by Julie Rowe
“Oh?”
“We’re all about information at the NSA. We monitor email, social media, texts. If you use it to communicate with someone, we’re watching it.”
“Have you heard something that pertains to the outbreak?”
“Quite a bit. It’s all everyone’s talking about. It’s who’s talking to who that’s interesting.”
The mole. “Who’s made themselves interesting?”
“Homeland Security admin, specifically Human Resources, talking to a couple of FBI agents in the New Orleans office. Multiple calls over the last three or four weeks.”
This news should have given him a shot of adrenaline, but he was so fucking tired there wasn’t any left. Of all the ridiculous shit that had happened, this was just the rancid icing on the damned poisoned cake. Ketner was from the New Orleans office.
He hadn’t always been pleasant, but he hadn’t struck Dozer as the kind of man who’d support bioterrorist attacks.
“What kind of information changed hands?” Dozer asked.
“Don’t have that yet. We’re working on a warrant, so we should know in the next few hours what they’ve been talking about or exchanging.”
Was the leak in the FBI? The fucking FBI?
Ketner’s girlfriend worked for a pharma company. Was he the leak?
No one could be that stupid.
Greed had made a lot of people stupid, however, and would continue to do so.
Dozer told Marco about Ketner’s connection.
Marco cleared his throat. “Henry saved my life back when we were in the Army together. And this shit…”—he indicated the quiet traffic, much too quiet for the middle of the day—“this shit is real. The NSA is on it now. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Dozer had to hold in a snort. That was what he’d said when this first started. All he’d found was either another dead end or another dead body. Over and over again. The pattern was set. Whoever was in danger of being discovered was going to end up dead.
Dozer glanced at Henry’s friend. The guy looked like he gave a shit, and if Henry trusted him… There was more to this than just the measles epidemic. Much more.
Summoning up some energy from somewhere, John Dozer—a man who trusted, truly trusted, few people—opened his mouth and let it all come out. He gave Marco a succinct summary of the entire investigation into the bioterror events the CDC believed the FAFO was involved in. Eight months of bombs, bacteria, and bodies piling up.
“It’s not just this outbreak,” Dozer said. “We’ve been playing a search-and-destroy game with the FAFO since they emerged. At first, they seemed like a single group or cell who, like some cults, recruited college-age kids. But, as time passed, they’ve shown themselves to be more sophisticated. They strike different cities or regions every time, and I think the college kids are used deliberately as cannon fodder. We’re not sure when Halverson stole the virus or if he only got involved with them after he was fired or what, but we’re losing the battle with these people.” He looked out at the empty streets. “Losing badly.”
Marco drove for a couple of minutes. The hospital was in sight ahead, and the NSA agent turned onto the road that looked like it would take them to the emergency entrance.
Where the rest of the city was quiet, here the road was jammed with ambulances, police cars, and even a couple of fire trucks.
“Where is she?” Dozer asked.
Marco started to shake his head.
Dozer leaned closer and said, “You need to go make sure no one assassinates Ketner before you can interrogate him. I need to make sure Dr. Rodrigues stays safe. That’s my only job here.”
Marco hesitated, then said, “Sounds like a plan. Keep yourself out of trouble, too.”
“That goes without saying. Where’s your phone?”
Marco handed it to him, then told him the location of the OR.
Dozer handed the phone back. “My contact info is in there. Stay in touch.”
“Ditto. Good luck.”
“Watch your back,” Dozer told him. “These fuckers like to put bullets in them.”
Marco waved, pulled a U-turn, and drove off.
Dozer made his way to the bank of elevators that would take him up to the fourth floor and the operating rooms. When the elevator doors opened and he strode out, a cluster of staff standing at the nursing desk turned to look at him.
“Sir, you can’t enter this ward without a mask on.”
“I’ve already had these measles, and I’m not contagious.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” one of them said. “Having measles when you were a kid—”
“I’ve had the new strain,” he said. “Had it, recovered from it, the whole shebang.” He paused to be sure they heard him. “I’m working with the CDC. Dr. Carmen Rodrigues is in surgery here. Can any of you tell me which OR she’s in?”
“Oh, I see,” the spokesperson for the group said. “That’s good to know. Um, she’s in…”
One of the other women whispered something in a voice too quiet for Dozer to catch.
“OR three. There’s a small waiting room close by. I’ll show you.” She led him down the hall to a door and opened it.
He stepped in and nodded at the older man already there.
“Hello, dump truck. Feeling better?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wednesday, April 9, 7:20 p.m.
Something tasted horrible. Carmen ran her tongue over her teeth.
What the hell had died inside her mouth?
The white noise she’d been drowning in retreated. Her memory opened up like a bottomless pool she’d dived into headfirst.
She’d been in the little room off the Surgeon General’s office, trying to sleep. Until Dr. Halverson had walked past with the SG as a hostage. She’d been forced to join the kidnap parade and realized Halverson was going to kill them both no matter what else happened. She’d tried to disarm him with a chair and had been…shot.
Where was she?
She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. She sucked in a breath but found it hurt too much. Her muscles stalled partway through the motion, then collapsed. That hurt almost as much as trying to take in extra air.
Somewhere close to her head, an alarm went off. The kind of sound medical equipment makes when something is happening that shouldn’t.
So, a hospital.
Now that she wasn’t trying to move, the pain was gone… Well, it wasn’t gone, but it didn’t bother her. Maybe Halverson missed or just grazed her or something.
Why couldn’t she open her eyes?
The alarm stopped making noise. Someone touched her eyebrows, then stroked a callus-rough thumb across the skin below her eyes.
She rotated her left arm and snagged something that felt like a T-shirt.
“Carmen?” John’s voice. Rough, tired, hopeful.
She tried to talk, to ask for some water, to find out what happened, but all that came out was a squeak from low in her throat.
“Shhh,” he said, his voice gentling. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” His hand cradled her face. It shook. “I thought…” He paused, his voice strained as if he’d suddenly swallowed glue. “I thought I was going to lose you.”
She made a negative-sounding croak.
He laughed and kissed her forehead. His lips touched her temple, her nose, the edge of her mouth.
She wanted to see him. Her fingers tugged his shirt.
“What?” he asked. Then he moved as if someone had pulled his attention away from her. He untangled himself from the light hold she had on his clothing. “I have to tell the nurse you’re awake. Be right back.”
She had to stifle another unhappy noise.
Someone, not John, took her other hand in a loose grip. Calloused fingertips, but the flesh beneath hers was wiry.
“Glad to have you back with us, boss,” DS said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Gave us all quite the scare. I thought I was going to have to knock your Dozer over and sit
on him a couple of times.” Heat warmed her head and neck. “You coded twice while on the table,” he whispered in her ear.
Oh. Ooh.
That’s why John sounded so…anxious?
People entered the room. John was talking to someone, asking a question she couldn’t quite hear.
“Hello, Carmen.” A woman. “I’m just going to take your vitals, okay?” The nurse vocalized her vital signs as she did them, all normal. “I’m going to do a little mouth care, then you can suck on some ice chips while I get all of the Vaseline off your eyes.”
She must have been out for a long time if they had to keep her eyes from drying out.
It took a few minutes for the nurse to do everything, and at one point she kicked both men out, but eventually the nurse finished and left her with John and DS hovering over her, one on either side of the bed.
“How long was I in surgery?” she asked very slowly. Her throat was sore and so dry.
“About ten hours,” John said after a moment. His face was pale, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked…scared. “Halverson shot you in the chest. It nicked your liver and an artery. They had to give you lots of blood, too. The surgeon said it took some fancy stitching to plug all the holes.”
It took a few seconds for it all to sink in. Especially the fear on John’s face. What put that there?
“What’s happened?” she asked.
“The Surgeon General is in the hospital. He’s okay, but it was close. Halverson is dead. Someone tried to shoot Ketner. Same MO as my shooting,” John said. “But they missed.”
She raised an eyebrow. It took way too much effort to lift it half an inch.
“Agent Ketner,” DS said with his patented mean smile, “has had an attitude adjustment. Being targeted for assassination will do that to a person.”
“His girlfriend worked for Curatuto. She was a virologist. She died in a car accident while you were in surgery.” John sighed. “Ketner is…isn’t in good shape. He knows he screwed up.”
“Was he the only one?”
“No. His unit chief bought all the bullshit she sold to Ketner, too. I guess she was acting as some kind of expert source of information for the agency.”
“Curatuto?”
John sighed again. “Is claiming they know nothing about everything. Ketner’s girlfriend was an employee. If she was involved with terrorists, it was on her own time. So far, the only evidence we have implicates her, not the company or anyone else. The NSA is mining the data to see if they can find more, but it may take time.”
“The FAFO is doing what they always do,” Carmen said, stopping to take in another breath, and damn that hurt. “Killing anyone who might be vulnerable and moving on to their next target.”
“We’re going to find them,” DS said.
“How many people are going to die before we do?” she asked slowly. Pain pulsed through her body like a tide, unstoppable and constant. The room faded.
She fought with her eyelids until they opened back up again. She looked at John. “You look like crap.”
DS cleared his throat. “I’m going to go get backhoe here a coffee. Be back in a bit.”
She maintained eye contact with John through force of will alone. The pain in her chest had spread until it felt like it was part of every cell in her body.
“You promised you’d take care of yourself.” She made it sound like an accusation.
He blinked and reared back. A second later, his jaw clenched, and he leaned in close. “You attacked a homicidal man with a chair. A man holding a loaded handgun pointed at you.”
“He was going to shoot me anyway. I decided to act before he did.”
“I was waiting outside the office door with a tactical team,” he growled at her. “You didn’t need to do anything.”
Oh, John. “I had no idea you were out there. I suspected there might be law enforcement officers, but I didn’t know what they might do or not do.” She stopped to catch her breath, then continued. “I couldn’t wait for you to rescue me. I had to rescue myself.”
“By getting shot?” His voice was even lower than before, making him sound furious.
“I hoped the chair would disarm him.”
He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. Perhaps it was a good time to distract him. That might help his blood pressure at the very least.
“The outbreak?”
He gathered himself—it took a few seconds—then he said, “Every health-care facility in the country is adopting the treatment protocol you initiated with your test groups in Orlando. Measles is still spreading like wildfire, but there’s hope now. The vaccine is widely available, so access is much more widespread than using any anti-viral would have been. If anyone had been able to afford it.”
“Curatuto didn’t get the contract it wanted for its drug?”
“No. The FDA refused to back down on its requirements. It won’t approve drugs that haven’t gone through the proper testing.”
“Are you…we safe here?” she asked.
“Afraid someone is going to walk in with a gun and a smoke bomb?”
“It’s happened before.”
“This hospital is full of politicians, congressmen, members of the Senate, and a number of the president’s staff. There are checkpoints at all entrances and exits, and a second set of checkpoints before you can reach the elevators or stairs on every floor. We’re good.”
“People with bombs don’t usually worry about checkpoints.”
He looked at her with a hard gaze. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Carmen.”
“And how will you manage that?” she asked, genuinely curious. “If someone is determined enough, they’ll get in here.”
“Are you trying to drive me over the edge?”
“No, I’m trying to find out if you’ve accepted you’re not superman. You can’t save me from everything that might go wrong.”
“Goddamnit,” he muttered.
DS came in with two coffee cups in hand. He held one out to John.
John took it. “I need some air,” he said with one last hard glance her way before he left.
DS watched him leave, then turned an inquisitive expression on her. “Did you shove an aardvark up his ass?”
“I told him an unfortunate truth.”
“Which is?”
“He can’t shield me from every bad thing that might happen or ill-intentioned people who mean to do me harm.”
DS rolled his eyes. “Why would you say that? That boy’s blood pressure has been riding high since you got hurt. You keep saying stuff like that and he’s going to have a heart attack.” He paused. “Or a stroke.”
“I can’t function if he’s got me wrapped in cotton wool.”
“He’s scared,” DS said with no trace of sarcasm. “Cut him some slack.”
“I can’t yell at him, anyway. It hurts too much.”
“You almost bought the farm, boss,” DS said. “He’ll calm down. Just give him time to come to grips with it.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“Before what?”
“The FAFO sets off another bomb or outbreak.”
“Halverson is dead. They’re cut off from their supply of bugs.”
“If he was their only source. If he gave someone measles…I wonder what else he might have given them?”
“Boss,” DS said, command saturating his voice. “Stop worrying and focus on recovering. There’s a lot of work still to be done on the measles outbreak. The Rodrigues Protocol is in effect, and for the first time since the beginning of all this shit, it’s looking like we might win.”
She thought about all the faces of the dead. The bodies wrapped in body bags and stacked outside the morgue tent in Orlando. Winning wasn’t a concept that applied to their situation. But arguing with a retired drill sergeant wasn’t going to get her anywhere.
“Well, there’s that.” She smiled, or at least she tried to. Her eyelids weighed a thousand pound
s or more. “And I’m fighting a losing battle with sleep.”
…
11:30 p.m.
Dozer walked into Carmen’s room to see her thrashing around in bed. He grappled with her, trying to stop her from yanking out her IVs. She’d managed to rip off the heart-monitor thingies that had been attached to her chest. Most of the monitoring equipment in her room was blaring out alarms.
A couple of nurses rushed in. One took in Dozer restraining her hands and ran back out. The other nurse looked at the monitors.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
The nurse checked the monitors, then took Carmen’s temperature. “She’s spiking a fever.”
“Measles? But she was vaccinated again.”
“We had to give her several units of blood,” she said. “Sometimes that depresses the body’s ability to respond to disease.”
“Like a suppressed immune system?” Carmen had talked more than once about how fast those people died from the measles, their bodies unable to fight off the virus.
The nurse nodded.
That’s what was happening to her right now?
Carmen stopped struggling and seemed to slide into a deeper sleep.
The nurse pulled back the blankets and looked under her arms. “There’s a rash,” she said, glancing at him with pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry. We can treat her symptoms, but she has to fight this off on her own.”
She left the room.
Dozer stared at Carmen. Her face had a red tint to it. He cupped her cheek. She felt hot.
They didn’t come all this way, survive this much, for the fucking measles to take her from him right before the finish line. He thought over all the conversations he’d overheard between Carmen and her team of doctors, nurses, and technologists. There had to be something.
Henry had talked about something she thought could work. Some kind of goblin? He texted Henry with the news Carmen had the measles and asked what kind of goblin might help someone.
Immune globulin, Henry corrected. It’s a blood product made from the blood of people who’ve had the disease. I wish we could try it, but we won’t be able to make any for a few months at least.
Shit.
Is there anything else we could try?
What blood group do you have?