by Alex Kava
At first Maggie concentrated on the spacemen and their smooth, deliberate movements. They worked together seamlessly, not at all encumbered by the suits but almost as if in slow motion. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, only with the sound muted.
One of the spacemen went to the other side of the room and then Maggie saw the man in the bed.
She didn’t recognize him at first. His salt-and-pepper hair looked thin, his face pasty white. His eyes were closed. Tubes ran from his arms and nose to the equipment beside the bed. He looked smaller than his six-foot athletic frame. Smaller and so vulnerable. She stared at him, watching for something that would connect this helpless figure to her energetic boss.
“Mary Louise hasn’t broken with any of the symptoms.” Platt startled her. She had forgotten he was standing right beside her. “The virus may have been lying dormant inside her. It’s difficult to understand, sometimes almost impossible to explain. It’s a parasite, jumping from host to host, completely destroying one while only traveling in others. It may never show up in her. Just like you.”
They stood there silently for what seemed a long time. Maggie swore she could hear her own breathing, a vibrating force inside a wind tunnel that sounded like staggered gasps. She had to be imagining it. Maybe it was simply one of the machines.
“But Cunningham isn’t so lucky?” she finally said, glancing at Platt. He was looking straight ahead. “He already has symptoms?” And this came in a whisper she hardly recognized as her own. Maybe she was having problems breathing.
“Yes,” he said.
“You’ve already seen it? In his blood?”
Hesitation. A long enough pause that she had to look over at him, again. This time he let her have his eyes and she saw it there before he said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER
66
Monday, October 1, 2007
Platt drove Maggie home, a sixty-minute trip in the wee small hours of the morning. Under the cover of darkness. It felt like a covert mission, more drama than necessary. Yet he kept an eye on the rearview mirror, his heart tripping into overdrive whenever car lights followed one too many of his turns. Each time it ended up being nothing. The cars eventually turned another direction or passed. He was being paranoid.
Earlier he had authorized a shipment of vaccine to be airlifted directly to Bix in Chicago. The CDC had faxed Platt the official request. As the head of this mission Platt had the authority to respond. In the process he discovered that Janklow had already approved a much smaller shipment but with orders that it be released only to the director of Homeland Security. Not the CDC. Red tape? Personal grudge? Platt didn’t care to know. His best guess was that Janklow was maintaining political correctness despite the clock ticking on a potential epidemic.
Platt was also quick to notice that nowhere in Janklow’s orders for the release of vaccine to Homeland Security was there an acknowledgment of the four victims already at USAMRIID. It would have been the perfect opportunity now that both Homeland Security and the CDC were involved. But Janklow was still covering up his own backyard. As for McCathy, Platt wasn’t sure if or how he was involved. There would be time to confront both of them but only after he made sure the four victims under his watch were safe and secure.
Platt couldn’t ethically release Assistant Director Cunningham, Ms. Kellerman or Mary Louise. Each needed the specialized medical care of USAMRIID along with the daily dosage of the vaccine. Agent O’Dell, however, needed only the vaccine at this time. If she ended up being the lone survivor, what would Janklow do with her? Platt would rather make that decision than leave it to Janklow.
Platt glanced at Maggie’s silhouette, highlighted only by the green dashboard lights. She was different here alongside him without the barrier of glass. She had been quiet after seeing Cunningham. Yet she didn’t look as vulnerable back in her street clothes. As a temporary replacement to the purple jacket she’d had to leave behind, Platt had offered her his William and Mary sweatshirt to ward off the night chill. She had hesitated at first, giving the gesture more meaning than necessary. He wondered if Maggie O’Dell simply wasn’t used to someone looking out for her.
“It doesn’t mean we’re going steady or anything,” he had joked, expecting one of her witty comebacks.
She’d simply said, “Thank you,” and slipped it on.
After they were on the road and safely away from USAMRIID, she said, “You’re worried the Ebola this guy is sending may have come from your own labs?”
He glanced at her, again, not sure why he was surprised that she would cut immediately to the chase. She had done so throughout their conversations.
“It’s crossed my mind.”
Platt wasn’t sure how much of his suspicions he should share. He might already be on the verge of getting court-martialed despite all his efforts to do the right thing.
“He’s someone with a bruised ego,” she said. “He may have worked on some high-profile cases and never been acknowledged. Someone intent on retribution, on doling out a perverted sense of justice. Does that sound like anyone you know?”
“Maybe,” Platt said, though he thought immediately of Michael McCathy.
Instead of pressing the matter, she said, “The outbreak in Chicago, do they know how it started?”
“A Chicago accountant named Markus Schroder was there for tests. They had no idea what was wrong with him. Ended up doing exploratory surgery.”
“Any idea if he received a package in the mail?”
“I asked Bix. He’s the CDC guy. He’s going to check.”
“Markus Schroder,” she said and stared off into the dark countryside.
“You think the name means something? Like with the Kellermans?”
“Possibly. Chicago can’t be a coincidence. It was Chicago where the Tylenol murders took place. There has to be some connection. I can tell you this much. If Markus Schroder received a similar package he wasn’t a random victim.”
“You always look for logic even within the madness?”
He could feel her eyes on him now, studying him to see if he was serious. He kept his eyes on the road ahead.
“It’d be convenient to believe people who commit these types of crimes are simply mad. That there’s a neuron or two misfiring inside their brains.”
“If they’re not mad, not crazy, what then?”
She hesitated but only briefly before she calmly and quietly said, “They’re evil.”
CHAPTER
67
Saint Francis Hospital
Chicago
Dr. Claire Antonelli couldn’t argue with Roger Bix. She knew he was right. Her son needed to be included in the quarantine. She didn’t want to admit that he may have been exposed to the virus, thanks to her. Neither of them displayed symptoms. She had to believe they were okay, though it scared the hell out of her. Her son, however, pretended to see it all as an adventure.
“We just read about Ebola in World History. Maybe I can get extra credit,” he had joked.
The nurses in the surgical center had prepared a room for him. There was something ironic yet comforting about having him so close in the middle of all the chaos. She was on her way to see if he’d gotten settled, when Roger Bix sidetracked her again. Bix was making a habit of treating her as what he called his “point person.” On several occasions Bix and Dr. Miles had gone head-to-head on procedure and policy. Claire was simply too exhausted to argue…with anyone. This morning the media had shown up. WGN-TV, Channel 9 had cameras out front. If Bix was looking for a spokesperson he would need to keep looking.
Now Bix walked alongside her when she didn’t bother to stop or slow down by his presence. “We have the vaccine,” he told her. This, however, stopped her.
“That was fast.”
“Special air delivery.”
“How much?”
“Enough to get us started. It’s a series of shots. That’s what we need to focus on. What we need to tell everyone.”
So not eno
ugh, Claire wanted to say. That’s what he was really telling her. The idea of distributing false hope left a sudden lump in her stomach.
He must have seen her skepticism because he countered with, “It’ll be enough. We’ll start getting blood test results this morning. Not everyone who came in contact with this guy will be breaking with Ebola. The initial shots will simply be a precaution.”
“Of course,” Claire said, watching Bix’s eyes travel over her shoulder, across the lobby, everywhere except to her eyes.
“I need you to ask Mrs. Schroder if Markus received an unusual package in the week or so before he got sick.”
“A package? What kind of package?”
“Anything with a Ziploc plastic bag inside.”
Claire stared at him, but it was obvious this was as much as Roger Bix was ready to tell her. He started, instead, giving her a rundown of where and how they’d start administering the vaccine, when nurse Amanda Corey hurried up the hallway toward them.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, out of breath and flushed. “I figured you’d both want to know as soon as possible. Markus Schroder is dead.”
CHAPTER
68
Quantico
Tully had files open all over his desk. He’d spent most of yesterday looking for something, anything that might connect Cunningham to this killer. Their boss had been involved with all the national biggies: the Unabomber, the Beltway Snipers, Eric Rudolph, Timothy McVeigh, the anthrax killer. The list went on and on. It was overwhelming. There was no easy way to search. So Tully shifted through the original files, trying to find repeat names, especially anyone from USAMRIID.
He was starting through another box, when Ganza’s lanky frame leaned in his doorway.
“Did you hear about Chicago?”
“Bears or the Sox?” Tully asked before he saw the scared look in Ganza’s eyes.
“CDC has a case of Ebola in a suburban hospital.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
Ganza filled him in on what little he knew. When he finished he pointed to the mess on Tully’s desk.
“Trying to find a link,” Tully said, “to Cunningham. But going through the cases he’s worked on is like looking for a proverbial needle in a haystack.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Tully shook his head. “Not since Saturday. He gave me a phone number but no one picks up.”
Both men stared at their feet in silence. Finally Ganza muttered something about calling a colleague at the CDC.
“I’ll let you know what I find out.” And he was gone, leaving Tully to his mess.
It was difficult to think about Cunningham. Tully knew agents who had been killed in the line of duty. It was something all agents kept in the back of their minds. But somehow this was different. Cunningham was one of those invincible guys. You knew bullets didn’t bounce off of him but at the time you really wouldn’t be surprised if they did. He was their leader, the one who held them up. And it seemed cruel and unfair to have an invisible weapon from an invisible killer take him down. No amount of training prepared you for something like this.
It reminded him of his own training. Emma had brought back a lot of memories with her questions. When he, Razzy and Indy were together they believed they’d change the world, conquer evil. All that good stuff. It was the 1980s. The Soviet Union was crumbling along with the wall. No more Cold War. Reagan made it okay to be proud again. The three of them were young, strong and idealistic and very different from one another. One common goal pulled them together and ironically, one silly and flirtatious, but absolutely beautiful girl pulled them apart.
Tully looked at Emma’s framed photo on the corner of his desk. Actually he could barely see her face behind the stack of files. He considered all the cases he had worked over the last twenty-five years. There were biggies on his own résumé: the Unabomber, Jeffery Dahmer, Albert Stucky, Timothy McVeigh, 9/11. But in the end, hands down, Emma was what made everything in his life worthwhile. Emma and now possibly Gwen Patterson.
He was thinking about Gwen when his phone started ringing.
“R. J. Tully,” he answered.
“Why are you sending me cash? And in a plastic bag, for Christ’s sake.”
It was his ex-wife. The onetime silly and flirtatious but beautiful girl was mad as hell.
CHAPTER
69
North Platte, Nebraska
Patsy Kowak couldn’t believe it. She fingered the envelope left for her in the middle of the kitchen table, its contents half sticking out: two first-class airline tickets to Cleveland, Ohio. She had found them waiting for her this morning when she sat down to have her coffee.
“I booked us a room at the Hyatt Regency,” Ward said from behind her. She hadn’t heard him come into the room. “That’s where you said you wanted to stay, right?”
“I said it. I didn’t think you heard it.”
“I listen to you.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. He never took time out to sit and drink coffee. His usually went into a thermos to-go mug and out the door with him.
“These tickets are for Wednesday,” Patsy said, tapping them against the tabletop as if she still didn’t believe they were real.
“Yeah, well, we have a layover in Atlanta. It’ll take us most of the day to get there. I thought we could have all day Thursday to ourselves, to sit back and enjoy. Relax.”
She raised her eyebrow at him. “You sure you know how?”
“What? Relax? I think I can figure it out. Lee and Betty offered to look after things.”
She held up the first-class tickets. “Whatever got into you? Last time we talked you didn’t even want to go.”
“I realized how much it means to you.”
“But not to you?” She was disappointed in his answer. He noticed. Thirty-two years of marriage, how could he not notice.
“I don’t agree with Conrad’s choices,” he said, avoiding her eyes and staring into his coffee as though it held the correct answer. “I might not agree but he’s still my son.”
She reached across the table and put her hand over his callused one. He wasn’t much for shows of affection and quickly found a way to change the subject.
“Go get yourself one of those manicures,” he said, taking her hand in his and pretending it was only to examine it. “You work hard around here. Treat yourself.”
Her hands were an embarrassment, dry and red skin, raw gouges where she’d cut the cuticles too deeply. Yes, she’d treat herself.
She knew Ward would come around. Her husband was a good man. A good father. Patsy was so pleased, she had almost forgotten about getting out of bed earlier with a headache and a backache. All she had to do was stand up for an instant reminder. Her head throbbed with a thousand little hammers beating behind her brow. She cupped the palm of her hand over her forehead. A bit of a fever, too. She couldn’t come down with the flu now. In two days she’d be traveling to her son’s wedding. She refused to get sick.
She glanced at the wall clock, picked up the phone and dialed from memory.
“Conrad Kovak’s office.” The woman’s voice was abrupt in a way that discouraged callers from even responding. Patsy wondered if she should say something to Conrad.
“Is Conrad in?”
“Mr. Kovak will be in meetings all morning.”
“This is his mother.”
Patsy waited. With Conrad’s previous assistant, it made a difference. If Conrad really wasn’t in a meeting Renae would put the call through when she learned it was Patsy. With this assistant it obviously made no difference.
After a long pause the woman asked, “Do you want to leave a message?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Patsy said, getting ready to tell her to have Conrad call later, but there was a click and buzz and suddenly another voice telling her to leave a message after the tone. The assistant had sent her on to voice messaging, something Renae would never have done.
>
“Conrad, it’s Mom. Just wanted to let you know we’ll be leaving for Cleveland on Wednesday. Your dad bought first-class tickets for us. And he did it all on his own. I didn’t even tell him about the money you sent. Call me later, sweetie.”
Patsy hung up the phone. Now she needed to take something so she didn’t end up with the flu.
CHAPTER
70
Newburgh Heights, Virginia
Maggie left Benjamin Platt asleep in her spare bedroom. Satisfied with a couple hours of sleep and anxious to get back to her regular life, Maggie had put on a long-sleeve T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. She grabbed her cell phone and keys and set out for her morning run. She felt as if she needed to make up for lost time. That’s what she told herself when she launched into mile number two, but the tightness in her calves and the ache in her chest made her reduce her run to a brisk walk. Her lungs breathed in the crisp air, greedy like they’d been deprived for weeks.
She’d forgotten how wonderful a blue sky looked, scrubbed clean after the rain. A flock of geese honked overhead. The beagle up the street had already started baying, anticipating her approach. He’d be disappointed to discover Harvey not with her. Gold and orange mums competed in neighboring yards with purple ash trees and fiery-red bushes. Someone was serving bacon for breakfast.
It sounded like such a bad cliché but it was as if all of her senses had suddenly started firing again after a long stretch of paralysis. Even her daily routine seemed fresh. She had convinced herself to think positively. The virus hadn’t shown up yet in her blood. Maybe she could stop it.