salon, nothing faggy like that. I mean a real barbershop. Old school, Brooklyn style. Two, three chairs. Red and white pole outside. Maybe me and my two cousins cutting hair and talking shit all day with the wiseguys.”

Tull stared at him. “Really? You want to retire and cut hair?”

“Better than cutting throats for a living.”

It was said as a joke, meant as a joke, but neither of them laughed, and the truth behind Aldo’s words darkened the day.

“If I had a time machine,” said Aldo, “maybe I’d go back and do that instead.”

“And miss out on serving your country?” Tull asked in a voice heavy with irony.

“Serving my country.” Aldo shook his head. “Man … I don’t even think I know what that means.”

They smiled at each other. One of those moments where what they were saying aloud was substantially different than the conversation they were actually having.

Then Aldo stiffened. “Shit—look.”

A bright blue jeep had just rounded the corner of a hangar a hundred yards away, between them and the exit. Even at that distance they could see the white shield on the hood.

“Security patrol.” Aldo looked at his watch. “Somebody screwed up. These jokers aren’t supposed to be here for another half hour.”

“And yet…,” said Tull with mild exasperation. He jerked the door handle and got out, waving to Aldo is stay where he was. “I got this.”

Tull waved at the security patrol. He shoved his hands into his back pocket and began strolling slowly toward the approaching jeep, smiling a broad amiable smile.

The blue jeep rolled to a stop sideways to Tull and about eight feet away. Two uniformed guards stepped out. Aldo rolled down his window to try and hear the conversation. He needn’t have bothered. All he heard was the first guard say, “Is there a prob—?”

Tull stepped forward and from four feet shot them each twice in the head.

It was so fast that Aldo never saw Tull reach for his piece. The two guards lay slumped in their seats and the breeze blew the gun smoke away.

Tull looked from them to the gun in his hand. He sighed, turned and climbed in behind the wheel.

“Okay, brother,” said Tull, “let’s go save the world.”

He put the car in gear and spun the wheel. In seconds the airport was empty and as still as death.