Free Extinction Machine by Jonathan Maberry Page A

we have something a lot more important right here, right now.”
    “Fine, fine,” said Hoshino in a totally artificial tone of concession, “let me know next time. Especially if you’re going to activate an agent like Tull. He was erratic at the best of times.”
    “They’re all erratic,” said Howard. “Bunch of test-tube freaks.”
    “They’re our children,” chided Hoshino.
    “The fuck they are. They’re meat by-products. And, even though I use Tull because he gets the job done, that cat gives me the creeps. All of them do, so let’s not romanticize them, okay? There’s not going to be a Hallmark Christmas special at the end of this. Either they serve their purpose or we put a shiny new bullet into each of them. End of story.”
    Mr. Bones cleared his throat to clear the air. “If it’s not the Russians and it’s not the Chinese, what are the chances that the North Koreans rebuilt their lab?”
    “‘Rebuilt’?” repeated Howard. “Rebuilt what? That lab is a hole in the goddamn ocean. No, the Koreans only ever had two genuine D-type components, and they lost those when the lab blew. And maybe—maybe—they’ve acquired one or two more parts since then, but that’s a long way from having a device. Besides, if it was them, and they could take the president out of the White House, then we’d have found his body hanging from a tree in the Rose Garden. I’m not saying they’d sign their handiwork, but they wouldn’t risk holding him hostage or waste time with a catch-and-release.”
    “They might,” said Hoshino. “If they were able to take him, imagine what kind of threat they could make. Instead of the usual saber rattling with their missile program, they would be able to whisper right into the president’s ear: ‘Look what we can do!’ Think about it. Think about how that would impact every decision the president made.”
    “Maybe, but I don’t buy it.”
    “Who does that leave? Brazil? Israel?” asked Mr. Bones. “Do we start looking at our allies now? We knew that there was always a possibility they’d turn on us if they got a working device, but I can’t see it this soon. It’s way ahead of any projection.”
    “Actually,” said Hoshino slowly, “I think you’re wrong about that. There is one more possibility we’re overlooking. It skews everything, but the more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to believe that all of this fits one of our earliest projections.”
    “Which one?” demanded Howard Shelton.
    Yuina Hoshino looked from one to the other.
    “The Truman Projection,” she said.
    The silence was as fragile as spun glass and it lasted a long time.
    “Oh my God,” said Mr. Bones.

 
    Chapter Fifteen
    Camden Court Apartments, Camden and Lombard Streets
Baltimore, Maryland
Sunday, October 20, 6:12 a.m.
    It took me three minutes to dress, grab my gun, yell a goodbye to Violin, hustle Ghost into my car, and start the engine. I called Church as I backed out of my parking slot.
    He told me what was happening.
    That sobered me right up.
    “Jesus Christ,” I said.
    I put the pedal all the way down.
    And broke every speed law in the state of Maryland.

 
    Chapter Sixteen
    The White House
Sunday, October 20, 6:13 a.m.
    As Lyle Ames ran interference for him, Linden Brierly slipped into a quiet corner where he could make a discreet call to Mr. Church. His cell phone had a built-in code scrambler based on a design originally used by Hugo Vox and the Seven Kings, but which Church had reconfigured for the DMS. And friends.
    “Linden,” said Church, “has there been any change of status?”
    “Nothing good.”
    “Better tell me anyway.”
    “First, there’s nothing new on the president, and per your suggestion I’ve put a lid on that crop circle we found. It’s a needless complication. I put two agents on it, but I’ve also isolated the agents who found it and the helicopter crew that took aerial photos of it. They’re not talking to anyone right