He had only a single spare.
Fuck.
He walked back to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled the hobbled Tahoe off the road onto the shoulder. All hope of catching up to the van was dashed, but he still had one resource left he could try to exploit. The getaway crew would ditch the white van for another vehicle. They would try to accomplish this as soon as possible because undoubtedly Legend Tyree would attempt to do exactly what Ninemeyer was about to try: tracking the van from above.
He retrieved his mobile phone and selected the first entry on his speed-dial list.
“You’ve reached the after-hours answering service for Helios Corporation. How may I be of assistance?” a woman’s voice asked.
“I’d like to rent a bird,” he said.
“Authenticate.”
“CHINA DOLL.”
“Wait to be transferred.”
A beat later, a new voice came on the line, this one male. “Rookery.”
“I’d like to borrow a bird,” Ninemeyer said.
“Location?”
“Fifteen miles northeast of Culpeper, Virginia.”
“Wait while I check availability . . . I’m sorry, but there’s no availability in that area. Next asset availability for that location is in three hours, eighteen minutes.”
“Damn. That’s too late.”
“Any other locations?” the man said.
“No,” he said and ended the call.
There were many perks to working in the private sector, but reliable access to real-time satellite and drone coverage was not one of them. He often thought about asking the Red Client for access to resources, but as tempting as it was, to do so would forever change their working arrangement. Right now he was an independent third-party contractor. To go down the other path would turn him into an indentured servant.
He climbed out, opened the rear tailgate, and grabbed his go-bag. Next, he retrieved a screwdriver from the tool pouch he kept and removed the license plate from the rear bumper. After that, he fetched the holster and extra magazine from beneath the driver’s seat, unplugged his mobile phone’s charger cable from the center console, and retrieved the vehicle’s insurance and registration paperwork from the glove box. He stuffed all these items in his go-bag, shrugged on both shoulder straps, and began the long walk back to Culpeper . . .
By the time he reached Windmere’s Autobody & Collision Repair, his feet were screaming at him. His Rockport loafers were comfortable day shoes, but long-distance walking shoes they were not. Thankfully the silver Ford Explorer was still there, parked right where it had been when he’d last seen it. He walked straight up to the passenger door and knocked on the window. To his credit, the observer sitting in the driver’s seat had seen him coming, albeit too late to mount an effective defense. The driver, who looked to be in his late sixties, did manage to get the vehicle’s engine started, but that was all. The man stared at him through the window, his expression betraying the strain of a mind weighing options.
Ninemeyer smiled at him and motioned for him to roll down the window.
This time the man fingered the switch for the passenger-seat window and bumped it down only an inch. “What do you want?”
“Contractor or employee?” Ninemeyer asked, slipping his left hand behind his back to draw the Walther from his waistband. He was standing practically right up against the door, taking advantage of the Explorer’s high window sill to block the other man’s view of the maneuver.
“Excuse me?”
“Contractor or government employee, which one are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ninemeyer made a funny face at the man, who he guessed was a retired G-man working freelance surveillance under government contract. The only thing that really mattered was which government.
“How long have you been working for the SVR?” he asked in Russian.
The man responded with a blank stare.
“Do you know Director Geng Hichang at the Ministry of State Security?” he asked in Mandarin.
Again, no reply from the watcher, but now Ninemeyer could tell the man was getting nervous. He saw the man’s eyes tick to the gear shifter on the center console, and he could read the man’s mind: If I can just get the transmission in drive . . .
“You’re not a very talkative fellow, are you?” Ninemeyer said. “Did you see that white van that came tearing out of here two hours ago?”
“Who are you?” the watcher said, gathering his courage.
“Did you happen to get the tag number on that van?”
The driver blinked.
Ninemeyer brought his pistol up.
The driver’s right hand flew to the gear shifter and slammed it into drive as Ninemeyer fired three rounds at the man’s head. The first bullet shattered the passenger window; the second and third slugs found their mark. The engine roared, and the Explorer lurched forward out of the parking lot only to fall quiet a beat later and slow to a coast. Ninemeyer ran to catch up with it and jumped inside via the rear passenger-side door. From the back seat, he grabbed the steering wheel and guided the Explorer onto a side road, then shoved the gear shifter into park. He leaned over the dead man and reclined the driver’s seat. Then, grabbing the corpse under the armpits, he dragged the body into the rear footwell. He climbed out, walked around to the driver’s side, and got in.
He drove east on 15. When he reached the abandoned Tahoe, he retrieved one final thing he had not been able to carry with him before—a hard case containing his Heckler & Koch PSG1 semiautomatic sniper rifle. The PSG1 was like his Walther and his American Express card—he never left home without it. Feeling much better now, he climbed back in the Explorer and left his Tahoe behind for the Highway Patrol to find.
No choice in the matter, unfortunately.
He merged back onto Route 15, driving the speed limit until it doglegged north. He exited at Route 661, Oak Shade Road, and drove until he found a nice secluded spot where he could pull off to the side. He parked the Explorer, climbed out, and replaced the license plate with the plate from his Tahoe. Then he wiped the spatter of blood and brains off the driver-side window. The window was cracked but not blown out, so he rolled it all the way down. He walked around to the front passenger side and surveyed the broken glass.
This vehicle will not serve, he decided. I’m going to have to burn it and the body before sunrise.
He checked his watch: 0343. Plenty of time. He climbed back into the driver seat and retrieved the dead man’s wallet from his back pants pocket. He pulled out the Maryland driver’s license: Nolan Watts. Age 71.
Hmmm . . . an old-timer. I’ll have to have the back office run a query sometime.
He took one last look at the picture and then put the ID back in the wallet and returned it to the dead man’s pocket.
“I wonder if this guy mattered,” he muttered. “If he did, I’ll hear about it. Always do . . .”
Ninemeyer pulled out his mobile phone and called Malcolm Madden. The call rang until it went to voice mail. He did not leave a message. He’d try again in an hour. If he didn’t reach him on the next call, he’d stake out Malcolm’s apartment until he came home. Unless, of course, the little worm had been in the white van . . .
If that’s the case, then I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
DAY THREE
I for all and one for none,
I take no blame for what I’ve done.
Greed we worship beneath the sun,
And dance in blood, oh what fun.
Sins collective eclipse the sum,
At Nature’s pyre, her praises sung,
The world has tipped, the end near come,
Reset the balance, or the Devil’s won.
—Willie Barnes
CHAPTER 24
0725 Local Time
Frederick, Maryland
Elizabeth Fischer climbed out of bed, naked. She walked to her bathroom and urinated. Then she dressed
methodically, without showering first. Beth always showered in the morning before work. Elizabeth did not put on eye makeup. Beth always wore eye makeup.
She walked to the kitchen and vomited in the sink.
She did not clean up the mess.
Her head felt like it had been split open with an axe, but Elizabeth did not take any pain medicine. They were still suffering from the concussion. Elizabeth did not eat breakfast. Beth never skipped breakfast. She left her mobile phone on the kitchen counter along with her Yeti coffee tumbler. Beth never went anywhere without her mobile phone and Yeti tumbler. Elizabeth did, however, grab her military ID, USAMRIID badge, Maryland state driver’s license, and car keys. She walked out of the front door of her townhouse without locking the door behind her. Beth always locked the door.
Elizabeth walked to her assigned parking spot in the community carport. She drove to Patrick Dixon’s apartment complex. He was waiting for her at the curb. He climbed into the front passenger seat. She drove to Fort Detrick; they both presented their military IDs at the gate. She drove to her reserved parking space in the lot off Porter Street. She and Dixon walked to building 1425 and badged in at fifteen minutes prior to the security shift turnover. She called a meeting with the oncoming security shift supervisor. She informed the shift supervisor that she was going to be conducting a surprise biosecurity drill this morning sometime between the hours of 0900 and 1100 to evaluate staff situational awareness and test the effectiveness of newly implemented biosafety and biosecurity standard operating procedures. USAMRIID had suffered a number of mishaps and accidents over the past several years resulting in staff exposure to potentially deadly pathogens. Facility SOPs were designed to prevent the inadvertent release of and exposure to pathogens, and they were constantly being revised and improved based on lessons learned. She explained her role in the drill, the lab technician Patrick Dixon’s role as “event instigator,” and what she expected from the security team. She then thanked the shift supervisor for his professionalism and asked him to please brief his staff.
She then proceeded into the laboratory spaces, which she expected to be empty; most staff did not arrive until after 0830. This morning, however, someone was working early. Through a glass observation window, Fischer watched a woman wearing a puffy blue suit, yellow rubber gloves, and rubber boots sitting hunched over a workstation in one of the facility’s dedicated biosafety-level-four laboratories. A yellow curlicue hose connected to the regulator plugged into a nearby air manifold, which supplied filtered, fresh air from the building’s dedicated laboratory air system.
The researcher in the blue suit was Dr. Jill Hennessy, a brilliant, opinionated scientist who specialized in working with BSL-4 class organisms. BSL-4 class organisms, such as the Ebola virus, which Dr. Hennessy was working with presently, were the deadliest pathogens known to man. Beth adored Jill Hennessy; they were friends. Elizabeth didn’t care. She needed a scapegoat for the operation she and Patrick Dixon were preparing to execute, and Dr. Hennessy fit the bill perfectly. Hennessy, suddenly feeling eyes on her, turned and looked out through the observation window.
Hennessy smiled.
Elizabeth smiled back . . .
CHAPTER 25
0950 Local Time
Tim Hortons
Watertown, New York
Josie contemplated getting a second donut while she waited for Isabel Clark.
Isabel, Izzy to her friends, was Jeremy Wayne’s girlfriend, and the two women had become close friends over the past two and a half months. Iz had texted her early this morning, begging her to meet for coffee. When she got the text, Josie had initially declined. Bailing on her husband to hang out at Tim Hortons with Izzy on Michael’s first full day home was unthinkable . . . That is until Michael bailed on her. So here she was, waiting for her friend and thinking about last night’s bizarre homecoming.
Izzy swept into the room like a cold, north wind. Spotting Josie, she stomped over and dropped into the vacant chair opposite her like a sullen teenager. Izzy greeted her with a lifeless smile from behind a pair of sunglasses. This morning, Izzy’s quintessential dimples were nowhere to be found. Given the boys’ impromptu homecoming, this was not the Izzy whom Josie had expected to see.
“Hi, Iz,” Josie said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Hey,” Izzy said, slumping back in her chair.
“Is everything all right?” Josie asked, leaning in.
“No, not really,” Izzy said, folding her arms across her chest. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“How were things with Michael last night?”
Josie debated how to answer this question before saying, “A little awkward, but I think it takes a little time to get back into the rhythm as a couple.”
Izzy pursed her lips. “Does he seem different to you?”
Josie felt her cheeks flush as she thought about the bizarre lovemaking sessions with Michael last night. “Well, maybe a little.”
Izzy took off her sunglasses. Though her eyes were dry, Izzy’s puffy, red eyelids told Josie that her friend had been crying. “You’re blushing,” Izzy said, suddenly perking up.
“No, I’m not.”
Izzy grinned impishly and leaned forward. “Yes, you totally are. You had naughty sex right before you came here, didn’t you? I can see it written all over your face. You did it in broad daylight with the shades open, didn’t you?”
Josie shook her head adamantly. “No, no, it was last night.”
“Was it kinky? Did you go all Fifty Shades and let him tie you up?”
“No! Nothing like that.” She laughed, not sure how much she wanted to share. Finally she said, “It was, well, strange.”
“Strange as in kinky, or strange as in creepy? There’s a difference.”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Josie said, wondering how red her cheeks had turned. “The first time was normal—you know, vanilla sex before bed. We cuddled afterward, I tried to talk to him, and he fell asleep.”
“Uh-huh, been there,” Izzy said, nodding.
“So I rolled over and went to sleep myself. Then, next thing I know, I wake up completely disoriented and find him on top of me going to town. It was two o’clock in the morning, Izzy.”
“He actually started screwing you while you were asleep? I had no idea Michael was such an animal. What was it like?”
“Well, I was glad that he missed me as much as I missed him, but at the same time it was weird. He was like a machine. Pumping away like a jackhammer but staring off into space a million miles away. Before I knew it, he was finished. He rolled off me, and without a word, he went back to sleep. Then it happened again, at five fifteen in the morning.”
“That is weird,” Izzy said and took a sip of her water.
“You wanna hear what’s even weirder? At breakfast, when I asked him about it, he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. He swears he doesn’t remember doing it.”
“Wait, what?”
“I know; it’s crazy,” Josie said, shaking her head. “It was like he was sleepwalking, except instead he was sleepfucking.”
“That’s super freaky. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”
Josie nodded.
“Do you believe him? I mean—do you believe that he doesn’t remember doing it?”
“Yeah, I do. Michael is all about his integrity. The man never lies.”
“What’s that look mean?” Izzy said, narrowing her eyes.
“Um, I’m a little nervous that it’s going to happen again tonight,” she confessed.
“Well, at least you’re getting some.” Izzy laughed, her expression changing as she looked to her lap. “Jeremy totally dissed me.”
“What are you talking about? At the airport last night, he couldn’t keep his hands off you.”
“I know,” Izzy said, her bottom lip starting to quiver. “But that was just a show for you guys. After we got in the car, it was like a switch flipped in his
brain. I tried to make out with him, but he pulled away. I asked him what was wrong, and he said nothing. So I suggested that we go out to a nice dinner, you know, like you guys were doing. He told me he wasn’t hungry and ordered me to drive him to Best Buy.”
“Best Buy?”
“Yes, Best Buy.”
“What did you do?”
“I started crying. I said, ‘What’s wrong, Jeremy? Do you not like me anymore?’”
“Oh, Iz, now you’re making me cry,” Josie said, tears of empathy rimming her eyes. She reached across the table and squeezed Izzy’s hand.
“Do you want to know what he had the nerve to say?”
“What?”
Izzy shook her head and started to sob. “He said not to call him Jeremy. He said he wanted me to call him by his Army nickname from now on.”
“What’s the nickname?”
“Bug.”
“Bug?”
“Yes, Bug. Isn’t that disgusting?”
Josie shrugged. “I don’t know about disgusting, but definitely strange. Guys are weird about stuff like that. Maybe it’s an inside joke or something?”
“I don’t care. I think it’s disgusting. I told him I wouldn’t call him that.”
“Good for you, Iz.”
“Wait, it gets worse. So he orders me to take him to Best Buy so he can buy a computer. Josie, you wouldn’t believe it. He spent over two thousand dollars on a computer and a couple of monitors.”
“Two thousand dollars is a lot of money for a computer.”
“I know. I think he emptied his checking account to buy the stupid thing. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense. It’s so out of character for him. He is the world’s biggest cheap ass. Jeremy thinks dinner at Cracker Barrel is too fancy, so he insists we eat at Sonic on our dates.”
“Did you ask him why he was spending so much on a computer? I’ve never pictured Jeremy as a computer guy,” Josie said.
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