by Davis Bunn
“Thanks again for getting Bruno’s team in place.”
“Happy to help.” He turned to Amelia. “Martin Thorpe, Ms. Bishop. I’m hoping this is the last time you’ll need to visit your husband in a place like this.”
Amelia seemed reluctant to take his hand. “And you are?”
“A friend,” Theo said. “Martin is why this meeting is taking place at all.”
“Me and a number of allies,” Martin added. “Speaking of which, we have some powerful people waiting on us. Best if we get this show on the road.”
But Amelia did not budge. “Kenny warned me not to trust anyone who claimed to be my friend.”
“Those times are behind you,” Martin replied.
Amelia crossed her arms. “In case you hadn’t noticed, whoever you are, my husband is still in jail.”
Theo stepped in between them. “Martin is with Homeland Security. He came to see me when we were halted at Dulles. My guess is, Martin represents the minority voice within US intelligence.”
Amelia’s grip on her forearms tightened. “Which means what exactly?”
When Theo looked at Martin, the agent shook his head. “It’s better if you spell it out.”
“Being held at the airport was actually a good thing,” Theo said. “It brought home the fact that Kenny’s warnings weren’t just meant for while we were in Africa. The OAS ambassador might as well have shouted it in my ear. If they could, they were going to shut us down.”
By this point, all the others had moved in around them. Della said, “We sort of knew that already.”
“Right. But that was the moment when the threat became something we had to face. And deal with. So after we were released, I called Martin and asked him to help put Bruno and his team in place.”
“Secretly,” Martin said. “I liked that part. And so did my superiors. They liked it a lot.”
“Explain that,” Avery said. “On account of the secrecy and the guy attacking us . . . what was his name?”
“Cruz,” Della said. “And the answer is, evidence.”
“Kenny wouldn’t tell me who was behind the threats,” Theo said. “But I think he suspected all along that it wasn’t any African country or the OAS.”
Martin offered a smile that did not touch his eyes. “They colluded. They did not direct.”
Theo nodded. “They had some secret ally closer to home, somebody who was the real threat, and powerful enough to put Kenny in jail and stifle his chances of raising the alarm.”
“And the only chance we had of identifying them was by doing as Theo suggested,” Martin said. “Putting your team out there in plain view. Letting you get on with your work. Showing these people that Kenny was not the only one looking to connect the dots.”
“And having Bruno secretly in place to protect us,” Theo added.
Della looked from one to the other. “So . . . we were used as bait?”
Avery’s squint was almost as tight as Amelia’s. “You never expected us to identify what or who was behind the outbreak, did you?”
“That was definitely icing on the cake.” Martin glanced at his watch. “Folks, this has been fun, but we’re late to the dance. Let’s go get Kenny out of jail.”
Thirty-five minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot fronting the Federal Correctional Institution of Petersburg. The main building could have belonged to a corporate headquarters or a school. The whitewashed structure was surrounded by a carefully groomed lawn and flags flapping in the hot summer wind. It was only when Theo approached the side entrance that he could see the fencing and the razor wire and the guard towers.
A guard stationed inside the doorway asked for their IDs. They were processed through, then their security detail were ordered to wait for them in the lobby. A uniformed officer then led them through the bulletproof inner door.
They were ushered upstairs and into a conference room that already held three men and a stern-looking gray-haired woman, who greeted them with, “I’ve been cooling my heels here for half an hour, Martin. I dislike time wasters.”
“Emily Crouch,” Martin said. “Deputy US attorney general. This is Dr. Theo Bishop and his team, the group I’ve been telling you about.”
She dismissed them with a single dark look. “Let’s get this under way.”
Martin gestured them into seats without introducing the dark-suited men. Theo saw no need to ask about their identities. Their taut builds and uniformly blank expressions and cautious gazes said it all.
Amelia asked, “Where’s Kenny?”
“Coming.” Martin slipped into a chair between the woman and the three dark suits. “Emily, do you mind getting us started?”
She turned to Theo. “Dr. Bishop, how certain are you of this being a genuine and deadly outbreak?”
“A hundred and ten percent.”
“There is no room for doubt?”
“None.”
“Can you offer us any hard evidence?”
“Absolutely,” Theo said.
“I’m not talking about some attack in a remote village nine thousand miles from here. One that doesn’t officially exist anymore.”
Theo did not mind her cold analytical nature in the least. “All we need is one hurricane to carry the Lupa virus across the Atlantic, and you’ll have all the evidence you could ask for. Dumped right here on your doorstep.”
“And I’ll make it my business to inform the world that you were given fair warning of it,” Della added.
Emily Crouch’s gaze did not waver until the side door opened and Preston Borders walked in, followed by Kenny.
If anything, Theo’s brother had lost more weight. He accepted Amelia’s embrace and looked over the top of her head to ask Theo, “Do you have it?”
“We’re closing in.” Theo gestured to Avery. “He and his team have been working around the clock.”
Kenny released Amelia and asked Avery, “How long do you need?”
“A month, six weeks tops. We’ve isolated the nanovirus.”
“Make it less.”
Avery did not object. “We’ll try.”
“Whatever you need,” Kenny said. Then he looked down at his wife and smiled for the first time that Theo could recall since all this started.
Emily shifted impatiently. “Let’s get back on target. Tell me what you have.”
fifty-five
Avery showed no interest in addressing the AG, so Theo served as the team’s spokesman. He kept waiting for Avery or Della to chime in, correct him, say he’d gotten something totally wrong. But they remained silent, probably preferring his errors to making themselves targets of Emily Crouch’s darkly burning expression.
It had all come down to starting with the right questions.
Which led to answering the mysteries they had scrawled across the whiteboards.
Phosphate in the blood.
They could then view the drilling rigs seen near all the Lupa outbreaks for what they were.
All drilling stations, whether on land or in shallow waters or even on massive deepwater rigs, had one thing in common.
They used mud.
Tons and tons of mud. It was pumped through the piping, known as the drill string, down to where it sprayed through nozzles on the drill bit. This both cleaned and cooled the bit as it spun.
The mud was then pushed back up the drilled hole, the annular space, carrying with it fragments of crushed rock known as cuttings. Once this compound emerged from the surface casing, it was filtered through a shale shaker, and the mud returned to the pit to be reused.
Chemicals were constantly being added to the mud pit, mostly lubricants. But one compound in particular was used by the ton.
Potassium.
Clays and chemicals were added to water in the mud pit, creating a homogenous blend that resembled a milk shake. The most common clay additive was bentonite, called “gel” in the oil business. The mud maintained a constant fluid state, even under the extreme conditions at the drill head, thro
ugh the bentonite and potassium it contained.
The largest source of bentonite clay was to be found in Fort Benton, Wyoming, where numerous volcanoes provided constant replenishment of the local clay pits. The first thing Avery did upon identifying the rigs as a potential source of the trouble was to obtain samples and grow his own lab samples of ecklona maxima, the most common version of African seaweed.
None of these sources produced a nanoviral shift that might indicate a move toward a red tide, a bloom, or a threat.
Which was when Avery proved himself a true scientist.
He went looking for another source of bentonite.
It was through Bruno’s contacts that he found one. And obtained samples that the company still didn’t know had been taken.
Six hundred kilometers inland from the West African coast, a clutch of hot springs spewed a noxious blend of clay and sulphur.
Recent satellite footage showed that the entire region had been fenced off. Guard towers erected. Massive earthmoving equipment brought in. Trucks and new roads and workers’ compounds also erected.
There was no way Theo’s team could ever officially obtain a sample from this region. Soldiers and private security patrolled inside the compound and beyond the perimeter fence.
But Bruno arranged for the samples to be stolen and flown straight to Avery’s lab.
Nineteen hours later, the first toxic nanoviruses were detected.
Emily Crouch demanded, “Do you know who owns the mine?”
Martin slid over a sheet of paper. “An Indonesian company with close ties to the central government.”
She aimed her gun-barrel gaze down at the page. “Who are their customers?”
Martin Thorpe gave his easy smile. “That’s where things get interesting.”
New developments in geological soundings had revealed more oil in the shallow waters off the African Atlantic coastline than in all the Middle Eastern countries combined. Access was fairly easy. Drilling technologies were well used to working in waters of such depths.
The problem was access. As in, these waters were controlled by countries whose governments demanded bribes.
Bribing government officials was against the law in most western nations. Even when billions of barrels were at stake.
Which was where the Indonesian oil companies came in. The problem was, Indonesia’s oil companies were not specialists in offshore drilling. So they went looking for a partner.
None of the majors would dare touch such a project, not with the current political conditions. There was too much risk of their being tainted by Indonesian business practices. So the Indonesians found a smaller group. A family-owned company specializing in high-risk offshore projects. Billings Oil, out of Houston.
Emily Crouch heard them out in silence, tapped her pen on the table a few times, then said, “What I’ve heard so far is very interesting, but it doesn’t come close to giving us anything that would stand up in a court of law. We need hard evidence. A smoking gun that would tie Billings Oil directly to an act that is illegal under American law.”
Martin Thorpe’s grin grew larger still. “Now things get really interesting.” He slid over a second sheet of paper.
“What’s this?”
“Call log from the shooter’s phone. Those seven numbers highlighted in yellow? They can be traced back to an investigator in Texas. This guy has just one client. A law firm. Guess who that law firm’s biggest client is?”
One of the dark suits leaned back in his chair, tilted his head toward the ceiling, and said, “Bingo.”
Preston Borders spoke for the first time since entering the room. “I would say this nullifies any reason your office has for holding my client. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Emily Crouch shook her head without taking her eyes off the highlighted sheet. “There’s still the issue of Mr. Bishop’s involvement in the opioid crisis.”
“No, there isn’t,” Martin Thorpe replied. “Not today.”
“Excuse me?”
Martin pointed an index finger skyward. “Orders from the very tip-top.”
Preston went on, “My client’s team has just supplied you with solid gold evidence. Not to mention Bishop Pharma being involved in the urgent development of a vaccine to stop Lupa from invading our coastal regions.”
“The man has a point,” Martin said. “Two of them, in fact.”
Preston rose to his feet. “Sign his release, Ms. Crouch. Let my client get back to saving millions of lives.”
Theo added, “While there’s still time.”
fifty-six
Preston Borders flew back to Asheville with them so he and Harper could plan their legal assault on the collective that had bankrupted their firm. Marilyn Riles, the associate who had rescued them from the Dulles lockup, accompanied them as well. She and Preston showed an almost gleeful excitement over the upcoming arbitration and settlement hearing.
Kenny spent the flight holding his wife’s hand. It was only now, when they were seated together at thirty thousand feet, that Theo could see the similarity to their expressions. Both of them looked far beyond any measure of normal exhaustion.
At Kenny’s request, Preston and Harper and Marilyn took their discussion of battle tactics farther toward the nose of the aircraft. Della and Avery slipped into the chairs opposite theirs while Theo seated himself across the aisle. Amelia looked his way and smiled slightly. The tight compression to her lips was easing. Theo took that as a good sign.
Kenny asked Avery, “Any indication of a hurricane?”
“There are three possible depressions strung out from the African coast,” Avery replied. “The third one shows the greatest risk of becoming a major storm.”
“Any word on its path?”
Della answered, “We’re talking daily with the experts. They say it’s much too early to give any valid prediction. But the greatest likelihood is landfall in the Lesser Antilles.”
“When?”
“Fourteen, maybe fifteen days.”
“Avery?”
“We’re working on it twenty-four seven.”
Theo said, “Martin Thorpe has been a huge help. He’s opened doors at the NIH, FDA, CDC. But the most valuable of all has been the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases. They’re new, they’re flexible, and they get it. Whatever we need, they make happen in a matter of hours.”
“And they have gotten us some material I haven’t even managed to think about yet,” Avery confessed.
Kenny nodded. “And Martin is . . . ?”
“Homeland Security, is all I know. Has to be high up, to get things moving like he has.”
Preston called over, “The African States ambassador who confronted you at Dulles has been recalled. I detect our Mr. Thorpe is hard at work.”
Theo added, “And he got Dr. Lanica out. She didn’t want to come, of course. But Martin thought she’d be much safer teaching a refresher course in pediatric surgery in Chicago. Let things settle down. Once the crisis goes public, she’s in the clear. And Martin assures us there are two good replacement doctors serving as her locum.”
“Two doctors won’t be enough to cover her load,” Della said.
Theo thought Kenny wanted to smile at their easy banter, yet his face seemed incapable of recalling how to reform itself.
Amelia turned to her husband. “You’re going down, aren’t you?”
“Down where?”
“Don’t give me that. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“The Antilles.” Kenny nodded. “I need to be there.”
“No, you don’t. Not really. But you’re going. It’s who you are. And I’m going with you.”
“Amelia . . .” Whatever else Kenny was about to say became stifled by the look she gave him. It was a fractional change, just a slight tilt to her face, a little jut to her chin, a bit of steel to her gaze. Enough to make Kenny sigh and ask, “What about the kids?”
“They’re coming with us. What do you think?”
“Amelia, this could be dangerous. The vaccine will be completely untested.”
“Save it. You’re going, I’m going. The kids have heard for weeks that Daddy is working so hard and he’s even gone to prison to save the islands from getting sick. They need to see you in action to make it all real.”
“But—”
“They need this, Kenny. And so do I.”
Theo said, “I want to go too.”
Della said, “I’m coming. Absolutely.”
Kenny looked from one face to the other. And for a brief instant the dark tension that had carried him through so much just melted away. He cleared his throat, looked at his wife, and said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Davis Bunn is an award-winning novelist and Writer-in-Residence at Regent’s Park College, University of Oxford. His books, published in twenty-five languages, have sold over eight million copies worldwide. After completing degrees in international economics and finance in the United States and England, Davis became a business executive working in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. He draws on this international experience in crafting his stories. Davis has won four Christy Awards for excellence in historical and suspense fiction and was inducted into the Christy Hall of Fame. He and his wife, Isabella, divide their time between the English countryside and the coast of Florida. To learn more, visit DavisBunnBooks.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Davis Bunn
Half Title Page
Books by Davis Bunn
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Contents
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