by Linda Wells
“It’s big, sir,” answered Ambrose.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can we stop this thing?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. President,” Ambrose answered. “With many exposed before we started containment, with travel restrictions coming hours after the attack, we may have not just a national but an international spread of the virus.”
The president heard the fatigue in the older man’s voice. But he wanted it straight. The country was facing a crisis, and he knew it. He wanted to know how much time was left before the country would be in total chaos.
“And the vaccine? How soon, best guess, before it can be developed?” he asked.
“It depends. We found a large quantity of doses at the Edgewood lab, but we have to do safety testing. With that in mind, it will still take months before we have a viable vaccine. We’re working on it here, and we have the help of several of the large pharma, but it takes time to make a safe vaccine. We can’t risk the population until we’re certain,” he answered.
“Right,” said the president. “Stay in touch with me. I want updates on the vaccine production, and I want to know when the vaccine that you found will be ready. We need to start ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” Ambrose answered.
“Damn it!” Jake said, after ending the call.
He picked up the phone again.
“Get Hamler for me,” he told his assistant.
“Yes, sir,” she answered.
“And Vice President Davies.”
“Right away.”
He wanted the vice president and her family to move immediately into the bunker. He couldn’t risk his number two, and they would be safe in the secure hideaway. Jake didn’t want to think of the worst-case scenario. But it could happen. He operated on contingencies. He would use every asset available to stop this thing from spreading further. But the shit had already hit the fan, and he knew it.
50
Chris was still in the lounge when the phone rang. It was Connie.
“Yes, I’ll talk to her. Thanks, Connie,” answered Chris.
Poor Connie. She had been up all night, as Chris had been. They were running strictly on adrenaline. Now Chris had to talk to Vicki, Dave’s wife. Damn it. She hated this woman with a passion. She was sure Vicki knew about her and Dave. How could she not know? Everyone else did. At least Vicki had done what Dave had told her and not come to the hospital. Chris guessed she had to do the dutiful wife bit and ask about her husband. But why hadn’t she asked to speak to Jim Lucas? He was the hospital director. Chris guessed she wanted to know details about Dave’s medical condition, and Chris was the logical source. She’d pull it off somehow. She took a deep breath.
“Hello, Mrs. Grant,” answered Chris. The moment felt surreal. Here she was, talking to her lover’s wife. She had only been a name until now.
“I want to know about David,” Vicki stated. “Please tell me how he’s doing. Carolyn and I are very worried,” she said, sounding anxious.
“Yes, of course. He’s stable and holding his own,” Chris answered.
“How bad is this virus? The news reports are horrendous,” she said. “I just heard the president on television. It’s awful, isn’t it? And so frightening.”
“Yes, it is,” Chris said. “But it sounds like the authorities are making sure people stay home, and hopefully the virus won’t continue to spread.” She tried to be reassuring, but she didn’t feel convinced herself, only more terrified than ever. And Vicki sounded more vulnerable than she had expected. It was hard hearing a voice that she’d only imagined.
“How is the hospital? I hear you’re on lockdown,” Vicki said.
“Yes, but we have a good staff, and we’re alternating shifts. We’re fine, Mrs. Grant, and I assure you that we’ll call you if there’s any news about Dave. I mean Dr. Grant,” she answered.
“Yes, please let me know,” she said. Then she added, “Will you tell him that I called?”
“Of course,” answered Chris.
God, what a shock! The woman actually sounded sincere.
“I’ll check on him right away and let you know if there’s any change,” she answered. Chris was having trouble, her hand starting to shake.
“I’d appreciate it very much,” Vicki said. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” said Chris, but Mrs. Grant had already hung up.
Chris started to cry. It was all too much. She loved Dave so much and would die if anything happened to him. And now she’d just spoken to his wife. Her tears were turning into sobs that she couldn’t stop. She jumped out of the chair and ran into the bathroom, just off the lounge, and slammed the door. She leaned back against the door and cried uncontrollably. She bent over in pain, her heart wrenching with flooding emotions. She realized so much in that moment. Exhaustion had taken over, her love for Dave overwhelming. She had to go to him. To make certain he was all right. But could he fight this horrible virus? She prayed to God to save him. She didn’t think her heart could survive losing him.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. Chris had to pull herself together.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound normal.
“You better get out here.”
It was one of the nurses.
“I’ll be right there,” said Chris, looking in the mirror, wetting a paper towel to wipe away the smeared makeup under her eyes.
She opened the door. “What’s going on?” she asked.
She saw the fear in Rita’s eyes.
“Connie’s sick,” said the staff nurse.
“Oh God, Rita, not Connie,” said Chris. “I just talked to her!”
“Yes, she started feeling off and broke out in a cold sweat,” said Rita. “We didn’t know what to do, but we got her in one of the temporary beds here in the unit, not sure whether to isolate her.”
“I’ll call Dr. Edwards,” said Chris. “Can you please call the lab? He’ll want to run tests.”
She picked up the phone in the lounge and dialed the isolation unit. She was scared. How many more were going to get sick? Would she be next?
51
Wally followed Ray into a large secure room in one of the three buildings located on the main FBI campus in Quantico, Virginia. The high-tech cyber forensics center was filled with elaborate communication equipment and all kinds of devices, completely foreign to Wally. To him, it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. There were clusters of offices, lab equipment, and glassed-off cubicles, where a dozen or more agents were engaged in top-secret investigations relating to the security of the country.
Ray worked in one of these glass cubicles. He was known as “Mr. Gadget” at the bureau, and he loved the moniker. He’d been a whiz kid at MIT, and after working as a white-hat hacker in the private sector, he had ended up being recruited by the FBI. His dream job.
Ray turned on the fluorescent light overhead, then placed the sealed container of Edgewood cell phones on the clean workbench against the back wall of his small office. A television set was sitting on top of a metal file cabinet in the corner. Wally knew this was where Ray did his magic. Ray sat down at his metal desk, Wally grabbing a seat to his right.
“So what do you want me to do?” Ray asked, swiveling around to face Wally.
“Hack into a bank account,” Wally replied.
“OK.” Ray was quiet, waiting for the rest of it.
“I want to know whose name is on the account, how much is in the account, who deposited it, withdrawals, everything, and after that, I’ll tell you the rest,” he said.
“You have an account number?”
“Yep,” said Wally. “I think it’s a Swiss bank because of the numerical series, but I’m not sure. And I need it quick.”
He handed Ray a piece of paper with numbers on it, and Ray started typing.
“I can’t do it quick and careful. I can only do it careful,” Ray said.
“Do whatever you have t
o do to find the source, and don’t tell anyone what you’re working on,” said Wally.
Ray nodded, engrossed in finding the account information.
“Can I turn this on?” Wally asked, pointing to the television.
Ray tossed him the remote. Wally hit the on button and flipped to a twenty-four-hour news station, keeping the volume low. The anchorman was standing in front of a map, pointing to red areas where the H5N1 virus was spreading; no group had claimed responsibility, and so far, no suspects. Wally would change that. He knew it could get bad, but his thoughts were on catching the bastards behind the attack. He’d been around long enough to see crises come and go. His job was to catch the bad guys. That’s all. Wally turned down the sound.
“You got any coffee here?” he asked. He was tired and needed a shower and a fresh shirt. But he’d start with the coffee.
Ray pointed toward the break room as his phone rang. He picked up and listened.
“Cool,” he replied, and hung up.
“What?” asked Wally.
“That was Timco. He’s been working on Chen’s phone. The one they found at her condo,” he said. “It was in the nightstand by her bed, under some personal items, including a journal.”
“Go on,” said Wally, waiting.
“Encryption scrambled incoming calls, but he’s extracted some of them.”
“Name?” Wally asked.
“No ID or number yet. He’s working on it. But we know where the calls originated. London’s East End,” Ray said. “He traced the location through the cell tower.”
“Great job,” said Wally. “I’ve gotta look at what’s in that part of London. We’ll get our agents to drop a net over the area. See if they come up with anything.” He paused. “Call Timco back and tell him to bring me the journal. And let me know when he’s got an ID on the caller.”
Ray picked up the phone.
Wally knew all the pieces were going to fall into place. But he was going against the clock. The assassin was still out there. And maybe another attack. He headed to the break room, poured a coffee for himself and one for Ray. He took the coffee back to Ray’s office and sat down in the chair, waiting.
The elevator opened, and a young woman in dark slacks and a white blouse stepped out. She stopped at the first cubicle and leaned in. A few minutes later, she knocked on Ray’s open door.
“Are you Mr. Weber?” she asked.
“That’s me,” said Wally, standing up.
She handed him a manila envelope. “Mr. Timco said you wanted this.”
“Thanks,” he said, and sat down. He didn’t see the woman leave.
Wally opened the envelope and pulled a small red journal out of a sealed plastic bag. He grabbed his glasses from his shirt pocket, opened to the first page, and started reading.
52
Chris stood outside the isolation unit and picked up the handset next to the door. Her eyes caught those of Dr. Edwards, who was sitting at the desk on the other side of the glass. He spoke into the phone while looking her.
“Yes, Chris, what is it?” he asked.
She heard the fatigue in his voice.
“Have you gotten any sleep, Frank?” she asked.
“I managed to sleep for an hour,” he said. “How about you? You’re doing straight duty, aren’t you?”
“I caught a little bit of sleep in the lounge,” she replied. “But not enough.” She smiled through the glass.
“I hear you,” he said.
“We don’t have any labs back on Connie,” said Chris. “It may just be fatigue or low blood sugar. She hasn’t stopped since she came on duty. She’s doing better, I think. She’s on an IV, and we gave her some juice. I think she’s responding.”
“Let me know as soon as you get anything from the lab. It’s easy to jump to conclusions, and I don’t want her in here unless she’s got it,” he said.
“I know,” said Chris. She hesitated.
“And I know what else you want. He’s doing OK,” Frank answered.
“Just OK?” she asked. Her heart was dropping.
“Look, in this circumstance, OK is a good thing,” he said. “I’ve got two patients in here who aren’t going to make it. We’re doing all we can, Chris. Dave is strong, with no history of health problems.”
“I’m sorry, Frank.” She could tell he was worn down. “Look, Vicki called. I had to check on him. And honestly, I want to see him. Is he awake?” she asked.
“He’s resting, last I looked in on him. Stand by for a minute,” he said.
She saw him walk back through the unit and disappear into one of the curtained areas surrounding each patient. He was in there for a few minutes. He spoke with one of the nurses. They were all wearing full protective hoods, but Chris recognized one of the ER nurses, Amy, who’d volunteered for duty in the isolation unit.
Frank walked back to the desk and picked up the headset.
”He’s awake now, and his chest is congested. He’s on an antibiotic for a possible secondary infection. His fever is one hundred and two degrees, not critical level. I’d say he’s as stable as we could hope for, and he’s not getting worse, so it’s all good,” he answered.
“Yes, it’s all good. Can I see him?” asked Chris. She knew the answer.
“Never mind,” she said, understanding the risk she was asking him to take and also understanding the danger in which she’d be placing the hospital staff and patients.
Frank said, “I have a wife, too, and I understand. I’ll give him your message, Chris.”
“Yes. Please tell him.” She hesitated. “Tell him that Vicki called. That she and Carolyn are fine, and that she was asking about him, and that I reassured her that he was all right,” she said. “And that I will keep in touch with her about how he’s doing.”
“I’ll tell him,” Frank said. He turned away from the window, answering a question from one of the nurses.
“Hey, Frank,” she said, knowing he had to go.
“Yes, what?” he asked, impatient.
She waited until the nurse walked away.
“Just tell him I love him, please,” she asked.
“I will,” said Frank, and he gave her a quick smile. “Gotta go.” He hung up.
Chris took a deep breath. She had done all she could do. She went back to the ER and stopped at the desk. She had to check on Connie’s labs. Then she would go through all the patients’ charts and make sure nothing was missed. But first she would call Vicki.
Chris dialed the number, listening to the ring. Vicki had only been a name to her. She appeared to be the devoted wife. But Chris knew the truth. Vicki loved the status of being a doctor’s wife and the perks that came with it. And Dave had agreed to stay with her for the sake of their daughter, Carolyn. Chris knew that Dave would never have reached out to her if something hadn’t been missing in his marriage. He wasn’t that kind of man. But maybe Vicki, in her own way, loved him, too. Chris would be as reassuring as possible, for Carolyn. And that meant being nice to her mother, as well. Dave would want that.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the distinctive female voice answer, “Hello.”
53
George and Mark watched Max enter Suzy’s room. Now it was time to watch and wait. George couldn’t imagine how things would go. She just wanted answers. And she rarely second-guessed her decisions. Except for the one she had made last night. But it was too late for that.
“George, are you all right?” Mark asked.
She walked to a padded leather bench a few feet down the hall from Suzy’s room and sat down. She pulled out her tablet and began checking e-mail.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she answered, not looking up. No one could miss the cold edge to her voice.
Mark walked back and stood by the door, waiting for Max. He looked into the room through the small vertical window on the door, but nothing appeared to be happening. Max was standing next to the bed, holding Suzy’s hand. But they didn’t seem to be talking. Chen looked as
though she was sleeping.
“I think I should be in there,” said Mark.
“It’s better if they’re alone. She might talk more freely with just him in the room, and I trust him,” said George. “Hey, come here, Mark.”
“What is it?” he asked, walking over and sitting down next to her.
“Look at this.”
Mark grabbed the tablet and looked at the e-mail. It was from the forensics lab at Quantico.
“Wonder what this means,” he said, reading the report.
The evidence gathered at the scene indicates the following:
A .32-caliber bullet was found in the victim’s tissue, under the scalp, behind the right ear, with no neurocranium penetration. Black stone-like material was found in minute fragments on the garage floor, as well as red shattered material, appearing to be glass, assessed to be possible gemstone, possibly a ruby. Black onyx material was also found in the scalp wound. Powder burns were found on tissue samples surrounding the area from which the bullet was extracted, indicating muzzle contact. Two of the larger fragments of the stone-like/onyx material had multiple scratches on the surface, etchings that are a possible match to the .32-caliber bullet. The bullet has trace elements of human hair, which matches that of the victim. A small one-eighth-inch rubber object was attached to a piece of the onyx, as well as black human hair strands, which match that of the victim. All of the above indicates that the small-caliber bullet scraped the onyx, shattering it on impact. The material is of unknown origin. The blood samples match the victim’s type O+. Early ballistic reports indicate a possible subsonic round. Further detailed ballistic report to follow.
A copy of this report has been sent to Dr. S. Ahmed, MD, neurosurgeon, Walter Reed Army Medical Center, Bethesda, MD.
Marked confidential secure transmission.
Mark looked at George.
“Can you believe this?” he asked. “Could have been a squib round. But wouldn’t the killer have known?”
George shook her head. “Maybe. Maybe not. I wonder what the black fragments are.”