by Judith Lucci
"We're pretty sure it was a Russian named Vadim. He's been around the Quarter for a few years with a Calliope and a pet monkey. We think his monkey carried the virus - at least the virus that killed Yahwa, Omar, and Mohammed. All three were covered with monkey bites and an analysis of their wounds detected a monkey Simian virus. We also think the Russian had access to the same virus created in the secret laboratory in New Orleans that Dr. Mary Sherman developed in the 1960s."
Jack looked closely at Alex, anticipating an irate outburst. Instead, Alex was calm, thoughtful.
"I saw the organ grinder. The man with the monkey. I saw him just before the first suicide bomber blew up and I'm sure the bomber didn't pull the trigger himself. I think someone else did," Alex added. “Anyway, the organ grinder was standing behind where the Commissioner was stationed on the outskirts of Jackson Square. The guy was quiet. He just stood there as the bomber exploded in front of me, his finger in the air."
"Humph, interesting," Jack, said. “I'll have to check the video footage. Of course, we have about 100,000 hours of video footage of that day. I may not get to it anytime soon."
Monique, who had been silent, asked, "What about the terrorist who delivered the canisters? Where is he? Is the government tracking him?"
Jack grinned happily. "This is the newest and best part. We think we found him just a few days ago - dead. At least we have a body that fits the description of Syed, the fourth Jihadist who came to New Orleans with Habib the day before the attack."
"So, he's dead?" Alex asked hopefully.
Jack nodded. "We think so. We had enough left of his face to run an image through facial recognition software and it matched with images taken in the Quarter. He was also matched on the CCMC cameras so we're pretty sure he's the one that infected all of the sterile supplies at the hospital. We also saw him on footage at the Hotel Burgundy. We're confident it's him, but are waiting for the final ID from Bodine and Stoner."
"Enough of his face? What do you mean?” Robert questioned.
"He's been dead for a while. Several weeks at least. He was tortured and thrown in Bayou Savage in New Orleans East. He washed up, but the fish had feasted on him. We did have enough of him left to convince us he was killed slowly with Novichok and Simian Virus 40, the same virus we're sure is carried by Vadim's monkey. It appeared he had been tortured over a long while. There was evidence of a viral antidote that the killer would use to perk him up and then inject him with the virus again to prolong his death."
"So, Vadim killed him," Robert surmised. "Have we decided Vadim is the organ grinder with the monkey?"
"Maybe," Jack opined. "It's looks that way but, honestly, we're not sure. But more importantly, this killer was someone who had knowledge of how viruses work and the experience in developing an antidote. We have suspicions on someone other than Vadim, but then, of course it could be Vadim. Anyway, a calliope is in the Quarter and we’ve checked the guy’s face on facial rec and it’s not Vadim."
Alex's quick intake of breath startled herself.
Robert looked at her and said, "What, Alex? What's up? Do you know something about this?"
Jack looked at Alex intently, "This man, Syed, is most likely the man who beat your grandmother. We isolated his image on a camera near your house and a partial fingerprint places him there as well."
Alex blurted. "It seems obvious the organ grinder would have information about the virus. Especially since you’re pretty sure he killed the terrorists." She tried to be convincing.
But Jack eyed her carefully. He could read her like a book. He knew she had an idea of who was responsible. He continued to stare at her indefinitely.
Alex was paralyzed with indecision. She needed time to think. Oh my God, did Ali kill that man? He's such a gentle boy and he'd been so helpful that day. They had worked for hours caring for the sick and injured people in the MASH unit. After the last ambulance had left, Alex had called Martin's Cab and they had given the young man a ride home. He had told her he had no family and that his brother had recently died. He'd seemed apologetic that day and admitted to her that he was a Muslim. He tried to apologize for what had happened. Since then, she had learned he was one of Tim Smith's grad students at Tulane. She knew he'd done it. In her heart, she knew Ali had killed the evil sadist who had almost taken her grandmother's life. But, she didn't care. Syed had also killed Ali's brother and she believed Ali was the one who had sent messages about the Novichok to her phone and the FBI command center.
As Jack continued to watch her shrewdly, she seemed to shrink into the chair. He decided to let it go. Finally, he said, "Yvette, you're up. That's all I got.” He gestured for her to take over.
Yvette reached for a file folder in her briefcase and shuffled through some papers. "Well," she began, "We've finally identified the virus. It's a mutant viral form of Ebola and Simian Virus 40. It's taken us weeks to positively identify it."
"So, it's a monkey virus, correct?" Jack asked.
Yvette hesitated, "Yes, but it also has components of Ebola and, strangely, enough it is closely akin to the virus Dr. Mary Sherman was developing back in the 1960s."
“Really! How interesting is that," Robert exclaimed. "That's amazing, Yvette. Are you sure?"
"I couldn't be more sure and there's even more." Yvette's eyes glistened with the anticipation of sharing her news.
"What, what is it? Spit it out Yvette," Jack roared. "We're tired of waiting and I want to party."
Alex echoed her agreement and Monique gestured impatiently for her to continue.
"Well,” she said, her voice a bit smug, "we know why the patients were dying from lung disease at CCMC. Remember, we thought it was some sort of pneumonia." Everyone nodded and she continued, "Well, they were actually dying from advanced lung cancer!"
"Advanced lung cancer, how can that be?" Robert's voice was incredulous.
Yvette nodded her head. "It all goes back to Dr. Mary's monkey virus. We, at the CDC, believe the virus used in the attack last month was a highly mutated form of Mary Sherman's virus that actually caused advanced lung cancer. That's what was killing our patients, not the virus itself.
"But how do you know? We thought it was pneumonia," Alex questioned.
"The histology showed us. Under electron microscopes, it became clear it was advanced cancer, not pneumonia."
The group was quiet for a moment considering Yvette's information.
Monique asked, "But Yvette did Dr. Sherman's virus cause cancer?"
Yvette nodded. "We think it did. Remember how Bob Marley's friends swear he died from a ‘galloping’ brain cancer after touching a rusty nail infected with the virus? Also, Jack Ruby died quickly from lung cancer shortly after he was apprehended. It's believed, though the evidence is anecdotal, that both had been infected with Sherman's virus."
"Are you sure about this?" Alex wasn't convinced. "How do you know?"
"It's a matter of record," Yvette persevered. "Besides, we, at the CDC have injected the virus harvested here from New Orleans into lab rats and they are dying from advanced lung and brain cancers in a very short period of time. The more often you inject them, the quicker they die. The evidence is almost conclusive, but not quite. We still have a bit of work to do, but I can pretty much assure you that the virus that killed people at CCMC last month was mutated from the virus Mary Sherman was testing in New Orleans. It's all over but the shouting, folks. It's the same virus.”
"Oh my God, what are we going to do? This is pretty bad news," Robert opined. “By the way, is the virus contained?”
Yvette nodded, “Yes, it is most definitely contained and we have an antidote for it as well. It shouldn’t be a problem in its current form. Of course, there’s always the possibility of someone mutating it and starting over again....” she replied as her voice trailed off.
Jack groaned at that possibility as he turned to Yvette. "Can I assume you have shared this information with the FBI and other feds?"
"Yeah, most assuredly," she
replied. "All of them know and we're working on it."
Great, just fucking great, this adds another layer of complexity to fighting crime in New Orleans, Jack thought. He turned to his friends and said, "Okay, everyone, now you know the whole story, I insist on bottoms up and let's party. After all, this is the Big Easy and we love to party in New Orleans." With a flourish, Jack raised his glass and cut off his cell phone.
Everyone cheered, raised their glasses, and the party began.
From the Author
Thank you so much for reading Viral Intent, the third book in the Alexandra Destephano Medical Thriller Series. I hope you enjoyed it. Since reviews are very important to Indie authors. I would be delighted if you would go to Amazon.com to review my book.
To err is human and to forgive is divine. I can honestly say that writing novels is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and I’ve done a lot of things. Even though my books are professionally edited by three editors and reviewed by at least five others before they are published, you may find an error. If you do, please email me at [email protected] and I will immediately correct it or if you’d rather, contact me on my webpage at http://www.JudithLucci.com.
I always want to hear from and connect with my readers. Please feel free to contact me at any time with questions, ideas for new books, or just plain anything. Once again, many thanks for reading my book!
Judith
Please Enjoy this Excerpt of Toxic New Year
(Alexandra Destephano #4)
Toxic
New Year
The Day That Wouldn’t End
Also by Judith Lucci
Alex Destephano Novels
Chaos at Crescent City Medical Center
The Imposter
Viral Intent
Evil (2017)
Michaela McPherson Crime Thrillers
The Case of Dr. Dude
The Dead Dowager
Others Books
Ebola: What You Must Know to Stay Safe
Meandering, Musing & Inspiration for the Soul
Angelina’s Tale
Toxic
New Year
The Day That Wouldn’t End
A NOVEL BY
JUDITH LUCCI
Copyright © 2015 by Judith Lucci
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Acknowledgements
As you all know, it takes a village for me to write a book and I never see this changing! There are dozens of people I talk with everyday about the Alexandra Destephano series who give me ideas, suggestions, and guidance. Thank you all! I’d like to give a special shout out to my wonderful author friend, Eric J. Gates, a masterful thriller writer and author of The Cull Series, Outsourced and many other five star reads. Eric has been my technical expert in most things military, explosive, and gun-like. He is a stellar friend and author. Also, as always, thanks to my faithful editor, Jennifer Mandell of Bluestone Valley Publishing, who faithfully tolerates my blunders, inconsistencies, and screw ups. Jen, you’re the best! As always, I want to thank Eric Blumensen for his unique cover designs for the Alex Destephano series.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my faithful readers and fans! God Bless You and many thanks for helping me grow, keeping me on the right track, helping me out and buying my books! You all rock!
About the Author
Judith Lucci is an Amazon Best Seller Author who hails from the Commonwealth of Virginia. She holds graduate and doctoral degrees from Virginia Commonwealth University and the University of Virginia. She has been a practicing clinical nurse for over 25 years and is currently a professor of Nursing at a major University in the Southern United States. She is the author of numerous academic and health-related articles and documents. Her Alexandra Destephano series is based on her experiences living and teaching in New Orleans. She is also the author of the Michaela McPherson, Private Eye series scheduled for release in the fall of 2015. When not teaching or writing, Judith is an avid silk painter and multi-media artist. She divides her time between the mountains of Virginia and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. She welcomes interactions with her fans and can be reached at [email protected] or www.JudithLucci.com.
Chapter 1
The day dawned dark and dismal. Gray clouds permeated the sky as snow fell heavily in the Virginia countryside. Veteran Secret Service Agent-in-Charge John Cole, looked down from his perch in a tree stand as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Looks like we’re gonna get the ten inches they were talking about,” he predicted to his partner, Rob Henry, who was struggling to get out of his sleeping bag.
“Yeah, ‘fraid so,” Rob answered in his southern drawl as he checked his watch. John reached for the worn plastic coffee carafe, poured a cup, handed it to Rob, and grinned.
“Man, that was quite a party last night, wasn’t it?” John exclaimed. “I’ve seen some hell raisers in my time, but have never seen anything quite like last night.” He stopped and laughed. “Although it did provide entertainment for a long, cold night,” he added, as he sipped his tepid coffee.
Rob smiled his slow, lazy smile and laughed shortly, “Yeah, those folks from Naw’lins sure do know how to party, no question. You think they’re the ones who caused the power failure?”
John shook his head, “Don’t know for sure, but wouldn’t be surprised. They were pretty wild, to say the least.” He was silent for a moment and added, “I guess it could’ve been an accident and someone tripped the switch or something, but what I don’t understand is why the generator didn’t come on immediately. Those forty minutes without power have made us vulnerable. Call into the Command Center and remind them to do an additional perimeter sweep as soon as possible. Search for any type of breach to the farm perimeter fencing and the water front.”
“Yes sir, I’m on it,” Rob answered as he quickly grabbed the phone.
John nodded, “It also bothers me that the auxiliary power didn’t work. I don’t understand why, but there must be a problem in the gas line. Have the agents check the fuel lines to the emergency generator and search all of the outbuildings, just in case.”
“Yes sir,” Rob replied. “I’d hate to lose power again today with hundreds of people showing up for another party. That would disappoint a bunch of folks.”
John smiled and nodded, “Yeah, it would. We’ll be off in a couple of hours, just in time for Miss Kitty’s New Year’s Day Bloody Mary Brunch, and we’ll catch up with the folks from last night and see if they’ve figured out what caused the power failure.”
Rob nodded and said, “Good idea, sir.”
As Rob spoke with the Command Center, John looked through his field glasses and frowned as he remembered the power failure. Anything could have happened in those long minutes. Someone could have snuck in ... almost anything could have happened.
“Looks like a few folks are up down there. I am sure half the guests are still drunk this morning, especially those wedding guests of Commander Françoise,” Rob opined as he hung up the phone.
“Yeah, probably so. Are the agents checking the perimeter?” John wanted to be sure that the place was secure before the next few hundred people arrived.
“Yes sir,” Rob replied. “They’re leaving shortly. They’re waiting for an ATV that’s somehow tied up with party preparations.”
“What?!” John was incredulous. “Who said that? They can’t use Federal vehicles to get ready for a party.”
“Agent said Miss Kitty insisted. Said it was okay. Something about putting up a tent and needing to move parts of the tent with the ATV.”
John shrugged his shoulders a
nd cursed to himself. “Why the hell didn’t they use a pickup?”
Rob laughed again, his face disappearing into happy crinkles. “No idea. Maybe those Naw’lins people are doing it,” Rob speculated. “Yeah, I think those New Orleans people are the very worst. They’d steal Federal property in a heartbeat if it had to do with a party,” he ranted.
John shook his head and said nothing. He’d have a talk with Lighten just as soon as he got out of the treehouse. Congressman Lee should know better.
“Yeah, well, they cut their teeth partying. It’s a way of life down there,” Rob continued happily. “I had a buddy in the military who was from Louisiana, near some swamp or bayou, and the stories he’d tell about drinking and hunting ‘gators’ would keep you laughin’ all night long.” Rob smiled as he remembered back to his military days.
John was getting impatient with the banter. “Check again about the ATV,” he ordered. “If necessary, get Lighten or Miss Kitty on the phone. We need that vehicle ... now.” John remembered back to last night when Lighten and Miss Kitty, code name for Adam Patrick Lee and his wife Kathryn, had refused to go into the safe room in the estate after the power failure. He was still angry about that and intended to address it with Congressman Lee before the next party. Damn these folks. We can’t do our job if they won’t let us.
“Taken care of sir,” Rob assured. “I talked to Miss Kitty. It’ll be back in five minutes.”
John nodded. “Thanks, Rob. Keep your eyes peeled for trouble.”
“Yes sir,” Robb said as he reached for his binoculars. “Lighten and Miss Kitty can really entertain. It was a throw down party, to say the least, but I’m looking forward to scrambled eggs, a Bloody Mary, fresh coffee, and a warm bed,” he laughed. “Responsibility for the safety of New Orleans’s finest and the leadership of America has worn me out,” Rob grinned, happy at the thought of some shuteye.