High Alert

CHAPTER 6

Gregory Haltman still looked reasonably healthy for a man in his late seventies, in spite of his illness. He had most of his hair, though it was now gray and thinning. He still had the broad shoulders, stocky build and thick legs of his university days, when he'd been a force to be reckoned with on the playing field.

His face could have been chiseled out of New Hampshire granite by an unhappy sculptor. The corners of his lips were perpetually turned down. Deep creases on either side of his mouth sent a message of someone who seldom smiled. His eyes were brown, topped by heavy eyebrows now going gray. If the eyes were windows into the soul, then Haltman's soul lived in a cold, dark place.

His IQ approached one hundred and ninety, a number high enough to make writing complicated computer programs no more than an interesting challenge. Haltman designed and built guidance systems for missiles. All kinds of missiles. Everything from the new ground-to-air systems designed to intercept an enemy attack, to the big nukes waiting quietly in their silos for Armageddon.

There was something about designing systems to rain death upon millions that appealed to Haltman. The defense contracts had made him a billionaire and an admired man. People envied him his success and good fortune. They might not have felt that way if they could have seen the seething blackness inside his mind. Hiding behind the outward persona of the aging, successful entrepreneur was a man enraged with life and obsessed with vengeance.

Vengeance was something Haltman knew about. In the heady days when he'd made his first millions, he'd fallen hard for an Italian fashion model named Carissa. After a whirlwind courtship they'd married. She'd gotten pregnant. They were in love. The government was throwing contracts at him. Money was pouring in.

Haltman's world was perfect.

Then Carissa went jogging and didn't come back. Her battered body was found a week later. She'd been repeatedly raped before she was murdered. Her attacker had been caught, but the investigation had been botched. The killer had gotten off on a technicality.

He'd smirked at Haltman as he left the courtroom.

Haltman hadn't become rich by following the rules or being nice to people. Sometimes he'd found it necessary to hire someone to take care of a difficult problem for him. The people hired for that sort of work were never seen at the charity and celebrity events of Silicon Valley.

Money couldn't bring Carissa back, but it could buy revenge. He was haunted by an image of Carissa lying underneath her killer, begging for her life. It ate away at him like a poisonous worm.

He'd waited for the better part of a year before acting. Not long after, the mutilated body of the man who'd murdered Carissa was found in pieces in a dumpster. Haltman was the obvious suspect, but no evidence could connect him to the crime. Motive was there and the means was simple enough: all one needed was a sharp knife and a chainsaw. Opportunity couldn't be proved, since Haltman had been a hundred miles away at a corporate retreat when the murder occurred. After the furor died down, the case faded from people's minds. The police moved on. No one cared about the man who'd been killed.

Haltman's parents were long gone. His family consisted of his younger brother, his only genuine human connection. When he was with his brother, Haltman could feel a stirring of love.

Then his brother committed suicide. The death extinguished the last trace of empathy and compassion in Haltman's being.

He handed over daily operations of his company to others and retreated to his sprawling California estate. He wanted as little as possible to do with anyone. Day after day, the news was filled with examples of the barbarous cruelty of the human race. In time, Haltman began to view humans as a plague on the face of the earth, an aberration that should never have existed.

His brother had been an important man. On the day he died, other people had been present. They hadn't tried to stop it. It had taken years, but Haltman had discovered who they were. He was determined to make them pay.

Eight months ago a routine medical exam had revealed cancer, already past the stage where an operation might save his life. Go home, they told him. Make your peace with your maker. Settle your affairs.

Settle your affairs.

As the sun rose on the morning of the forty-fifth anniversary of Carissa's death, Haltman decided to exterminate humanity.