Bloc Zero: Zero, #2

By William Bowden

From heroes to zeros—their fall from grace could not have been more spectacular. The unlikely duo had saved Las Vegas from a rogue weapon, but the small matter of a flattened airbase sees the authorities hunt them down nonetheless, painted for all the world to see as a latter-day Bonnie & Clyde.

Given the circumstances, they should have ended up in some godforsaken hole, having what they don't know beaten out of them.

Instead it seems their redemption lies with a mysterious artefact known as Bloc Zero.

Discovering where and what it is will see them chase halfway around the world, with unseen adversaries and enigmatic allies at every twist and turn.

Bloc Zero is another zany thriller from William Bowden - Dan Brown meets the Twilight Zone with seasoning from the X-Files.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Bowden
• Release date: May 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201386702

William Bowden

William Bowden is a British Science Fiction author. He lives near the city of Bristol and when not writing rules over his unruly garden.

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Self-published by William Bowden in 2018

Text Copyright © 2018 William Bowden

All Rights Reserved

The right of William Bowden to be identified as the author has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This is a work of fiction. All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover art by Quardia / shutterstock.com

HEROES

At least the young man has made something of an effort, his shoes being a reasonable match with the tuxedo, which, while of a style not entirely suited to the occasion, is immaculate in its presentation, demonstrating an attention to detail that Reverend Hock finds to be pleasing.

Ah, yes—the cycle of thrift turns with such predictability these days, with any given item lingering in the previously cherished boutiques of the Arts District for a reliable twelve months, with this particular example likely to be on its fourth or fifth owning, judging by the cut of the lapels.

Indeed, he may even have presided over a previous use of this very one—Armani, and like new, though that in itself is to be expected, such garments generally not seeing a wearing beyond a single day. What would have been a thousand-dollar suit quickly sold on, so as to recoup some of the expenditure incurred, and likely acquired for as little as fifty, given the exponential nature of decay in value.

As for the life companion—well, she could have done so much better.

In white, befitting the moment, yes—and of a more recent vintage. But haute couture it is not. Reverend Hock recognizes this particular style—very popular a few years back, which would mean a variety of sizes are surely still available, yet the young lady before him opted for at least one size too small, making what was already a figure-hugging fit just that little bit…tighter.

And then there are the boots—military issue, with evidence of recent service, though a fitting counterpart to her buzz-cut hairstyle.

But it is fair to say that the Chapel of the Golden Lily isn’t at the high end of the spectrum when it comes to venues available across the city, catering as it does to those of more limited means, and, as a consequence, all manner of manifestations have come through its doors over the years.

Yes, the good reverend has seen it all.

But the Glock pointed squarely at the back of the young lady’s head is definitely a new one on him.

A muted cough from his clerk is sufficient to move things along.

"I think that you might find that interrupting a matrimonial ceremony is a federal offence, private," says Reverend Hock to the grunt pointing the pistol.

Not a lie really, given his ambiguous phrasing, but sufficient to give the soldier pause for thought, even if with an elevated level of uncertainty.

"That right?" the private inquires of his buddy, an equally uncertain youth in military uniform.

Heck, I don’t know, the second soldier answers back. Just let them get on with it.

Of the seven present, it is only the two privates in the National Guard who are on edge in what should be a tense standoff, but that for some reason is not, which only serves to heighten their anxiety, given the two individuals they seek to arrest.

To the reverend, his clerk, and notary, the situation is more tiresome than threatening, what with the chapel having had its fair share of shotgun weddings, brawls, and the like—oftentimes necessitating police intervention.

Not had the militia in before, though.

In this particular instance, however, the principal desire is not to have the young lady’s brains all over his altar.

As for the happy couple—well, now, there’s a conundrum. He could be renewing the vows of two octogenarians married these past six decades, such is the bond between them. A state of mind invisible to the eye, yet laid bare in this place, the connection so profound as to necessitate it being left unsaid, even if neither is aware of the fact on any conscious level—a state of affairs of which the reverend is certain, given their deportment. Either that, or they just don’t care…

Caitlin? the reverend asks of the life companion.

I do, she says.

You have the rings, Nathan? the reverend asks of the young man.

"Seriously?" balks the private, his grip tightening on the Glock, his stance stiffening.

It is not Reverend Hock’s place to turn away those seeking spontaneous matrimony, and besides, business had looked to be slow, what with all the fuss from these past few days seeing a raft of cancellations rain down upon him. Now, it seems, that fuss has found its way here, the good Lord moving in mysterious ways.

The two privates are evidently part of the sweep taking place right across Las Vegas, a search for two armed and dangerous perpetrators who had stolen a terrifying weapon and used it to destroy a military base a hundred miles or more to the north—a sequence of events that had played out in part within Las Vegas itself, plunging the city into a chaos that still has it paralyzed.

Reverend Hock has already decided that he does not see in Nathan and Caitlin that which is supposed of them. So, he shall play his part and complete this stage of whatever journey it is that they are on.

You are married, he says with a warm smile as Nathan slips the ring onto Caitlin’s finger.

The chapel’s doors burst open once more, though this time not with the brashness that had been previously brought by the two privates, but rather with the assertive boots of the sergeant whom the privates had summoned, and the two corporals who accompany him. 

Well, look at what we have here, the sergeant says with a crocodile grin, snatching the marriage license from the clerk. Daddy’s girl has done gone got herself married to her beau. Ain’t that sweet.

The sergeant brings himself close to Caitlin, his head sliding alongside hers as he glances over the document.

So you kept your mamma’s name, Mrs. Ells.

"That’s Lieutenant Ells to you, sergeant," says a calm Caitlin Ells. 

Why, haven’t you heard? says the sergeant. You ain’t in the military no more, Peaches.

The sergeant turns his attention to the two corporals standing either side of him. Gentlemen. If you would be so kind.

In a series of perfectly synchronized moves, Ells and Nathan are hooded, gagged, bound, and dragged backwards out of the chapel.

ZEROES

From heroes to zeroes in just forty-eight hours. At least that’s how it seems to Nathan. They had taken a tanker load of a powerful exothermic reagent, dubbed cascade, out of the city and detonated it in the desert. That made them heroes, right?

Okay—so they had blown up an air base in the process. But a vacated relic of the Cold War that had been hijacked for the various and nefarious deeds of one General Korin, their action against him both curtailing his activities and neutralizing the lunacy of it, all in one fell swoop.

But now it seems that story has been turned around. Nathan can guess why—to take the spotlight away from the Pentagon. A rogue general with a private weapons program? Developing a bomb material with yields equivalent to a nuclear device? All right under their noses? The media would be able to dine out on that for months, top brass toppling each and every week, along with a steady stream of political heads.

The establishment had needed patsies—and quickly.

So quick, in fact, that he and Ells had learned of it while still on board the C-17 military cargo plane from which they had dropped the tanker.

Ells had put the C-17 down in the desert, but close enough to the city limits that they might slip into its environs and there contemplate what moves might be available to them.

That one of those moves should be to marry had seemed quite logical to Nathan and, after some explanation of spousal privileges, acceptable to Ells.

It was a shaky move at best, the legal privileges afforded them being somewhat tenuous, but they had little else by way of leverage.

The five hundred dollars or so in Nathan’s wallet had needed to go a long way—the sixty dollars for the marriage license leaving them on a tight budget when it came to the chapel fees and suitable attire.

They had split up to avoid detection, Nathan dividing the cash between them, Ells tasked with the license, Nathan with the chapel, both clothing themselves along the way—a strategy Nathan could only regret when it came to Ells’s unsupervised choices.

Nathan cannot help but see the irony of it, though. The political disinformation machinery had already swung into action, casting them as Bonnie and Clyde, and here they were all but playing the part, even if the original criminal duo had not themselves been husband and wife.

You okay, baby? Ells asks of him, the question lacking any sentiment.

Just fine, Peaches, responds a wary Nathan, sensing that the calculating mind behind Ells’s military visage is ready to take advantage of any and all opportunities that might come their way.

Not that there were any, their detention being in a windowless room devoid of any features that might reveal the location. The hoods and restraints had only been removed once the door had been closed, and Ells had gleaned no clues as to where they had been taken during the transit from the chapel, save for—

We’re still within the city limits, she says. Military facility, maybe.

Civilian, says Nathan. Table and chairs—the grade of material is too cheap for the armed forces.

"Really? remarks Ells, sliding a withering look Nathans’s way. You’re going to do that now?"

I’m a forensic auditor, Peaches. Just can’t help myself.

No talking, says one of the two corporals that had brought them here.

Ells sizes him up. She could take one of them, but not both. And they are armed.

The door opens to a slender man, in his forties maybe. Any thinner and he might be considered gaunt. Pressed suit, manicured hands—

Richard Felton, he says to Ells and Nathan, taking a seat. I’ve have been appointed as your attorney.

We didn’t request an attorney, says Nathan. In fact, we have not been read any rights at all.

We haven’t a lot of time—

Appointed by who? asks Ells.

Felton seems a little jittery to her, but the two goons pay him no special attention. So he is expected and authorized to be here.

You have been detained under a special federal warrant, Felton says. If we do not act now, it may be difficult to get further access to you.

Rendition? snorts Ells. You really think we’re going to fall for that? Who are you?

Possession of an unknown weapon of tremendous power, Felton throws back at her. The subsequent and comprehensive destruction of a military facility. It’s not looking good for you two.

They can paint the picture any way they want, says Nathan. But the truth will out—there are too many witnesses.

Dr. Maxine Mulberry has absconded, says Felton. As for the others, the authorities have no idea where they are.

That is sufficient for Ells and Nathan to exchange a worried glance. One of their compatriots had been just fourteen.

Marlene.

I can assure you that the military do not have any of them, Felton continues. Which makes you two the only ones with any firsthand knowledge of the weapon. Every means of extracting what information you possess will be brought to bear. The process will be swift and harsh.

I wish to speak to the British Consulate, demands Nathan. "And my wife is to accompany me."

You are no longer a citizen of anywhere, Nathan, gibes Felton. You have not been read any rights because you have none. What you perceive to be the fabric of society is but an illusion, to be set aside whenever it does not serve the purpose of those who are in control—

The door opens to another who cannot be seen, only heard.

"They’re here."

Felton leaves his seat, snapping his fingers at the two corporals.

With me.

All three quickly leave, the door closing behind them.

What the hell is going on? says Nathan, looking to Ells.

Our Mr. Felton is ex-military, says Ells. Officer rank, judging by the ease with which he can bark orders.

What makes you think he isn’t military now?

Pretty hands. But something is wrong. They did not separate us, and now they have left us alone and unrestrained.

Meaning what?

I have no idea. No harm in taking a look-see, though.

Ells is already out of her seat and at the door, cracking it open to check out the space beyond.

She slips out—only to then stick her head back in.

Are you coming or what?

* * *

Nathan and Ells find themselves in a nondescript corridor, with still no clue as to where they are, and no sign of Felton, or