“No!” Perkins protested. “Don’t do that. My whole life’s on that phone.”
Bolan stepped between the two men. “Give it back to him.”
Grimaldi frowned and handed the phone to Perkins, who grinned and held it up.
“Hey,” Grimaldi said, grabbing Perkins’s wrist. “You try to take my picture again without permission and I’ll shove that thing up your ass sideways.”
Perkins shot back a weak-looking sneer but put the phone into his backpack. He zipped it closed, then raised his middle finger and began a rant about how he was going to sue everybody from the Justice Department to the President.
“That’s your prerogative,” Bolan said. “Now, beat it.”
Perkins shifted the backpack over one shoulder and said, “I’ll call you later, Karen.” With that, he walked off, stopping to pick up his selfie-stick.
Grimaldi turned to Bolan and said, “He didn’t even get our names and badge numbers.”
“That’s because he has everything he needs,” Bolan replied. “He has us on video.”
“Nah, he won’t be able to use anything from that phone,” Grimaldi said. “I erased all his videos before I gave it back to him.”
“I’m not talking about the phone,” Bolan told him.
Grimaldi’s smile vanished and his head darted from side to side. “He got somebody filming us?”
“Not quite,” Bolan said. “Did you notice anything peculiar about those glasses?”
“Just that they didn’t flatter him much. But with a face like his, that would be next to impossible, anyway.”
“What about his glasses?” Jefferson asked.
“They’re nonprescription. And judging from the thickness of the frames, and the small circular lens on the left upper front corner of the frame, I’d say he had a video camera built into them.”
“Oh, damn it,” Jefferson said, frowning. “I was wondering why he was always so gracious about shutting off his tablet every time we met to talk ‘off the record,’ and then slipping on his specs.”
“Want me to go track down the little son of a bitch and retrieve those phonies?” Grimaldi asked.
“I’m going to prepare a warrant for unlawful eavesdropping,” Jefferson said. “He can’t secretly record me without my consent.”
Bolan glanced at the woman and shook his head. “Let’s leave things alone for the moment. I’d rather not tip our hand that we’re on to him just yet. That’s something we can do another time to grab all of his files. In the meantime, let’s find a quiet corner and compare notes.”
“Fine by me,” Jefferson said. “As I mentioned, I’m with the FDA, but I’m attached to the CDC at the moment.”
“What are you investigating?” Bolan asked.
Jefferson looked hesitant for a moment. “I’ve never seen a government agent handle someone like that. Are you guys really with the Department of Justice?”
“That’s what our IDs say,” Grimaldi replied.
Jefferson smiled. “Right. Let’s go grab a cup of coffee and you can tell me why you’re really here and if it has to do with the Keller Virus.”
Bolan and Grimaldi exchanged glances as they followed her up the steps toward the main entrance.
6
Stevenson Dynamics
Fairfax County, Virginia
Stevenson drummed his fingers on the top of the mahogany table and watched as Nelson, who sat across from him, held the burner phone to his ear and periodically nodded. Stevenson disliked not being able to hear the conversation directly, but despite the precautions they’d taken, he was always concerned about who might somehow be listening.
A broad smile stretched over Nelson’s face and he muttered something then terminated the call. He looked across the table. “Went down like clockwork,” he said. “Except for one small glitch.”
“What glitch?” Stevenson asked.
Nelson took a deep breath before he answered. “The Talon had to kill a hospital security guard, but he made it look like an accident.”
Stevenson’s nostrils flared slightly. “An accident? How?”
“He used the same potassium chloride injection on the guard and pushed him down a flight of stairs. He assured me it’ll look like the guy had a heart attack, fell down the stairs and died.”
“Is the guard anybody?”
Nelson shook his head. “Just a security guard. In other words, a nobody.”
Stevenson said nothing for several seconds. “And the aide?”
Nelson clucked sympathetically. “Poor guy perished from an apparent heart attack, as well.”
Stevenson frowned. “And that’s what you call a ‘small glitch’? Christ, two heart attacks in the same place on the same day? How’s that going to look? I thought you said this Talon character was the best of the best?”
“Bill, people die of sudden heart attacks all the time. And the aide was on death’s door, anyway.” He shrugged. “Believe me, nobody’ll think twice about any of it.”
“The medical examiner will probably do a routine autopsy on the security guard,” Stevenson said. He could feel the muscles in his neck tightening.
“The guy was probably overweight and had a cholesterol count through the roof.”
“And they’ll definitely do one on the aide.”
“But they normally don’t do a test for potassium chloride during a routine autopsy,” Nelson said quickly. “The Talon assured me of that.”
Stevenson frowned. “I’m not so sure we made the right move hiring this guy. Maybe he’s not all he’s cracked up to be.”
“He’s supposed to be the pro of pros. Came highly recommended by our associates in Europe.” Nelson paused, then said, “Who else we gonna call? I mean, Quarry is good, but he has a direct association with Stevenson Enterprises. And look at the job the Talon did over in Belgium.”
Stevenson nodded. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. For the moment. But just to be on the safe side, check out the guard’s family status. If he’s married, have one of our hospital agents go offer our condolences to the widow along with a nice, fat, accidental death insurance payout. That’ll preclude any shit from the family on this.”
Nelson nodded and leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. “Consider it done. Now, all we have to decide is what move to make next.”
“Isn’t that obvious? We’ve got that chatterbox Oakley to deal with.”
“My feelings exactly,” Nelson said. “But the Talon did say that Perkins was nosing around at the hospital.”
“He’s like a pesky fly. We’ll have to take care of him sooner or later, but right now my primary concern is Oakley. We have any new recordings?”
Nelson nodded and picked up the remote. He pointed it at the large television screen and the monitor lit up. A color image of two men sitting in an office, one behind a desk, the other in front and leaning back in a chair, appeared.
Stevenson recognized the man in the chair as Simon Oakley. He knew the other man was Oakley’s lawyer, Clifford Powers. The top section of the picture had a dark border, indicating that it had been recorded through some sort of vent.
“This is the latest from Powers’s office this morning,” Nelson said. “Incidentally, we now know how Perkins has so much information. Oakley’s been in collusion with the little dirtbag.”
Stevenson slammed his fist down on the table. “I knew it.”
Nelson pressed a button and the two men in the video began talking.
“If this wasn’t so exhausting,” Oakley said, “it could almost be fun.” He smiled. “I mean, sitting there and reciting the Fifth Amendment litany each time is making me feel like some big-time gangster.”
“No, that’s your ex-boss, Slick Willie Stevenson,” Powers said with a grin. “Wait till he gets called
on the carpet after our immunity deal comes through.”
“I’m gonna enjoy watching that son of a bitch sweat,” Oakley said.
Both men laughed.
Stevenson swore, livid with rage. “Those pricks.”
Nelson held up the remote and paused the video. “You want me to go on or just give you the highlights?”
“Highlights. I’ve got better things to do than watch those two assholes.”
“Okay, like I said, Oakley’s been spilling the beans to Perkins. How much, we’re not sure at this point, but it appears he knows all about the Department of Defense’s connection to CEZ-A2, and that Roy Bellamy was bought out and is living in the Bahamas. They’ve got a meeting set up with Perkins for three-thirty this afternoon.”
Stevenson gave a curt nod. “What else?”
“According to my sources on the Hill, the Attorney General’s having an immunity deal drawn up to give to Oakley. It’s been delayed as much as can be managed, but it is in the works.”
Stevenson sighed. “We’re going to have to take out Oakley and his lawyer now. Today.” He trapped his upper lip between his teeth momentarily. “I don’t want them to have that meeting today with that reporter, or whatever the hell he is.”
Nelson nodded. “I anticipated as much. The Talon’s already over at the office building checking things out.”
“We need to get our recording equipment out of that attorney’s office, too,” Stevenson said. “Today.”
“Quarry’s got some guys ready to do that right after the Talon takes care of business.”
Stevenson grunted an approval. “Roy Bellamy’s also a liability. We need to get rid of him as soon possible, too.”
“Okay,” Nelson said. “The only question is, in what order?”
“Simple. Oakley’s our preeminent threat, so have the Talon take him out today. Immediately. Have Quarry and his boys get Tom Chandler over there and in position.” His eyes narrowed as he focused on Nelson. “We still have our patsy in place, I presume?”
“We do.”
“Good. The Talon has been briefed on how I want that little drama to play out, right?”
Nelson nodded. “Oakley’s already regarded as a first-class asshole for the price gouging he was doing with the CZF-269. The revenge theme will look good in the press.”
Stevenson leaned back and framed imaginary headlines with his hands. “‘Bereaved Husband of Cancer Victim Goes on Rampage.’”
Nelson’s grin was wide, his head wagging up and down like a toy dog on a car dashboard.
“In the meantime,” Stevenson said, “we’re going to have to find out exactly what that asshole Perkins knows, who he’s told, and remove them all from the equation.”
“Already got some men on that,” Nelson said.
“And that FDA woman? What the hell’s her name again?”
“Jefferson,” Nelson said. “Karen Jefferson. It looks like she might be in bed with Perkins, in a metaphorical sort of way. I’ve got one of our best surveillance teams on her.”
“Okay, but hold off on bugging her office or phone—at least for the moment. Have one of our techs hack into her computer, just to keep tabs on her. And have the Talon move on Oakley and Powers the way we planned. I want that done before any more shit rolls downhill.”
Nelson picked up the burner phone and began pressing numbers.
Winthrope Harbor Hospital
Prince George County, Maryland
BOLAN TOOK THE seat across the table from Karen Jefferson in an isolated section of the hospital cafeteria. Grimaldi remained standing and offered to get the coffee.
“Extra cream with two sweeteners, please,” Jefferson said.
Grimaldi grinned. “I take mine black, because I’m already sweet enough.”
Jefferson rolled her eyes but her lips betrayed a hint of a smile. She looked at Bolan. “Is your friend always so audacious?”
“He’s actually on his best behavior,” Bolan said.
Jefferson nodded and then her face took on a more serious cast. “Would you mind showing me your credentials again? What I’m about to discuss is highly classified.”
Bolan reached into his pocket and pulled out his Department of Justice identification, which she scrutinized. “Okay, Agent Cooper, or Matt, I guess it’s safe to brief you on everything.”
Grimaldi returned with a tray and three coffees and took his seat.
Jefferson inhaled a deep breath and took a sip. “Where do I start?”
“How about telling us why an FDA investigator is with the CDC?” Bolan said. “And why you’re here.”
“Okay, fair enough.” She paused, looked around then continued. “You’re aware that the aide who was infected in Africa was brought to this hospital?”
Bolan nodded.
“We have reason to believe that he may have been infected with the Keller Virus,” she said.
“That idiot reporter said something about that,” Grimaldi said. “What the hell was he talking about?”
Jefferson made another quick glance around and then spoke in a hushed tone. “The Keller Virus was originally under scrutiny by the DoD. Remember the SARS epidemic that devastated Asia over a decade ago?”
Bolan nodded. “Eight thousand infected, over seven hundred fatalities.”
“Seven hundred and seventy-four, to be exact,” Jefferson said. “Well, a group of geneticists, led by a Dr. Martin Keller, began research—under the auspices of the Department of Health and Human Services—on the virus, trying to modify it, ostensibly for defensive purposes. In case the virus spread to the U.S., the idea was to develop a stockpile of medicines for the civilian population in the event of an outbreak.”
“Which luckily there wasn’t,” Bolan said.
“Right.” Jefferson’s expression remained grim. “But Project BioShield poured billions into the research. Some modifications were successfully engineered with one of the viruses.”
“Modifications?” Bolan asked.
She nodded. “Making it more easily spread and contained.”
“How the hell can you contain something like a microbe?” Grimaldi asked. “It’d be like trying to keep someone from catching a cold.”
“Or the flu,” Jefferson added. “You’re right, it’s virtually impossible. The original concept was to come up with a variant of the most lethal form of the virus, that was easily dispersible, but having an antidote that could inoculate individuals against it.”
“We’re talking about a bioweapon?” Bolan asked.
Jefferson nodded.
“I thought we signed a treaty not to engage in that kind of stuff way back in the seventies?” Grimaldi asked.
“We did,” she said. “And so did the Russians, but that hasn’t stopped anybody from doing research. The idea was purportedly to develop an antidote in case of a sudden outbreak.”
“What is it you’re not telling us?” Bolan asked.
Jefferson took another sip of her coffee before answering. “Can you imagine how tactically efficient it would be to be able to introduce something like a virus into an enemy area and then send in inoculated troops to take over?”
“Damn, that’s scary stuff,” Grimaldi said.
Jefferson nodded. “Well, apparently Dr. Keller and one of his associates, Dr. Arnold Debussey, who were both working for a drug research company called Alocore, successfully modified the genetic code of this particular virus. Working backward, they created an antidote and also introduced a successful suicide gene into the virus.”
“Suicide gene?” Grimaldi returned.
“Right,” Jefferson replied, leaning forward. “After being introduced and lethally infecting a large portion of the populace, it ceases to replicate and becomes noninfectious.”
“Sounds like
the perfect weapon,” Bolan said. “Selective and devastating reduction of a given target population, then a fade-out.”
“When the nature of what they were doing was discovered,” Jefferson said, “the Department of Health and Human Services stepped in to put a stop to it. Alocore agreed to stop and the company was eventually sold.”
“Alocore,” Grimaldi said. “That sounds familiar.”
“They’re in the news lately because their CEO raised the prices of one of their cancer-fighting drugs to an exceptionally high, unaffordable amount,” Jefferson told him.
“Simon Oakley,” Bolan said. “He’s been called before an investigating Congressional Committee.”
Jefferson nodded again. “And rumors are flying that he’s being offered an immunity deal to spill the beans on Alocore’s secret drug research.”
It was starting to come together for Bolan now. Alocore, the Keller Virus, the drug research...
“Do you know how Alocore tested its antidote?” Bolan asked.
Jefferson shrugged. “Hopefully, we’ll find that out if and when Mr. Oakley is granted immunity and testifies. Oakley’s supposedly wants to be a whistle-blower and do a book with the ubiquitous Mr. Perkins. Or so Perkins says.”
“That slimy little creep looks like he does his best writing on the walls of public restrooms,” Grimaldi said.
Jefferson smiled.
“Ever hear of a drug research facility in Belgium called the Chevalier Institute?” Bolan asked.
She shook her head. “No, why?”
Bolan didn’t answer.
Grimaldi gave a slight nod and said, “We’d better get going. We got that appointment, don’t we?”
They all got up and began walking toward the lobby area.
Jefferson’s cell phone pinged and she looked at it.
“Oh, damn. I just got a text. The aide—Frank Clayton—passed.”
“Hey.” Grimaldi point to a uniformed police officer, accompanied by a security guard, walking through the lobby. “Looks like the cops are here, too.”
“Strange that they’d be here,” Jefferson said. “I’d better get a status update from the hospital staff.”
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