Des Moines
5:36 P.M.
“Kaldak, where are you?” Yael asked.
“Jeffers's place in Des Moines.”
“Are you near a TV set?”
Kaldak stiffened. “Why?”
“Turn on CNN. I was watching TV in the waiting room and there was a news flash. I think it's happened.”
He whirled on Harvey Best. “I need a TV set.”
Harvey gestured to the living room.
The first thing Kaldak saw when he turned on CNN was the Federal Reserve truck on its side in the street. The crowd surrounding it was pouncing on the clear plastic packages strewn on the ground.
Kaldak had seen those packages before in the poor box at Tenajo. “My God.”
A blond newswoman's face replaced the scene. “The driver of the vehicle disappeared shortly after the accident, but this amateur video was taken five minutes after the truck overturned on North Avenue in East Collinsville. A spokesman for the Federal Reserve Bank in St. Louis refuses to comment on the amount of money that was stolen.”
Kaldak lifted the phone back to his ear. “Get on another phone, Yael. Call the Federal Reserve in St. Louis. Tell them who you are and let them check with Ramsey for references if necessary. I'll hold on. I'll bet every dime of their money is accounted for.”
“You think this is it?”
“I hope not. Maybe I'm wrong. Check and see how the Reserve packages their money.” He stared at a replay of the scene in Collinsville while Yael made the phone call. Jesus, they were crawling all over the money, grabbing, running. Kids, adults.
“It's not a Federal Reserve truck,” Yael said when he came back on the line. “The last truck checked in fifteen minutes ago. That clear plastic packaging of the money isn't Reserve procedure. They don't know what the hell's going on.”
“When did the truck overturn?”
“A little before three.”
“Two and a half hours ago.” He felt sick as he thought of the damage the anthrax might have wreaked already. “How much of the money was taken?”
“By the time the police got there, the truck had been ransacked.” Yael paused. “It's too sweet a setup to be a coincidence.”
“If it's Esteban, a demand will be issued almost immediately. I'll call Ramsey and see if they've heard from him. Why the hell would he choose Collinsville?”
“It's not as strange as you'd think. It's across the river from St. Louis, where there's the Federal Reserve Bank. The trucks would be a fairly familiar sight. Esteban targeted one of the lowest-income neighborhoods in the city. When the doors flew open on that truck, those poor devils must have thought they'd won the lottery. How soon before we see signs of the anthrax?”
“Anytime now. There's a hell of a lot of people who are going to need help. I don't know how many will survive. The city should be quarantined and the media has to start broadcasting the––”
“Don't tell me. Tell Ramsey.”
“Oh, I'll tell him,” Kaldak said grimly. “I told the son of a bitch last night that he should call the president. Old pal or not, the president is going to be looking for scapegoats and the CIA will be one of them. I hope Ramsey gets roasted over a slow flame.”
“He probably will if he can't pass the buck. Watch your back, Kaldak.”
“Don't worry, I will. Call me if you hear anything more.”
He hung up the phone and dialed Ramsey. It took five minutes to get through.
Ramsey's voice was sharp with strain. “I can't talk to you now, Kaldak.”
“You will talk to me. Esteban?”
“Yes. The demand came ten minutes ago. Fifty million dollars or he'll target another city. If we pay up, he'll turn over all remaining contaminated currency.”
“Were the Palestinian prisoners mentioned?”
“No. Habin's out of it. Esteban assured us we'll have only him to deal with. And he told us to check out a helicopter explosion in Kansas City.”
Another barrier eliminated from Esteban's path. “The truck driver was Cody Jeffers?”
“He matched the description.”
“But no sign of him?”
“No. I've got to go. I've got the CDC on the line. Donovan's team is on its way to Collinsville.”
“Have they come up with anything?”
“Maybe. They don't know. Nobody knows anything, dammit. Except that I'm to blame. But I'm not going to go down, Kaldak. No way. I'll find a way to save my ass.” He hung up the phone.
Kaldak had failed. All these years of tracking Esteban for nothing. Nakoa, Danzar, Tenajo, and now Collinsville. He should have been able to stop him. He should have ignored Ramsey and––
I'll find a way to save my ass.
Ramsey was struggling frantically to survive.
And he was talking to the CDC.
Bess.
Johns Hopkins
7:45 P.M.
In the waiting room Bess shivered as she watched the president's face on TV. He was stern but reassuring. Yes, they had received a message threatening another city, but no one should be alarmed. The contaminated money was being collected and burned. All agencies at his command were at work on capturing the terrorists who had committed this horror.
“He's not telling them how bad it is,” Yael murmured. “Bastard. He didn't even tell them there was no cure. He shouldn't be reassuring them. He should be scaring them into going to their homes and staying there. He's only worried about your damn stock market.”
The news switched to Collinsville and a long shot of burning buildings. “Riots?” Bess couldn't believe it. “As if the situation there isn't bad enough.”
The screen now showed victims being brought into local hospitals, showed quarantine wards, panicky faces.
“Seventy-six reported dead already,” Bess whispered. “How many more?”
“Let's hope most of the people stashed the money away for themselves and didn't get generous.”
“Oh, God, I hoped I could help. Why couldn't we have had a little more time? Maybe we could have saved some of those people.”
“You're doing what you can, Bess.”
“Tell that to those people in Collinsville.”
“Disasters happen.”
“This isn't a disaster, it's murder.”
Yael nodded. “So why are you blaming yourself? Esteban is the one who––”
“Get your car and wait outside the emergency entrance, Yael.” It was Kaldak, striding into the room. “Bess, I'm getting you out of here.”
She stared at him in shock. “I'm not going anywhere with you. Josie is––”
“You'll either go with me or you'll go with Ramsey. Either way you'll have to leave Josie. If you go with me, you'll be free and have leverage to deal for Josie's protection. If you let Ramsey swallow you up, you'll have no power at all. You'll be in some hospital or CDC unit and allowed out of sedation only long enough to give blood samples.”
“Ramsey hasn't done that yet.”
“He wasn't desperate. He is now. He'll present you as his hidden weapon, and naturally you have to be kept safe. It's a national emergency. Everyone knows individual rights have to be suspended during national emergencies.” He turned to Yael. “Hurry, we don't have much time.”
Bess shook her head. “I won't leave Josie.”
“He's making sense,” Yael told her. “Do what he says.” He walked out, leaving her alone with Kaldak.
“I'm not going.”
“Listen to me.” Kaldak's voice was tense, desperate. “For God's sake, listen. I know you hate my guts, and that's okay. But I'm telling the truth. Everything's changed. We've got a panic on our hands, and Ramsey's going to have all the authority he needs. The only way you'll have any power at all is to not let him get hold of you. Ramsey doesn't care about you or Josie, he cares about Ramsey. As long as you're free, you have bargaining power.” He gestured to the TV screen on which they were showing the riots. “Can't you see I'm not lying to you? I want you safe. I want
Josie safe. Believe me.”
She did believe him. She'd had enough experience with Ramsey to know that Kaldak's assessment was frighteningly accurate.
Kaldak picked up her purse and handed it to her. “We'll go down the emergency stairs.”
She didn't move.
“Bess, I'm begging you,” Kaldak said unsteadily. “Don't let this happen to you and Josie.”
Josie. Josie was helpless. Josie couldn't protect herself, and if Ramsey took Bess away, she would have no one.
“I'll go.” She strode out of the room.
Kaldak was instantly beside her. “Bess, I promise that––”
“Don't make me any promises. I don't want them from you.” She stopped abruptly. “Ramsey's agents. Those two coming toward us.”
“Ramsey must have told them to get you.” Kaldak's hand was under her elbow, pushing her. “Run!”
She ran. Toward the emergency exit and down the stairs.
Kaldak was right behind her. A door burst open above her. Ramsey's agents. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the stairwell.
Third floor.
Oh, God, the agents were gaining on them. The footsteps were closer.
Second floor.
Kaldak pulled ahead of her and jerked open the first-floor door. “To the left and through the lobby.”
Marble floors, columns, a gift shop.
“Stop them!”
A red emergency room sign over the double doors ahead.
A room full of people. More double doors.
Outside. The screech of tires as Yael pulled up beside them.
Kaldak jerked open the rear door and pushed her inside.
They were on him. Kaldak elbowed one in the stomach and hit another in the chin.
“Take off!” He dove inside the car.
The car jerked forward and Yael raced down the driveway with the rear door still swinging open.
They were on the street, speeding toward the corner. Green light. They could make it.
Bess glanced over her shoulder. The agents were still chasing after them, running down the street. . . .
The light turned red.
Yael ran it.
Brakes screeched.
The agents had stopped and were standing in the middle of the street, staring after them.
The relief that rushed through Bess dissipated immediately when Kaldak said, “They'll have the license plate number. We need to get out of this car.” He reached out and closed the rear door. “Get to the airport quick, Yael.”
“And what do we do when we get to the airport?” Yael asked.
“We'll decide that when we're airborne.”
“You have a plane?” Bess asked.
“Ramsey arranged one for me earlier. That's how I got to the hospital so quickly after you called, Yael.” He smiled grimly. “Don't you think it's fitting that we make our getaway in a plane Ramsey got for me?”
“I doubt if Ramsey will think so,” Yael said. “And I'm not at all sure my prime minister will approve either. There's such a thing as abuse of diplomatic immunity. Oh, well, such is life.”
“I want Josie protected every minute. I want those guards back on her floor,” Bess said. “What if Esteban finds out she's there?”
“I don't think it's an immediate problem. He's a little busy now.” Kaldak held up his hand. “I know. It's top priority. We'll take care of it.”
“How?”
“I don't know. Let me work on it. I'll see that she's safe. I promise.”
She'd told him she didn't want his promises. But he'd lived up to his promises before. Against all odds, he had found medical help for Josie and Josie had lived.
Kaldak was gazing at her, searching her expression. “Okay?”
She looked away from him. “Okay. I'll take help anywhere I can get it. Even from you.”
8:16 P.M.
The son of a bitch.
Cody Jeffers stared incredulously up at his face on the TV above the counter, his hands clenching into fists. The picture of him was the one from the group shot at the derby. It had been blown up and wasn't clear, but he was recognizable.
“Anything else?” the convenience store clerk asked.
“No.” Cody picked up the cigarettes he'd just bought, stuffed them in his shirt pocket, and hurried out of the store. He glanced back furtively over his shoulder to see if the clerk was looking at him. No, he saw with relief that the man was waiting on the next customer.
He jumped into his car and peeled off, out of the gas station. The fucking terrorist bastard had set him up. The police would never stop looking for him. Everyone in the country was going to be on the lookout. And he wouldn't have known about it if he hadn't run out of cigarettes.
Don't make any stops, Esteban had said.
Oh, no, don't stop anywhere. If he stopped, he'd hear how Esteban had set him up. Even the getaway car had no radio. He was like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Slaughter.
His stomach twisted with panic. What was he going to do?
Mama. Mama was smart. She would find a place to hide him. She would think of a way to help him.
He had to get to Mama.
Eighteen
8:52 P.M.
A group of mechanics and pilots were glued to a television set in the office adjoining the hangar.
NBC this time, Bess noticed, but the pictures were almost identical to the ones aired by CNN.
“Walter, we have to get out of here,” Kaldak said to a medium-sized man in a red windbreaker. “Are we fueled?”
“Yeah.” The pilot didn't look away from the screen. “Fucking bastards. Did you hear? Six more cases and the CDC just announced that there wasn't enough antidote to go around. It's some sort of lab-made germ.”
“We have to leave, Walter,” Kaldak repeated.
He nodded jerkily. “They ought to bomb the bastards.”
“Have they announced who did it?”
“No, but it has to be Saddam Hussein or one of those other weirdos. They ought to bomb them. We should have gotten rid of all of them during the Gulf War.”
One sentence the pilot had uttered suddenly hit home to Bess. “You said there wasn't enough antidote to go around. Is there an antidote?”
“Some kind of an experimental one. The CDC pumped blood into a little girl they brought in a couple of hours ago.”
“And she's alive?”
“So far.” He turned away from the set. “You get on board, Mr. Kaldak. I'll go through the checklist. We'll be out of here in no time.” He walked out of the office into the hangar.
“An antidote,” Bess murmured.
“Not an antidote,” Kaldak said. “It sounds to me like they used the last blood sample you sent them and injected it into the girl.”
“How could they do that?”
“They culture-expand and activate the cells from a blood sample and then alter the cells with the immune genes. They've been experimenting with the same procedure with HIV patients. Donovan's team must have accelerated the procedure.”
“And it worked. The little girl is alive. It's a start.”
Kaldak shook his head. “It's a propaganda move. The government didn't want to admit that there wasn't any antidote so they concocted a miracle cure.”
“It is a miracle. She's alive.”
His gaze narrowed on her face. “What are you thinking?”
She could feel Kaldak's gaze on her as they boarded the plane and settled into the passenger seats. But he said nothing to her until after they'd taken off. “Well?”
“Tell the pilot to turn west.”
“I was afraid of this,” Kaldak said. “Collinsville?”
“Collinsville!” Yael repeated.
Bess nodded. “That's where the CDC team is. That's where I have to be.”
“You do know there's a quarantine.”
“Oh, I think they'll let me in.”
“That's what I'm afraid of. You'll be walking right into Ramsey's ha
nds.”
“My blood saved that little girl. There may be other people I can help.”
“Most of the damage has been done. The anthrax has been so widely publicized that no one in their right mind would open those sealed packets of money.”
“That little girl opened one.”
“Look, your blood type would have to be compatible. That narrows the chances right there. And how much blood do you think you can give?”
She shook her head.
“He's right, Bess,” Yael said.
“He's wrong,” Bess said. “Do you think I can hide out somewhere and watch what's happening there?” She turned to Kaldak. “I'm going. Now, you figure out how I can do it and still keep Josie safe and myself out of some isolation ward.”
“You don't ask much.”
“You owe me,” she said fiercely. “You owe me for Tenajo. Now, pay up, Kaldak.”
He stared at her for a long while and then stood up and headed for the cockpit. “I'll tell Walter we're going to Collinsville.”
Kaldak didn't return from the cockpit until it was almost time to land at the Collinsville airport. Bess had heard him talking nonstop on the radio, but she hadn't been able to understand what he was saying.
“What have you been doing?” she asked.
“Buckle up. We'll be on the ground in five minutes.” He sat down and buckled his own seat belt. “And be prepared for a welcoming committee.”
“Who?” Bess asked.
“I radioed the CDC, CBS, CNN, and the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.” He smiled grimly. “They should all be eagerly waiting when Mother Teresa reincarnated gets off the plane.”
Bess frowned. “Mother Teresa?”
“You,” Kaldak said. “You're about to become a national heroine. The courageous, caring woman willing to brave the dangers of the quarantine zone to give her life's blood and minister to the sick.”
“Very good,” Yael murmured.
“And your sacrifice is all that much greater because you left a sick child to come here, a child you saved from death.”
“My God, it sounds like a soap opera,” Bess said.
“But it's not a soap opera. It's the truth and can be verified by any enterprising reporter.”
“You told them about Esteban?”
He nodded. “I told them about Tenajo. I've shone as bright a spotlight as I could. The media particularly liked the idea of one of their own being the heroine of the piece.”
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