Sleight of Hand (Outbreak Task Force)

by Julie Rowe

  It looked clear, so she shifted it until it was in no danger of disturbing anything below it. Joy repeated the process for every piece of mangled metal.

  “Ma’am,” a man shouted from somewhere close to Gunner. “Please stop what you’re doing and come over here.”

  A cop, with his gun out. It wasn’t pointed at her, yet.

  “There’s at least one man under all this debris,” she called. The mask muffled her words, and she tried to yell louder. “He’s very likely injured and in need of medical attention.”

  “I understand, ma’am, but that’s for the paramedics to deal with.”

  “He can’t wait for the paramedics.”

  “Ma’am,” the cop said, his tone hard. “I need you over here right now.”

  That sounded…odd. “What for?”

  He lifted his hands, pointing the gun at her. “Now.”

  What. The. Fuck. “You think I caused this?” she asked.

  “Are you fucking insane?” Gunner shouted at the officer. “We’re with the CDC.”

  “Sir, until your identity is confirmed, I have to treat you as a suspect in whatever happened here.”

  “Check my ID then,” Gunner snarled. “Check the van. Call this in, but don’t get in the way of my partner, who’s a trauma nurse, from rescuing a Homeland Security agent.”

  “Homeland?” the cop asked, lowering his weapon a few inches. “Is this a terrorist attack?”

  “We don’t know, but we just served a warrant and are investigating several suspicious deaths.”

  The cop didn’t answer, but he did drop his gun a few more inches.

  Joy turned back and resumed removing all the crud off of Dozer. She cleared the last piece and swallowed a mouthful of terror. There was a lot of blood on the ground beneath him.

  “We need an ambulance yesterday,” she yelled, but the sound was blunted by the mask, and the police officer didn’t move.

  She strode toward Gunner, careful to keep her gaze focused on him rather than the cop. The officer seemed young, inexperienced, and altogether too happy to point his weapon at her.

  As she got closer to him, Gunner asked, “Joy?”

  “I need the first aid kit,” she explained. “Will you be okay if I take it?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Go, take care of our man.” There was a note to his voice that lent her a measure of calm and control. Confidence, conviction, certainty—it centered and grounded her. So much so that when she straightened with the supplies in her hands, she slid into the eye of the battlefield storm.

  Her heart rate slowed, and the world came into sharper focus.

  Whatever came next, she’d deal with it.

  Joy turned to the young officer and said, “Is your nose irritated?”

  He recoiled. “How did you—”

  “It bothered us as well. Possibly some kind of chemical spill as a result of the explosion. EMS personnel need to have a particle mask at the minimum.” She pointed to hers. “Or something with its own O2. We’ve got a man down, so medical is a priority.” She paused to give him time to ask questions, but he just looked at her with wide eyes. “Got it?” she asked.

  His response was to bend over and retch.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tuesday 11:16 a.m.

  Gunner watched the police officer get sick. The chemical in the air was showing all the signs of being dangerous. Great. The only help to show up so far is now out of commission.

  “Joy,” he barked. “Go.”

  She glanced at him, nodded, and picked her way through the debris back to Dozer. She’d recovered from the shock of the blast and had donned her Army attitude. He was relieved—something he’d never tell her—because she’d never let him forget it. When she slid into Army mode, she could handle an erupting volcano with cool determination.

  He put his hands under himself and pushed up to stand on his uninjured leg. The world spun, and his stomach lurched. To counteract his body’s reaction, he bent over and breathed evenly, doubly grateful for the particle mask, until his head cleared. It only took a few seconds, and the cop was still dry heaving when Gunner started hopping toward him.

  His leg throbbed, and blood dripped off the bandage he’d tied around the piece of metal sticking out of his calf. Stupid to pull it out now without any medical support.

  A couple of fire trucks, an ambulance, and more police cars roared through the facility’s gate. They came to a stop about the same time as Gunner arrived at the officer’s side.

  “Move back, out of the area,” Gunner ordered the man. “Your reaction isn’t going to stop until you do.”

  The cop, holding his stomach, moaned and began backing up blindly.

  A couple of firemen approached, and Gunner put up his hand, palm out. “We’ve got some kind of chemical spill. You’re going to need breathing equipment.”

  “Who’s that?” one of the firemen asked, pointing at Joy.

  “Joy Ashiro, trauma nurse and CDC infectious disease specialist. She’s triaging a Homeland Security agent.”

  “Sir,” the other fireman said. “You’re bleeding, please sit down.”

  A crowd of EMS and law enforcement headed toward Joy and him. Gunner opened his mouth to shout at them, but another dizzy spell hit him, and he found himself sitting on the concrete instead.

  The first fireman had everyone crowded around him in a horseshoe while he explained about the need for breathing and biohazard equipment.

  Gunner glanced at the spot in the wreckage where he’d last seen Joy, but she wasn’t visible. In fact, he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  Had she been injured and didn’t realize it?

  Thanks to adrenaline, people could function for several minutes up to as much as an hour with an injury and not know it.

  Dizziness threatened to throw him flat on his face, and he fought the surge of panic. She wasn’t hurt, she was looking for Dozer. She wasn’t lying in a pool of her own blood, a bullet wound between her eyes.

  He lifted his head to look—why did it weigh so much?—and saw her moving a large piece of debris. No big bloodstain on her coveralls. She bent over and disappeared from view.

  He closed his eyes and sagged, barely staying in a seated position. Joy was fine.

  “Sir?” Two paramedics were crouched on either side of him wearing gloves and masks that were only one step up from a surgical mask. When had they arrived?

  “Sir,” one of them said again. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Gunner focused on the paramedic’s masked face and summarized the last hour.

  The two EMS examined his leg and the piece of metal embedded in it. They agreed to leave it alone and let the ER doc remove it.

  “We’re going to transport you to the hospital now.”

  Joy wasn’t in sight.

  He didn’t want to leave the scene of this disaster without her, but she was doing the right thing, sticking with Dozer. She’d be able to direct his rescue and the subsequent investigation and cleanup of the site. On the other hand, she had no backup. Where was his phone? He could request help. Damn it, it was broken.

  “Gunner.”

  He turned in the direction of the voice that barked his name.

  A tall man wearing an identical set of coveralls as his own walked up to where Gunner lay on the gurney. Both paramedics took a step back. Were they afraid of the outfit or the military grade rifle Lyle Smoke carried? The ex-special forces soldier held it with a casualness that told anyone looking at him he knew how to use the weapon.

  The first time Gunner had met the man, he’d been beat up, shot, and covered in blood and sand. His only concern had been for the nurse he’d been tasked to keep safe. That concern had turned the man into a ticking time bomb. Had she died, Smoke might have followed her.

  “Smoke,” Gunner said. “What assignment did they pull you off of?”

  The big man shrugged but otherwise didn’t answer. He looked around, his gaze missing nothing. “Joy?�
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  “She’s with Dozer,” Gunner said with a chin lift that direction. “He was too close to the blast.”

  Smoke took a step that way.

  “Wait,” Gunner said. “The guy who dropped the bomb was only a few feet in front of Dozer when it went off. He’s still got to be under all that crap.”

  “Armed?” Smoke asked.

  “No idea. He looked fucking terrified.”

  The ex-soldier’s face was cold and hard, and when he smiled at Gunner, the two paramedics took a couple more steps back. “He might not be alone.”

  A media helicopter flew in and hovered over them, a vulture waiting for prey to be revealed.

  Nosy assholes. Gunner hated the press when they pulled this shit. “Or someone could be watching.”

  Smoke glanced at the big ugly bird in the air then strode into the blast zone.

  Gut twisting into a tight ball at having to leave Joy, Gunner glanced at the paramedics. “Time to go.”

  Joy better take care of herself, or she’d have to answer to him.

  The hospital’s ER was busy—no surprise there. What was a surprise were the two security guards who appeared to be stationed right outside his curtained cubicle.

  Finally, after about an hour, the ER doc came in. “Who are you and what happened?” he asked.

  “Dr. Gunner Anderson, CDC Outbreak Task Force,” Gunner said with a tight smile. It was the best he could manage. The pain had gradually gotten worse. “Explosion.”

  The other doctor blinked. “Huh. The staff said you were some kind of terrorist.”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay,” the doctor said with a sigh. “Give me a couple of minutes to get another pair of hands in here.” He looked at the piece of metal sticking out of Gunner’s calf. “Hopefully you won’t need surgery.”

  Gunner thought the couple of minutes was going to be more like twenty, but the doctor was back in short order, and the piece of metal was removed. The doc stitched up his leg, satisfied that the stab wound wasn’t a complicated one, and told Gunner to stay off of it for a few days.

  Like hell he would.

  After he was released, he borrowed a cell phone and called Rodrigues again. Joy and Dozer were anticipated to arrive at the hospital shortly, but Dozer’s condition was uncertain.

  “I want a doctor I know and trust to evaluate him.” Rodrigues’s voice was hoarse, high, and horrified.

  He’d never heard her speak so emotionally before. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  She made a noise. Surprised? Resigned? “Until we know the full scope of this…incident, I don’t want him left on his own in such a public place.”

  “You’re afraid someone will attack him here?”

  “Yes. No.” She made a frustrated growl. “I don’t know. Just look after him for me, please.”

  She hung up.

  Gunner stared at the borrowed phone. What had gotten into her? Could Joy be right about those two?

  Movement in the area immediately next to his curtained cubicle grabbed his attention. He glanced at the visible floor space under the curtain. Several people wearing steel-toed boots and one person wearing paper shoe covers over a pair of battered combat boots were moving a patient from a rolling gurney to a stationary one.

  He knew those boots, those feet. Relief cascaded through him, sweeping away every ache and pain in his body.

  Gunner pulled the curtain aside.

  Joy had her back to him, but he’d know her covered in burlap and rolled into a rug. She was focused on the person on the gurney. Dozer.

  “Joy? How is he?”

  She turned, her eyes wide, and let out a relieved breath. “He’s unconscious. Been in and out. It looks like a concussion.” She looked at Gunner’s leg, taking in the blood and bandages. “Your leg?”

  “Some stitches and antibiotics, that’s it.” He nodded at Dozer. “Any compression fractures?”

  “Won’t know until he’s had some X-rays. His vitals are good.”

  “What about the bomber?”

  “Couldn’t find him.”

  That was a surprise. “Smoke couldn’t find him?”

  “Oh, Smoke found evidence of him. Some blood on the ground, but he must have slipped away while we were distracted by the blast.”

  “I’d hate to be that guy when Smoke catches up to him.” Because the ex-army special forces soldier would find him.

  “After you were taken to the hospital, more CDC people arrived. The explosion has destroyed or contaminated everything that was in the storage unit.”

  “Damn it. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

  “Which way is that?”

  “Checking out every grocery store, bar, and restaurant the brewery deals with until we find all the contaminated beer kegs.”

  “That could take days, even weeks.”

  “It could.”

  Someone groaned, and Dozer’s arm rose then fell again.

  “Dozer?” Gunner asked, joining Joy next to the agent’s gurney.

  “What?” Dozer asked, his eyes open enough for Gunner to tell they were bloodshot.

  “What day is it?”

  He didn’t answer for several long seconds. “Is this a trick question?”

  He was certainly thinking like an agent. His concussion hadn’t completely scrambled his brain. “It’s always a trick question.”

  “Dr. Grumpy,” Dozer said. “No flirting today. I have a headache.”

  “I hate to say this, but the flirting is going to happen,” Gunner said. “Dr. Rodrigues gave me explicit instructions to get to second base with you. Reporting that you argued with me doesn’t count toward cognitive awareness.”

  “It should. Only a brain-damaged person would agree with you.”

  “I concur.” Gunner shut up and waited.

  “Second base my ass.” A pause, then Dozer grumbled, “It’s Tuesday, asshole.”

  “That’s close enough.” Gunner checked his pupils and studied the early bruises beginning to form on Dozer’s chest. Definitely a chest X-ray to check those ribs, but otherwise…

  “Try and stay out of trouble,” Gunner told him. “We’ve got to get back at it.”

  “Wait.” Dozer frowned. “The bomber didn’t look that old. College age. In El Paso, all the terrorists but one were students under twenty-four.”

  “That is a coincidence no one is going to like.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuesday 11:56 a.m.

  Joy couldn’t stop looking at Gunner’s injured leg. The last time she’d seen it, a piece of metal had been lodged in it. As if it had been thrown like a javelin.

  Now, it was wrapped up in a large bandage, and the idiot man was standing on it. Okay, he wasn’t putting any weight on it, but he was vertical rather than horizontal, so gravity was going to do its best to keep it bleeding.

  Dozer, who should be getting his head examined, for real, was still talking about the El Paso case. None of it was helping them catch whoever else was involved in this mess or track down the contaminated beer.

  Gunner’s last comment finally settled into her head. “Wait. Are we dealing with terrorists or a cult?”

  “Which group of people in our population are the easiest to influence with peer pressure, grand ideologies, and the promise of committing violence without retribution?”

  College-aged students. The perfect age group to recruit from. “We need to look for the recruiter?”

  “In El Paso, it was a fourth generation American psychopath,” Dozer said. “Who’s in custody and won’t be getting out any time soon.”

  “I’m not seeing the connection between El Paso, Utah, and what’s going on here in Atlanta,” Joy said.

  “There’s only one obvious connection,” Dozer said, his tone grim. “The use of bacteria and viruses as weapons.”

  “Has Homeland been able to trace the dark net source of the pathogens?” Gunner asked.

  “The short answer is, no. Whoever it is has so
me serious hacker skills. Every time we think we’ve isolated the correct IP address, it turns out to be another false trail.”

  “Shit,” Joy said with feeling. “We need to catch the kid who dropped the bomb.”

  “He probably won’t know much,” Gunner said. “He was cannon fodder.”

  “Every little bit helps,” Dozer said, his voice tight with pain. “Even a small detail could break the case wide open.”

  River walked around the curtain, looked at all three of them, and shook his head. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you all on medical leave.”

  “My injuries are superficial,” Joy said with a rueful smile.

  “A limp isn’t going to slow me down much,” Gunner said. “You need me for my brain, not my track and field skills.”

  River rolled his eyes.

  “Same as what he said.” Dozer angled a thumb at Gunner.

  “Dozer, you’re not working until the medical staff clear you.” River turned to look at Gunner and Joy. “You two…can continue.” He didn’t look happy about that. “We’re still really short on teams at the moment. But, if your health goes south, call for assistance. We’ll pull someone from the lab or office to help.” He made eye contact with each of them. “Got it?”

  Gunner gave him a single nod.

  Joy said, “Yes, sir.”

  “You outranked me in the Army, Joy,” River said, his lips puckered up like he’d tasted something really sour.

  “You outrank me now,” she told him, not bothering to hide her smile.

  “Now you know how I feel,” Gunner said to River. “She does it to me all the time.”

  “Keep in touch,” River said to Gunner and Joy. He turned to Dozer. “I’m going to have a chat with your doctor. Don’t go anywhere.” He disappeared.

  “Why is everyone treating me like I’m stupid?” Dozer asked no one in particular.

  Gunner avoided the question by saying, “Cooperate with the staff, and watch your six.”

  “Likewise.” Dozer’s gaze moved to rest on Joy’s face. “Thanks for digging me out. I owe you.”