The Devil's Vial

by Brumbaugh,Byron

  Alex shrugged. “All hospitals have a morgue. Morgues need easy, but discrete access so the bodies can be moved inconspicuously. I knew if I found the morgue, which is almost always somewhere out of the way in the basement, there'd be a loading dock nearby for the hearses. Seemed like a good back door for us to use.”

  “Well, I'm impressed.”

  They got as far as the southwest corner of the park when they heard shouting from behind them. Turning, they saw two figures running toward them. “Pick up the pace a little,” said Emily. “Make for the trees.”

  Even though it wasn’t very late, the park seemed to be deserted. They got as far as the first few trees when they heard shouting from behind them. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

  “Run!” said Emily. “Try to make the statue.” They ran as hard as they could toward a World War I memorial. They could hear gunshots behind them and the ricochet of bullets off trees. In a few seconds, they were behind the stone base of the memorial. It was eight feet on a side and five feet tall. On its top was a bronze doughboy carrying a rifle. They crouched behind the east side of the base, trying to catch their breath. The gunfire was coming from the southwest. Emily pulled out her pistol and started firing. “Give me some cover here, Alex.”

  Alex had no more than pulled out his pistol, not really sure what he was going to do with it, when he noticed gunfire coming from the northwest. Poking his head around the north side of the memorial, he saw a man moving toward them, ducking from tree to tree. He was circling around to the north, occasionally shooting at them. Pieces of marble went flying as bullets hit the memorial. Alex raised his pistol and fired in the man’s general direction.

  “How are you doing there, Alex?”

  “There’s this lone man who’s circling around to our right. How are you doing?”

  “I’ve got them pinned down for now. They can’t move.” She fired again. “They don’t have much cover.”

  “Oh shit, he’s getting behind us,” said Alex. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger. “Jesus! I think I missed!” For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

  Emily glanced at Alex, then in the direction of his gaze. “I don’t think you missed. He’s down. I think you hit him!”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t aiming at him.” Alex got up and ran over toward the downed man.

  “Godammmit, Alex!” said Emily. “What the hell are you doing?”

  As Alex got close, he could see the downed man was conscious. He was wearing casual gray slacks and a light long-sleeved shirt. “You alright?” Alex asked. He kicked the pistol the man had dropped out of reach and put his own in his pocket. There was a small hole in the man’s shirt, but no evidence of blood. Alex bent down to inspect the damage.

  The man’s face at first showed fear, but then morphed into confusion as Alex ripped opened the man’s shirt, looking for a wound. The man was guppying, struggling to breathe.

  “Oh, thank god, you’re wearing Kevlar,” said Alex. He found the bullet imbedded in the vest at the solar plexus. “You’ll be alright, it just knocked the wind out of you. Relax and you’ll be able to take a breath in a few seconds. I would get an X-ray to make sure you don’t have any broken ribs.” Alex looked up to see Emily running toward him, looking over her shoulder toward the others who were chasing them.

  “Alex, let’s go.” She picked up the downed man’s pistol.

  “Over here!” they heard from the east. Looking in that direction, they saw Richard sticking his head out of a car window. “Run!” Richard opened the back door of the car.

  They ran as fast as they could and dove into the back seat of the car. Doug, who was driving, gunned the engine and burned rubber. They could hear shots coming from where they had just been, but the car was out of range and none found their target.

  “You hurt?” Alex asked Emily.

  “No, are you?” Emily was holding onto his arm. It felt good. They were both gasping for air.

  “My psyche’s been wounded. I could’ve killed that man.” The thought horrified him. “Do you think he was a cop?”

  “If he was, he’s just doing his job. He probably doesn’t even know what’s going on. He’s just following orders. An innocent, like you.”

  “You could try to make me feel better, you know.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I think we made a clean getaway,” said Doug, looking in the rear view mirror. “I don’t see anyone following. The car’s probably made, though; they’ll be looking for it. We’re going to have to change cars. What happened back there?”

  “Damned good question,” said Alex. “And why are people shooting at me? Again.”

  Emily put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Couple guys came in after you left,” she said to Doug and followed with a short, quick report. “I don’t know who those guys are, but I don’t think they’re cops. Just what is going on here, Doug?”

  “Look,” said Alex, leaning forward. “I have a life. I have a career, a house, a mortgage… responsibilities.” He hit the back of the seat with his fist. “I have a dog, God knows what’s happened to him. And a plane I left in a hangar in New Jersey.” He sucked in a breath. “Shit! I’m supposed to be back to work tomorrow night. If I don’t show up, not only am I at risk of losing my job, the hospital and the patients are put at risk. The guy who’s working there tonight will need relief, and if I don’t show up…”

  Doug eyed Alex in the rear view mirror, then shifted his gaze to Emily. “First things first. Do you want to make introductions, rookie?”

  “Christ!” said Alex and leaned back into the seat.

  “Doug, this is Alex and Richard, Alex and Richard, this is Doug.” There was an edge to her voice. “I’ve told them a little about you, but I’m at a loss too. Just what is going on?”

  “Alex, my pleasure. Richard and I talked a little while we were waiting for you. I’ve done a little research on you so I know more or less who you are, what you look like, and a few other things. It’s nice to meet you in the flesh.”

  Alex grunted.

  “Emily, did you get us digs for tonight?”

  “Yeah, a motel up in White Plains.”

  “Okay, we’ll head up that way after we switch cars.” Doug took a deep breath. “I think those guys back there were looking for me, but knew Alex on sight. The fact there were only three tells me they were running a wide area search and just got lucky. And I’m pretty damn sure they’re not cops.”

  “Well, who the hell are they and why’re they trying to kill me?” asked Alex.

  “I don’t know who they are, but they do have some serious juice. Alex, I don’t see any way you can get back to your life. At least not now. Your instincts telling you to run probably saved your life. If you try to go back, those people back there will almost certainly kill you. If you contact anyone, you’ll not only make it easier for you to be found, you’ll be putting whoever you contact at serious risk. I don’t know much about those guys, but they mean business and are not shy about using lethal force when they find it convenient.”

  “That’s just not acceptable. I have to contact the hospital where I work - somehow. People depend on me to be there; I can’t just leave them in the lurch. I have to at least let them know I’m not going to be there so they can make other arrangements. And I’d really like to know what’s happened to my dog.”

  “There might be a way we can leave the hospital a message surreptitiously. We’ll have to work on that. For right now, let’s change cars, then go to the motel and regroup. I’ve got a clean car stashed in Newark. I’ll tell you what I know, then you can tell me what you know. Maybe between all of us, we can fill in some gaps.” Doug drove carefully, apparently trying not to attract attention. They went down side streets, making their way slowly west.

  “Emily, until today, it’s been what, two years, since we last talked?”

  “About that. What happened? I know you retired. What’re you doing now?”

  “After leaving the FBI, I decided to find somethi
ng a little more sedate. There was this large accounting firm based in Atlanta, LQNH, that was hiring agents after the Enron/Anderson/Sarbanes-Oxley thing happened. They started what they called ‘forensic accounting.’ Sounds benign enough, doesn’t it? I thought it might be a kind of semi-retirement. I’d sort of slide into retirement slowly, you know?”

  “What the hell is forensic accounting and what does it have to do with what’s going on?” asked Alex.

  “Forensic accounting is a service that provides professional review of large companies’ books. We look for investments and practices that could get them in trouble - problems that could bring them to court. About six months ago, I noticed a large freight company was writing off a sizable contribution to a research lab in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It tweaked at my curiosity because I couldn’t see much of a connection. Why would a company specializing in shipping freight all over the world, with no other apparent interest in science, donate as much as one million dollars a year to a low profile lab no one’s heard of, doing research in virology?”

  “Cut to the chase, would you?” said Alex.

  Emily put her hand on his forearm. “Patience, Alex. Doug wouldn’t include what’s not relevant.”

  “At first, it just seemed odd. Then I found another firm, then another and yet another – all in all, eleven large companies giving big contributions to this same lab. The total amount was in the tens of millions per year. The lab is associated with Harvard, but you work through the accounting and you find the money doesn’t go to the University; the money goes straight to a non-profit corporation. A company that calls itself, of all things, ‘The Survivors.’ I couldn’t let it go. Years of honing my suspicious instincts just wouldn’t let me drop it. I decided to get a hold of some old friends in the Bureau who could sniff around for me. I called Jim Osterbach, do you remember him, Emily?”

  “Vaguely…”

  “Well, I might have left it to him and the Bureau, but then strange things started happening. First, I got word from corporate headquarters to lay off the investigation – I never hear directly from those guys. I’m just a peon, you know? And I hadn’t reported what I was into, either. Then I got a call from another acquaintance in the Bureau, who gives me the heads-up I’d better drop the whole thing. The head honchos of the FBI put the word out if I asked any more questions, I should be brought in – and in no friendly manner. It wasn’t long after that I found a message from Jim on my answering machine, saying someone was after him. He didn’t know who it was, but he sounded scared. Agents don’t scare easily, you know? Anyway, he said I’d better go underground for a while. So, I disappeared, supposedly on leave, and concentrated on doing what research I could as cautiously as I could. I haven’t heard from Jim since…”

  “What’re you saying, Doug?” asked Emily. “Do you mean the FBI was threatening you so you would stop investigating?”

  “More than that. I think they wanted to ‘disappear’ Jim. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Holy shit!” said Emily.

  “Say what?” said Alex. “That kind of stuff only happens in the movies.”

  “Right,” said Doug as he stared unblinking at Alex in the rearview mirror.

  They pulled into the parking lot in front of Mary’s Diner in the outskirts of Newark. “I still don’t think we were followed,” said Doug. “Why don’t you get something to eat here while I switch cars. Make it to-go. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Order me, mmm… a cheeseburger, fries, and coke. Okay, rookie?”

  Emily, Richard and Alex got out of the car and walked into the diner as Doug drove off. It was early evening, but the air outside was still warm and humid. Inside, the air conditioner was set a bit too cool, especially if you were sweaty after doing a little running. There was a counter with ten stools, six booths under windows in front, and eight tables between the two. They could hear the distant sizzle of a grill, pans and dishes being moved around and low conversations of the six other patrons in the diner. It smelled of chicken, burgers and fries.

  The three of them went to a booth in the front. Emily looked around before sitting down, taking some time gazing in the direction of the back door. She seemed to be edgy, more alert, since the hospital. Richard sat down, relaxed and calm, as if nothing interesting was going on. Alex felt alert, but, at the moment, unalarmed. It was a skill he developed after years in the ER: knowing how to relax after heart-pounding urgency, while being alert for the next catastrophe to come in through the door. He wondered at the fickle nature of a reality that took him from the life of a respected ER physician to being in the company of cops who stole cars while being chased by people who were trying to kill them.

  Emily looked at Richard. “How can you be so calm?”

  “Years of practice,” he replied. After a moment spent in thought, he added, “I remember my teacher asking ‘Which is easier, covering the whole Earth with leather to protect your feet, or wrapping your feet in leather?’ Just so, if you want to protect your mind from the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,’ it’s easier to clothe your mind in calm and peace than to force the rest of the world to comply.”

  “Well, I’m impressed,” she said.

  “I’m worried,” said Alex. “This is beginning to look even more sinister. What did Doug do in the FBI?”

  “After 9/11, he was in the Anti-Terrorism Task Force. I’m not sure what he did before then. But one thing I am absolutely sure of – his instincts. If he has a hunch, there’s more than a particle of truth in there somewhere.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the vial.” Alex felt his shirt pocket. The pen was still there. “If this thing is somehow associated with a virology lab, maybe it contains a live virus and is somehow involved with bio-terrorism? If so, why are the FBI and this accounting firm interested in keeping it quiet? You’d think the FBI would appreciate the information Doug came up with, rather than try to squash his curiosity.”

  “Maybe it’s a valuable new vaccine for HIV or SARS or the avian flu,” said Richard. “Or maybe it’s a viral vector engineered to implant genes into the human genome to treat diseases like cystic fibrosis or some other genetic disorder. It could be worth billions and the FBI is just interested in protecting the investments of the wealthy powers-that-be.”

  “But why would they shoot at us to get it back? Why not just stop us and demand its return? Threaten us with prison if we didn’t comply? Why would the FBI be out to get one of its own agents?”

  “And how did you get this vial to begin with?” asked Emily.

  After a few seconds of thought, Richard said, “I think at this point, it’s futile to speculate. What we need to do is collect more information. There are just too many unknowns.”

  “Knowing Doug, I’ll bet he has more to offer,” said Emily.

  The waitress came by and they gave their orders. After she left, Alex turned to Emily and asked, “So, what interested you in police work? You’re young, attractive, smart. You could be almost anything you want.”

  She smiled. “I couldn’t stand being stuck behind a desk. And I wanted to do something helpful for people. I wanted to make a difference. You should understand that, given your profession.”

  “Yeah, I do. But I would think it would be difficult to break into such a male-dominated job.”

  “Maybe it was in the seventies, but not so much anymore. Maybe too, I wanted to be in a position of control, where I could direct what was happening instead of only being a passive observer.”

  “Why does Doug call you rookie?”

  Emily winced. “I don’t particularly like it. He started calling me that when we first worked together and I was a rookie. It sort of stuck. I’d be offended, except I know he respects my work.”

  A late-nineties Ford Taurus drove into the parking lot and stopped near their window. Doug opened the door and stepped out. The waitress brought over their food as Doug came in. He was still favoring his left arm.

  Alex nodded at the arm and asked, “You alright?
”

  “It’s just a flesh wound. I bound it up as best I could.”

  Alex noted there was a frayed area to the upper left sleeve of Doug’s sport jacket. “I’ll take a look at it when we get to someplace safe.”

  “Fine, but right now, we have to get out of here. They’re sure to focus their search in this area as soon as they can muster their forces. Let’s take our food and go.”

  Soon, they were on Interstate 280, heading east and then north on 95, making their way toward White Plains. The traffic was thick, the going slow, even though it was around nine o’clock.

  “Look, Doug,” said Alex. “I’m happy for you that you’ve found a stimulating case to bring you out of retirement, but how does any of this explain why people are trying to kill us and what we should do to stop it?”

  “Of course. I’m getting there.” Doug was still driving, Richard in the front, Emily and Alex in the back. “Before I left LQNH, I was able to discover some of the money ear-marked for the lab in Cambridge was redirected to another lab just outside Delhi, India. I figured I was hot and the thought occurred to me I might be safer nosing around over there rather than here, so I went there on a false passport.” He looked over at Richard. “Ex-FBI agents do have resources, you know. Anyway, I was shooting in the dark. Figured it was as good a place as any to start. I located the head of the lab, some guy named Srivastava, and was thinking about what to do next when the guy packed up and left. He bought a plane ticket going to New York through Heathrow in London and seemed to be in a hurry so I decided to follow to see what I could discover. I got a ticket on the same plane. There was a delay in Delhi. A baggage handlers strike in London messed up the schedules and Srivastava got his flight changed to Boston through de Gaulle in Paris. I followed. I saw you for the first time at the airport in Paris, Richard.” He glanced over at Richard again.

  “You were there?” asked Richard.

  “I was there. Something must have spooked Srivastava because he started acting real paranoid. I thought maybe he sensed he was being followed, so I backed off a little. Next thing I knew, he was in a black Caddy, following you down the freeway in Massachusetts.