Cold Plague

by Daniel Kalla

  She flew over the crest at the top of the hill, almost airborne. She relaxed her foot off the gas pedal but resisted the urge to brake before the sudden bank right. As she leaned into the steep curve, the tires slid out and she dug her fingers into the steering wheel so hard that they pulsated. Turning into the skid, she managed to straighten her car just as she spotted the dirt road entrance to the farm.

  She pumped her brakes and made a quick check over her shoulder. No sign of the Mercedes. To her relief, she saw multiple tire tracks along the farm’s driveway, meaning hers would mix in with others. She turned into the driveway. As soon as she cleared the gate, she spun the car left and drove parallel to the highway along the strip of parking spaces partially hidden by a row of snow-dusted pines. She slowed to a halt behind the thickest cluster of trees.

  Staring through the cracks between the pines, she did not have to wait long before she glimpsed the black car zipping past. She jerked the gearshift into reverse and backed up toward the entry. At the driveway, she reversed toward the house until the nose of her Peugeot had straightened out and faced the highway. She shifted gears back to drive and eased out, stopping at the edge of the road. She peered to her right, but there was no sign of the Mercedes before the next bend, so she pulled out onto the road. Running her forearm across her damp brow, she realized she was now facing the trickiest part of the maneuver—reversing roles, tailing her tail. She hoped to follow the black car all the way back to Frédéric.

  As Avril drove along the highway, each second that passed without sight of the Mercedes heightened her dread, but she never let her car exceed one hundred kilometers an hour despite the welling panic. She drove almost two kilometers before she rounded a corner and, on the open road in front of her, spotted the Mercedes about half a kilometer ahead.

  Avril saw that the Mercedes was moving at a crawl and realized that the driver must have been searching for her. But it was too late. The car’s brake lights suddenly dimmed and the back wheels skidded into action.

  He is going to run!

  Her breath caught in her throat. She felt paralyzed by indecision. If the Mercedes escaped, she might never find another lead back to Frédéric. But if I am caught following the car… It was too awful to consider.

  Not even aware that she had decided, she stabbed the accelerator with her foot. With a groan, the car lurched forward and the snow tires bit the road.

  Avril lost sight of the Mercedes down another dip in the highway, but she knew there was nowhere to turn off for the next five kilometers. Gripping the wheel as tightly as if she were hanging off the railing of a high bridge, she kept the gas pedal floored. As her car slid around another curve, the road straightened and she spotted the black car in front of her. Her heart lifted in her chest. Her chance to catch him was coming; the highway was about to snake again heading into the approaching hills. I can do this, she resolved.

  As she reached the winding section of the highway, Avril had to back off the accelerator. Even so, her performance vehicle slid in and out of the curves, brushing precariously close to the side of the hill on one side and the lip of the road on the other. Despite her aggressiveness, she did not gain an inch on the Mercedes, whose driver weaved through the turns with obvious skill.

  Her hopes fading, she entered the last series of curves with the realization that the black car was most likely going to outrun her. She did not even see it clip the edge of the road. By the time the nose of her Peugeot straightened around the corner, the Mercedes was fishtailing wildly a few hundred meters in front of her. Then it slid into a full spin, making two complete revolutions on the snowy highway before it smashed into the guardrail and its back tires dropped off the side of the road. It slipped backward, coming to rest on the embankment. Pointing back at Avril, the car was tilted precariously to its side, as if it might flip at any moment.

  Avril pumped her brakes as she neared the derailed vehicle. Through the waning light she saw the silhouette of a large man in the driver’s seat. She could not make out his face, but his hand was clutching the left side of his head as if it were bleeding.

  She stopped thirty feet from the black car. Mouth dry and heart rate sprinting, she reached her hand into the purse beside her and pulled out her handgun.

  Now or never, she thought, her fingers tightening around the gun’s handle. Just as she reached for the door handle, the Chopin ringtone suddenly sounded from her cell phone. Hand trembling, she ignored the first three rings but could not hold out through a fourth. Still gripping the gun in her right hand, she picked up the phone with her left and clicked the answer button with her thumb. “Yes?”

  “Maman…they are going to…kill me,” her son said haltingly.

  “Baby! No!” Avril froze.

  There was a slight clatter and then the electronically altered voice spoke into the receiver. “Detective, would you like to hear your son die?” the person asked in a chillingly level tone.

  “God, no!” Avril spat. “Please. Tell me what to do.”

  “Same phone booth as last time. Ten minutes. You don’t answer the phone, Frédéric dies.” Click.

  Numb, Avril glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to get to the other side of Limoges in these road conditions would require driving even more recklessly than she had the past ten minutes. Avril gunned the engine and roared past the upended car without another glance at it.

  Twelve minutes later, she skidded into the curb by the phone. Jumping from her car with lights on and driver’s door wide open, she slid and skated on the pavement as she raced toward the ringing pay phone. Avril grabbed for the receiver. “I’m here,” she said breathlessly.

  She heard only slow breathing on the other end for a long while. “How many fingers and toes do we need to send before you understand how serious we are?”

  “I understand,” Avril said. “I swear I do.”

  “I am not fully convinced,” the voice said and then went silent.

  Avril heard a heart-piercing cry, followed by her son’s muffled choking voice. “You won’t get away with this,” Frédéric sputtered. Then another series of agonizing screams and more words that were now unintelligible.

  Avril’s hand shook wildly on the phone. “No. No. No…,” she pleaded.

  “Do you understand, Detective?”

  “I do!” she cried. “I swear.”

  “Don’t you ever try to approach one of our cars again.”

  “I won’t,” she said hoarsely, tears starting to flow.

  “The doctor and the woman came to see you today,” the caller said in a tone that abruptly turned conversational. “What did they want to know?”

  Avril did not hesitate. “They know this is about more than simply a livestock-related infection.” Tears running down her cheeks and what felt like an anvil strapped to her heart, she went on to describe what Haldane and Renard had told her of the mysterious illness and their suspicions of a cover-up in the region. “Dr. Haldane thinks the infection is related to glacial ice samples that Georges Manet brought back with him.”

  The caller did not comment.

  “I have told you everything,” Avril said. “Let me speak to Frédéric. Please.”

  “He is sleeping now.” A soft metallic chuckle. “Why did you go to see Sylvie Manet?”

  “Because I had to,” Avril spat, before willing herself calmer. “I did everything I could to discourage Haldane and Renard, but they are persistent.” She swallowed. “Especially Haldane. I warned you that I would have to respond to their complaints.”

  “Then appear to respond, but don’t try to solve anything. It will only hurt Frédéric more.”

  Avril wiped the tears from her cheeks. “To be convincing, I have to provide answers they will believe.”

  “You are a smart woman. Come up with answers, Detective.” The voice said. “But leave it at that if you want your son to live.”

  “Listen to me,” Avril said through gritted teeth. “I am all that is keeping those investigators in check.�
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  “Do you think so?”

  “They are important people with international reputations,” Avril continued, her ire overcoming her caution. “If they do not believe or trust me, they can easily go over my head. Or maybe they will sound the alarm to the Police Nationale or Interpol or someone else that you won’t be able to control no matter who you abduct or kill!”

  “Don’t be too sure, Detective.”

  “We are talking about high-ranking officials with the WHO and the E.U.,” Avril snapped. “I will keep them in the dark. I promise you. But the only way I can stall them is by continuing my investigation.” She took a deep breath. “But if you lay one more hand on my son…”

  “What will happen, Detective?”

  “I will go to the Police Nationale myself.”

  “Frédéric will die before you get through their door.”

  Avril did not push further. She had made her point. “Understand this. You cannot make these people simply disappear without a trace like you did Pauline Lamaire and Yvette Pereau.”

  “You might be surprised, Detective.”

  40

  Limoges, France. January 20

  Noah gripped the cool metal of the door handle. Hesitating, he scanned the room for anything that could pass for a weapon. His eyes focused on the iron that lay on the top shelf in the open closet. The door shook with three more heavy knocks. Noah took a long silent step toward the closet.

  “For Christ’s sake, Haldane, I’d have an easier time rousing my dead grandmother!” the voice boomed. “Open the bloody door.”

  “Duncan!” Noah turned back to the door and yanked it open.

  In a jacket and jeans, his red hair damp from snow and hanging messily over his forehead, McLeod stared back at Noah with a wisp of a smile. Noah flung his arms around the Scotsman.

  “Enough already.” Duncan wriggled free of the embrace. “What are you, Italian? Can’t you take no for an answer?”

  “Woe is me.” Noah stepped aside to let Duncan enter. “What’s the news with Maggie?”

  “They had already put a pin in her shoulder by the time I got home.” Duncan headed straight for the minibar beside the desk. “She’s out of the hospital now.” He leaned over and foraged through the minibar, pulling out a pair of two-ounce scotch bottles and jiggling them between his fingers like they were bells.

  Noah waved off the offer. Duncan poured himself a scotch in a tumbler from the top of the bar, leaving the other bottle unopened beside the clean glasses.

  “Duncan, the situation sounded…very dire when you left.”

  “It still is, Haldane.” He cleared his throat. “Shite, it’s a fucking disaster. But Maggie’s spirit is strong and she’s a fighter.”

  “I never doubted that, but what are you doing back here so soon?”

  “I was driving Maggie bonkers at home. Apparently, I don’t make much of a nurse.”

  “Hard to imagine,” Noah said.

  “No doubt you’re bloody Florence Nightingale incarnate,” he grumbled, as he downed his glass in one long gulp. “Besides, Maggie and the boys have gone off to stay with her mother on Black Isle for a few days. I would have gone, too, but I didn’t think it would be fair to leave Maggie widowed and orphaned by the end of our stay at that woman’s house!”

  Noah laughed. “You think it’s safer here?”

  Duncan left the empty tumbler on top of the minibar and trod over to the chair by the desk. He sat down and hung his head. “I’d never have left her, Haldane, but Maggie insisted. And once her mind is set…”

  With Duncan’s flippancy gone, the gravity of Maggie’s condition again sank in for Noah. “The change might be good for you, too.”

  Duncan ran a hand through his sopping hair. “Listen, Noah, if anything happens at home and I need to go in a hurry—”

  “Of course.” Noah nodded. “Still, it’s good to have you back on the job.” He raised a smile. “Though I already miss the quiet.”

  “Tough shite,” Duncan muttered. “Truth is, Haldane, without me your life is boring and forgettable.”

  Noah shook his head. “You have no idea how much I wish that were true right now.”

  Duncan’s shoulders straightened. “I’ve heard snippets from Jean, but I need the whole story. What the hell is going on in this province that time forgot?”

  Noah sat down on the bed across from Duncan. “Our instincts were right,” he said. “This is anything but a BSE outbreak. In fact, I think the cows are an afterthought.”

  Duncan rubbed his beard fiercely, but said nothing as Noah went on to give him a thorough recap of the happenings in the days since the microbiologist had left France.

  When Noah finished, Duncan pointed to the nightstand by the bed. “Pass me the Bible, will you?”

  “The Bible?” Noah frowned. “Have you found religion?”

  “No, but I want to double-check something.” He sighed. “I don’t remember seeing your name in there before, but Armageddon sure as hell doesn’t seem to want to happen without you along for the ride.”

  Noah laughed. A weight lifted from his shoulders as his sense of isolation lessened. He had not realized just how much he missed working with his friend.

  “What’s the latest with our Belgian envoy?” Duncan asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think Elise is under even more pressure than we are.”

  Duncan raised an eyebrow. “The two of you didn’t economize on hotel rooms in my absence, did you?”

  “No,” Noah murmured, remembering their brief elevator exchange. “Her boss, Minister Javier Montalva, has been an impediment at every turn so far.”

  “Those fucking E.U. politicians! Always on the lookout for the nearest sandpile to stick their heads in.” The creases around his eyes deepened and his expression darkened. “By the sounds of it, there have to be other people involved in this grand whitewash. Locals. At the very least, some of them must know a hell of lot more than what they’re letting on.”

  Noah glanced at the notebook on the desk and thought of the displaced bookmark. “No question,” he said.

  “Doesn’t sound like anyone is too interested in what’s lurking under the rocks around here.”

  “Not even Detective Avars. She struck me as a sharp investigator, but I suppose no one likes to dig up skeletons in their own backyard.”

  “Far better to just fill the yard with fresh bones! Haldane, do you trust Ms. Renard?”

  Noah paused. “I think so.”

  Duncan snapped his fingers. “Don’t give me that. You’re not the ‘think so’ type.”

  “Elise has toed the E.U. line all along. I think she’s been instructed to. And maybe that’s all there is to it.”

  “But…” Duncan rolled his finger in a get-on-with-it gesture.

  “She has been slow to accept any of this as out of the ordinary.” Noah absentmindedly smoothed the bedsheets beside him. “And the whole time we’ve been investigating, it has felt like someone is always one step ahead of us.”

  “You wonder if maybe she is feeding someone information?”

  Noah shrugged. “Don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the leak came from somewhere within Elise’s department.”

  “Fucking European Union! Has to be the all-time stupidest marriage of convenience.”

  “Elise suggested that the leak could be coming from within the WHO,” Noah said.

  “Really?” Duncan looked down at his hands, considering the possibility. A small grin broke across his lips. “I don’t buy it. You and I both know that our creaking bureaucracy takes six months and a thousand e-mails to plan a bloody Christmas party. Could you imagine those idiots trying to subvert an international investigation?”

  “My point is: We just don’t know who is involved,” Noah said. “And until we do, we shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Duncan’s gaze was now unfocused. “I hardly ever do,” he said distantly.

  Noah rose to his feet. “You must be hungry.”


  Duncan shook his head. “Appetite isn’t a big problem for me these days.”

  Noah pointed at the minibar. “Another drink?”

  Duncan stood up from the chair, sweeping the drops of melted snow from his forehead. “Shite, even liquor isn’t the panacea it once was.” He summoned a grin. “I’m in grave danger of becoming the world’s first failed alcoholic.”

  Noah opened his mouth to respond but the ring of his cell phone interrupted him. Duncan picked up the phone and passed it to Noah. “Noah Haldane,” he said as he brought it to his ear.

  “Allo, Noah,” Jean Nantal said with less than his usual warmth.

  “Jean?” Noah said. “Are you still in Limoges?”

  “No. I’m in Paris.”

  “More meetings?”

  “Noah, I am calling from the Institut Pasteur.”

  “At this hour?” Then it suddenly hit Noah. The ice sample! He squeezed the receiver tighter. His heart thudded in his ears.

  Duncan grimaced. “What is it?” he demanded.

  Noah stared at Duncan but spoke into the phone. “Jean…you’re calling about Georges Manet’s glacier sample, aren’t you?”

  “It’s all very preliminary—”

  “You found the prion in that ice, didn’t you?”

  41

  Meribel, France. January 16

  When he came to, Claude Fontaine had no idea where he was. His mouth felt full of sand and his head throbbed as if rousing from a staggering hangover, but, strangely, his mind was clearer than it had been in days. The room came into focus. Lying on the sofa, he surveyed his surroundings. The peaked ceiling above him sloped dramatically down to the low walls on either side of the room. Beside him, the open fireplace roared with a load of wood. The blast of warmth washed over him. Despite his headache, disorientation, and a vague sense of peril, he found the heat from the flames comforting.

  Must be a ski chalet, Fontaine thought. He loved to ski. He had spent many winter nights in various chalets in the Alps, though he had no idea if this place had been one of them. He was flooded with nostalgia, though there were no specific memories attached to the feeling.