by Julie Rowe
His spine straightened. “That would be even better to know.” Was someone in the SG’s or Joint Chiefs’ office passing along information? What else could they have shared?
Carmen’s phone rang. “It’s Henry,” she said.
Dozer listened to her one-sided “uh-huh…I understand” conversation. She signed off with a softly worded “Keep at it.”
He waited for her to tell him what the call was about, but she remained silent. That could only mean bad news she didn’t want their escort to hear.
They were dropped off at the SG office building, went through security, and waited outside his office in the waiting area. Carmen’s face had lost all color, and she moved with the painful, arthritis-constricted motions of a ninety-year-old.
“Bad news?” he asked her casually at a volume that wouldn’t carry beyond her.
She winced. “Henry says that the virus doesn’t quite match the one on file. It’s either mutated on its own or it got helped along, because the virulence is higher than what was recorded in the lab back in the eighties.”
“How likely is it to have been a natural mutation?”
“Not very damned likely.”
“That is shitty news.”
She gave him a smile that lit a slow burn inside him. “You’re always able to put things into perspective.”
“How was it tested in the eighties?”
“On mice, probably. Maybe on monkeys, too. I don’t know.”
Her phone pinged, and she looked at it. It pinged again and again.
“Damn it,” she whispered.
“Carmen?”
“New numbers have come in. Several other states are reporting suspected cases. There are also suspected cases in Canada, England, Germany, and France.”
Dozer’s phone pinged. He pulled it out and swiped the screen. He had a text message from his supervisor ordering Carmen and him to attend a meeting at his office in Washington.
“We’ve been summoned to the Homeland office. Want to bet our lobbyist friends complained?”
“I can’t just leave. I have to report to the SG.”
“I’ll see if I can put it off for an hour.”
He texted his supervisor and requested a later meeting time, but his supervisor was adamant that both he and Carmen come as soon as possible.
He showed his phone to Carmen.
She groaned. “Lovely. I never did figure out how to be in two places at once.” She paused, then looked at him. “There are two of us.”
His gut turned into a glacier. “No. We’re not splitting up.”
“How else are we going to do this? Circumstances are…extraordinary.”
“I don’t give a shit about the circumstances. You don’t go anywhere without me.”
She sighed. “I won’t be going anywhere. You’re the one who has to leave. I’ll be fine here.”
“No.” Shit. He sounded like a child.
The SG strode through the space. He flashed a hand signal indicating they should join him.
Good. Maybe he could talk to the Homeland office, explain why he and Carmen couldn’t be at this meeting.
As soon as Dozer shut the door, he began talking. “Sir, Homeland Security has ordered us to attend a meeting at their office.”
“When?”
“Now.”
The SG didn’t hesitate. “No, there’s too much information coming in. I need Dr. Rodrigues here working with her teams around the country.” He looked at Dozer. “Go talk to Homeland. I’m sure you’ve heard enough to give them the basic facts, but don’t speculate. If they want an opinion, they’re to call me.”
“Sir, I need to stay with Dr. Rodrigues, for her protection.”
“You don’t believe this office can adequately protect one person?”
“Sir, there have been several determined efforts to kill her.”
“And you,” the SG said. “With you out of the office, the risk will be cut in half.”
Dozer opened his mouth to argue further, but the SG cut him off with a raised hand.
“Go and make your report. She’ll be safe here. I’ve got an office for her to use down the hall. She’s not going anywhere but there and the bathroom.”
Fuck. Dozer forced his lips to lift at the corners. “Thank you, sir.”
“I can look after myself,” Carmen said with some heat. She had some color to her cheeks now, along with a frown.
“Not against armed men, you can’t,” the SG said.
“Or lobbyists who shouldn’t have known where to find you,” Dozer said.
“Lobbyists?” the SG asked.
Dozer explained their encounter with the two men.
“Sonofabitch.” The SG sounded royally pissed off. He stared at Carmen for a long moment. “You’re definitely not going anywhere.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dozer checked his phone. Another text from his supervisor.
Interested in remaining employed?
He typed back yes and sent it. “I have to go.” He looked at Carmen.
She had her arms crossed over her chest and a thunderstorm on her face, but she nodded.
She didn’t want him to go. He could see the worry in her gaze. That expression warmed him.
Damn it. He didn’t want her out of his sight.
Shit. He wasn’t going to be gone long. The sooner he got there, the sooner he’d be back.
“Stay safe,” he said softly to her.
She glared at him. A normal Carmen reaction.
He left.
A taxi took him to the main Homeland Security building. A crowd of agents dressed in suits so similar they could have been carbon copies of one another filled his boss’s office. That bothered him more than it should have, since he regularly wore one of those suits.
His supervisor, Mark Rones, surfaced out of the circling suits with a shark’s focus on bleeding prey. “Good. I need you and Dr. Rodrigues to brief some people.”
Well, shit.
“She isn’t here.”
His boss spun around. “I specifically asked for both of you.”
Dozer shrugged to mask the churning of his gut. The man’s reaction was more than a little over-the-top. “The Surgeon General overruled your request.”
“Rones, is Dozer here yet?” someone yelled from the other side of the line of suits.
His boss shook his head. “I hope you’re up for this.” He strode through the pool of agents, so Dozer followed him.
They headed for an office he’d never been in before. As soon as he saw who was behind the big desk at the far side of the room, he knew why. The Director of Homeland Security.
“Sir,” Rones said. “This is Agent John Dozer.”
The director looked at Dozer, then at Mark. “Where’s the doctor?”
Dozer answered. “The Surgeon General has her working on the measles outbreak, sir. She couldn’t be spared.”
“Measles isn’t the problem,” the director said.
Dozer had to restrain himself from reacting like he wanted to, with equal parts disbelief and laughter. He managed a more or less neutral, “Excuse me, sir?”
His supervisor stabbed him with a glance.
Must not have hid his reaction as well as he thought.
“The FAFO has sent a half dozen hospitals bomb threats. They’ve also publicized a list of people they’d like to see dead.”
Interesting.
“Your name and Dr. Rodrigues’s name are on that list.”
“We already figured out they want to kill both of us.”
“It’s gone further than that. They’ve put a bounty on each of you.”
Nice. “I guess I can cross getting on someone’s most-wanted list off my bucket list.”
The director’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red. “This isn’t funny.”
“I think it’s hilarious.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t change a thing, as far as I’m concerned. They’ve already tried to kill me twice.”
The director stared at him with narrowed eyes
. “Yes, they have. What do you know that puts you at the top of their list?”
“I have no idea.”
“And your lady doctor friend?”
The way he said friend made it clear Rawley had provided his own interpretation of their relationship as fact. The weasel.
“Dr. Rodrigues?” he asked, just to reestablish the professional nature of their official relationship. “She’s actively investigating how the FAFO seems to be getting its hands on pathological bacteria and viruses. When she’s not coordinating outbreak responses around the United States and the world.”
The director studied him. “The FAFO is all over social media. They use untraceable fake accounts to post threats, news, and information that has just enough accurate information to make it seem completely credible. Information an isolated terrorist cell should never be able to get its hands on.”
“I agree.”
The director leaned forward. “They’re getting their info from somewhere, Agent Dozer.”
“I wonder,” Dozer said slowly, “if they’re getting it from the same place the two big pharma lobbyists got Dr. Rodrigues’s whereabouts from an hour ago.” He had their complete attention now. “They wandered up to us right after a high-level briefing, wanting to talk to her.” Dozer let a half grin lift one corner of his mouth. “She declined.”
“The Surgeon Generals of all states?” the director asked.
“That’s the one. You knew about it but didn’t come?”
“I was in transit between the airport and here.” The director looked at Rones. “How the hell are lobbyists getting our agents’ whereabouts?”
“The SG was about as impressed by that as you are.” He looked from one man to the other. “What else is going on?”
“Someone took a shot at Agent Rawley in Orlando.”
Dozer’s faint amusement died a quick death. “How bad is it?”
“The shooter missed,” his supervisor said. “But in all the confusion, he got away.”
“Shit.”
“They seem awfully determined to silence you,” the director said. “So, I’m going to ask again. What do you know that warrants multiple attempts on your life?”
“Sir,” Dozer said, more confused than ever. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty
6:18 p.m.
The office the Surgeon General assigned to her wasn’t big, but it did have a fast, secure internet connection, and that was worth more than a bigger room or a raise. Because, unless they came up with some way to mitigate the staggering number of cases of measles, she might not have a job at all. She’d be blind, or brain damaged, or dead.
Or in jail.
Because she’d finally snap and murder John for being an overbearing, brain-damaged man. She wanted to be with him, but he was smothering her. She couldn’t be with someone who didn’t trust her enough to look after herself. And because he didn’t trust her, she couldn’t trust him.
It was a piece of foundation that would always be missing in their relationship, and without it, there was no relationship.
Carmen dragged her thoughts out of the rabbit hole they’d gone down and focused on the data coming in from all over the country. Orlando was still in the lead for confirmed cases, hospitalizations, and deaths, but L.A. was on the board with far too many, and Seattle wasn’t far behind.
Henry had gone into his lab and was refusing to come out. He was still sending data, though, so she’d left him alone to unravel the virus. If anyone could find a way to combat this outbreak, it was him.
She stared at her computer screen, too tired to be afraid or anxious anymore. The phone rang, and she picked it up automatically. “Dr. Rodrigues.”
“It’s working,” someone shouted.
“What?”
“The second test group.” The voice was female and infused with exhausted excitement. “We’ve just finished entering all the results from the lab and correlating it with current patient outcomes from both test groups.” She paused to take in a breath. “Both groups have nearly identical results. After vaccination, eighty percent of patients see significant improvement. None of the patients in either test group have died.”
For a moment, Carmen couldn’t breathe, her muscles held in place by a shot of adrenaline so strong she was sure she was floating.
“What about new infections?”
“No one who has received a third vaccination has gotten more than a mild case.”
“Report these results to the Director of the CDC immediately. I’ll inform the Surgeon General.” She stopped to catch her breath. “And…thank you.”
Carmen ended the call, then, grinning like a loon, hurried to give the news, good news, to the Surgeon General.
Tuesday, April 8, 1:16 a.m.
Carmen woke to darkness and noise—running feet, shouting, and shots fired.
Shots fired? She’d gone to sleep in her small loaner office just down the hall from the SG’s office. She must be dreaming.
Another couple of shots reverberated through the walls.
Nope, not dreaming.
The long, cold fingers of terror closed around her throat. For a moment, all she could do was stare into the darkness, unable to understand how this could be happening.
Where was security?
Why wasn’t someone stopping the shooter?
Someone screamed and screamed and screamed until it was cut off by another shot.
She finally managed to suck in a breath and roll off her cot, but instead of landing on her feet, she hit the floor on her hands and knees. Shit, nothing was working. Not her arms or her legs or her head.
Pushing away from the floor, she staggered upright and turned toward the door.
More screams. More shots.
Terror tried to choke her a second time, but she shook that bitch off, eased the door open, and peered out.
The crack of a shot split the air right in front of her. Sheldon, one of the SG’s aides, staggered and fell in front of the door, a spreading stain of blood across his shirt. Sheldon’s arm smacked into the door hard enough to knock it open.
Carmen stumbled back, then found herself in plain view of a man holding the back of the SG’s shirt in one hand and a semi-automatic pistol in his other hand. A man with Dr. Halverson’s face.
A very angry face.
“Dr. Rodrigues,” he snarled. “How fortuitous.”
There were a lot more words beginning with F that she’d call this situation other than fortuitous.
“Come out of there,” he ordered. “And show me your hands.”
Raising her hands, she followed his instructions and emerged from the room one step at a time. Getting shot wasn’t on her list of things to do today, but wringing his scrawny neck just got added.
Dr. Halverson waved his gun at her to precede him into the SG’s main office.
She walked slowly and carefully into the large space, stopping when she reached the center of the room.
The doctor and his captive entered, then Halverson kicked the door shut.
“Close the blinds,” he ordered.
Carmen moved to do as instructed, continuing her unhurried approach to the desk and windows. She hated to block a possible sniper shot, but she had to get Halverson to a place where he believed she was on his side. It might be the only way to talk him down safely from whatever mental perch he was standing on precipitously.
When she finished closing the blinds, she turned to face him, putting her hands back in the air.
Halverson pushed the SG away hard enough to make him fall. “Sit in the chair,” he ordered.
The SG got to his feet, then sat in one of the visitor’s chairs with a short back and arms.
“Dr. Rodrigues,” Halverson said as he kept his gun pointed at the SG. “Tie him to the chair.”
This could be a problem. “With what?” She kept her voice as nonthreatening as possible.
Halverson glared at her for a moment before looking around. There was nothing
obvious in the room that could be used to tie a person’s arms to a chair.
“His tie,” Halverson said. “Use that, and…and his belt for the other arm.”
She followed his instructions, glancing at the SG several times as she did so.
For a moment, the highest-ranked health officer in the country met her gaze and spoke several silent messages at once.
Their captor was insane.
Death for someone was guaranteed.
Surviving the situation for any of them was questionable.
Fuck.
After she was done, she withdrew a few feet, standing where both men had a clear view of her and she had a clear view of them.
Halverson pointed the weapon at the most senior-ranked health-care officer in the country and said in a shaky voice, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”
The Surgeon General waited a beat before answering in a calm, measured tone, “I’m your best bet to getting out of here alive.” He paused again. “If you shoot me, the law enforcement officers outside will shoot whoever is moving in here.”
Halverson sneered. “That’s why she’s in here.”
“They don’t know she’s in here.”
The sick smile on Halverson’s face faded and fell off his features, and panic whitened his face. Then, his cheeks became a dry red. “You’re a cold bastard. You fire me without any hearing. And…and you presume to control people and events that are outside of anyone’s control.”
“I do my job,” the SG said as if they were talking about subpar service at a restaurant. He tilted his head to one side and infused a genuine-sounding concern into his tone. “What are you doing, doctor?”
“You fired me,” Halverson shouted. He bounced awkwardly in place, the gun in his hand in no way controlled. “You humiliated me and made it impossible for me to find another job in my field.” He re-centered the weapon’s muzzle on the SG’s chest.
“You broke security protocols, and your drug screening was positive for cocaine,” the SG said with more patience than anyone tied to a chair with his own tie and belt should have. “I had no choice.”
Security protocols? This was news.
Nostrils flaring, Halverson sneered. “It was a false positive, and I was performing important experiments. Instead of firing me, you should have supported the revolutionary work I’d undertaken.”