Her scowl deepened. “You’re one of them doctors just trying to find a way to blame somebody else for your mistakes. Well, I ain’t telling you nothing more till I have my lawyer.” She stood and gathered her skirt around her legs. “You understand. You’re trying to trick me into saying something, and you ain’t gonna do it to me.”
“But, I don’t work—”
“Don’t you say another word.” She rushed past him and out the door, slamming it as she left.
Rendon sighed. He should have backed off when he heard the distrust in her voice. Her husband was near dead. She was angry and fearful. Probably she was suspicious of authority to begin with. He’d be lucky if they could ever get anything more from her. He started to write in his notebook.
The man probably did not know Gaines. He did something, presumably drugs, with someone named Joey. Damn. A good guess now was that there had been more than one source of distribution of the drug. It could be still out there on the streets being sold. Hundreds more could die.
Rendon gritted his teeth as he thought about the woman. No, that wasn’t the only possibility. The wife might not have known about her husband’s relationship with Gaines. Or the man could have known one of the people infected at Gaines’s parties and gotten it through aerosol transmission. Nobody knew how the stuff would be spread other than the cocaine, and at this point, that was no longer a closed book. So far it had not looked as if those who had it spread it. If they did, this virus was going to be near to impossible to contain, even knowing the original source.
There was a knock on the door, and Rendon looked up to see a youthful but grim-faced doctor. The man’s eyes bulged. “What the hell did you do to her? She came out of here screaming she was going to get a lawyer and sue me, the hospital, and everybody else. We were having enough trouble already.”
Rendon shook his head. “I was just trying to find out if her husband had been exposed to any of the known carriers of the ‘Stripper’s Death’ virus,” Rendon said, using the media name. “The woman went wild.”
The doctor glared silently at Rendon for a moment. “So, did she know any?”
“No, or at least not from the little she said before she flew out of here.”
“That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Rendon stood. “Yeah. We’re back to square one, and the games are another day closer.” He closed his notebook, put it into the inside pocket of his coat, and walked by the other doctor. “Sorry about the trouble.”
The man shrugged. “It’s all right. I guess it’s really typical. Hear it all the time. Just angry. They don’t want their loved ones to die. Any more guidance on containment?”
They spoke for a moment before Rendon finally nodded his agreement with the doctor’s assessment and walked down the hall. Rendon could feel the tension forming in his neck. He dreaded the thought of talking to Cougher. The young doctor was paged over the intercom and rushed past Rendon. Residents at Grady had little time. Some things did not change.
“They going to cancel the games?” the doctor called out as he left.
Rendon acted as if he hadn’t heard the question. His stomach tightened to a hard knot.
Eighteen
Enraged, Ferenzi screamed at the other man. “It can’t be. She must be hiding it. This is a terrorist plot. She has a contact. There is no doubt.”
The man, the straps to a black bag clutched in his scarred hand, shook his head wearily. “She’s not hiding anything like that. We asked the right questions; thirteen ways we asked them. If she knew anything about terrorists, she’d have spilled it to us. I assure you that I have been doing this for years, and I am confident with the results.”
“Maybe the dead girl was the contact, and this Andrews didn’t know anything,” Ferenzi said and scowled.
The expert shrugged.
Foster motioned for him to leave. With a jerky nod of his head, he did. The door closed, leaving Ferenzi and Foster alone in the small room. Foster lounged, one leg up on the arm of the chair, in one of the three chairs that surrounded a round and knife-scarred linoleum-topped table. A light bulb hung down from the ceiling. Its glare reflected off the poster of Miss Autoplug 1983 that hung on the wall. Various body parts had been drawn in over the bikini-clad body of Miss Autoplug. Foster stared at the poster. Most of the parts had been drawn to exceedingly large dimensions, blown out of proportion to the rest of the body.
Ferenzi pulled one of the chairs up to the table and sat with a grunt. “It’s gotta be. How else can you explain what’s been going on? Why else would she have run?”
Foster shrugged. He played with a gun sitting in front of him on the table. “Face it, Ferenzi. There ain’t no terrorists, though this thing the stripper said about stolen data is interesting enough to take a look at, given Felder did some work for Ordor Chemicals. Maybe we’ll find some answers—”
A loud knock on the door interrupted him. Jerry entered, not waiting to close the door before he spoke. “We still can’t trace Andrews,” he said as he took the third chair. “But I talked to Cee, and the agency pulled Andrews off anyway. They assigned somebody else. Andrews is out of favor.”
Ferenzi raised his eyebrows. Cee wasn’t often so forthcoming. “Why’d they take him off?”
“From what I heard, they thought he was close to compromising something. He called some hotshot doctor, one of their research stable. That was what did it. They didn’t trust him and gave him walking orders.”
“Why would they pull him for doing his job, unless…and why would it be the agency and not the FBI? It is internal.” Ferenzi leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. The chair protested with a loud squeak. “Maybe the agency is more involved than we’ve been led to think. That’s something to think about. Maybe it does have to do with stolen data. I’d think it would be bio research. But where does Fast come in to it?”
Foster put the gun back in his shoulder holster. “So what do you want done?”
“You,” Ferenzi said, pointing at Foster, “find out what that agency doc that Andrews talked to has been up to in the last year. And find out what his specialty is, too.”
“All right. You looking for anything in particular?”
“Yeah. I think he might have been part of a special biological project recently. A hush-hush one. I’d like to know what project, what they did, and where they did it. Even if you can just find out his specialty, that will help. See if Fast was involved.
“Jerry, I want you to track down that Hispanic guy that was Felder’s boss. Lean on him until he tells you what they did with the data they stole, who they stole it from, and what it was. I don’t care what it costs—understand?”
Jerry nodded. “You think that’s got something to do with this virus?”
“Yes. Least the same people are involved. Might have been coincidence, but there’s not much of that going around. I’m starting to get a plan. I’ll check on that lead the girl gave us in Stone Mountain. That park administrator must have been in tight with this Susie if she let him take her on trips with him all the time. He may know something, and he shouldn’t be too hard to break.”
Foster stood, stretched, and leaned up against the wall. “Why don’t you just drop it?”
Ferenzi scowled at him. “You know how much money’s involved here? How much we’ve already spent?”
Foster shrugged.
“And let me remind you, there’s a dead cop. The police don’t take kindly to their own being killed. There’s no way they’d find us, but they could make a mess.”
“Hey,” Foster said and raised his hands, “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“You knew.”
Jerry stood. “Guess we better get going, Foster.”
“One more thing,” Foster said, not bothering to get up. “When you came in the room and spoke, that girl freaked. Did you know her? When she was under, she kept thinking you were t
he terrorist.”
“Never seen her before.” Ferenzi shifted his gaze to Jerry and then back to Foster. Foster’s stare had not shifted. “The plan I’ve got will take care of her, too. You can take off her blindfold,” Ferenzi said.
“Cleaning up old mistakes?” Foster said as he started out the door, Jerry behind him.
Ferenzi’s face lost expression. “You do what you’re paid to do, Foster. I don’t need your conjectures. That’s all.”
The door closed behind the two men, the sound echoing off the concrete floor and leaving Ferenzi in the glaring light of the single bulb. It swung slightly. He cursed and kicked at the table leg. How could the bitch have turned up after all these years and then remember him? Still it was ironic that she would save this project for him with her death. She’d almost been the death of him before.
Harry stared at the large, dark hole in the end of the pistol.
“Perhaps, because I am in a wheelchair, you thought you might not take me seriously, Mr. Adams?”
“Uh…no,” Harry stammered.
The walls of the vehicle were blue with gold-lined wallpaper. The rug under Harry’s feet felt plush. He pushed his shoe into the pile and stared at his foot. If the maniac had gone to the trouble of pulling Harry, then probably the man wasn’t involved in the kidnaping of Ree. That idea was reassuring and depressing. If he got out of here alive, there would be one less lead to follow.
The guard beside Harry stirred restlessly.
“Good. Let me make you completely convinced,” continued the maniac, “that I am very serious, and you and the woman have not been honest.”
“Well—”
“Don’t bother, Mr. Adams. Ms. Andrews gave us no information about a person in Savannah, and yet you two immediately went there after leaving me. Who is this Joey Barton, and why were you interested in him? Please believe me, you will tell me now or later.”
Harry took a deep breath and considered whether he should attempt to make up a story. He looked at the gun. Its aim had not wavered. It was still pointed at him. He felt the vehicle lurch to a start. “Ree didn’t think of him until after we left you,” Harry said. “I guess you’re asking all those questions must have jogged her memory.”
“Indeed. What part does this Joey have in the stolen data?”
“None that we’re sure of. It’s just that she remembered that her roommate Susie had gone down to see Joey after she had come back from New York. Joey was married to one of the strippers who used to work with her roommate. Ree thought there might be a connection.”
The maniac squinted at Harry. “Doubtful, though possible. I’ve had the man thoroughly checked. He might be a drug courier, according to my sources, but he has no association with the computer thieves, other than that his wife formerly worked with Susie as a dancer,” he said. The muscles around his eyes seemed to relax. “It is interesting that he left town when he did, especially since his bank account did not seem to budge with the cost. Not interesting enough, though. The trip had been planned by a travel agent in advance of when the thieves could have planned the theft of the data. They were only hired quite recently. Besides this Joey had just returned from a business trip to South America when Susie visited him, and it was before she went to New York. There are other more likely explanations for their rendezvous given his possible connection with drugs. He may have sold her drugs.”
Harry leaned forward with interest. Joey—a drug courier? “How do you know he’s into drugs?”
“Our firm also has a computer subsidiary with many DOD and other contracts. One of the programs we developed, if consistently fed plane manifests and other easily available information, will pick out individuals and classes of individuals likely to be involved in drug running. Quite a program. The DEA paid handsomely. Joey was easy to spot.”
“Oh, then you’re not sure?” Harry said.
“Where is Ms. Andrews, Harry?”
Harry blinked, his train of thought interrupted by the question.
“I said—”
“Sorry, I was thinking about Joey. I don’t know where Ree is. I think someone abducted her. I thought it might have been you, as a matter of fact.” He tried to stretch out the tension built in his shoulders and neck. The guard beside Harry murmured a command. Harry put his arms down.
“Hardly, Mr. Adams. We learn far more following you than we would abducting her. What makes you think she was abducted?”
Harry told about the note and the condition of the room. The maniac chewed on his lip. “Who would have taken her?”
“I don’t know. I was going to go to Atlanta and start looking. I thought maybe it was the people who worked for Felder.”
The van slowed, and Harry held on to the arms to keep from getting thrown forward. “Go to Atlanta and look? Come now, Mr. Adams, looking for one person in Atlanta would be singularly impossible. What did you plan to do? Surely, you weren’t driving through this fog at breakneck speeds to start canvassing neighborhoods looking for your lost lover?”
Harry shrugged off the sarcasm and found himself studying the tormented features of the man in front of him. The man was certainly dangerous, and he clearly had his own agenda. Still, he might help. After all, to find Ree would help him, too. They were all stuck without a lead without her, and the possibility that she might think of one more contact, one more person who Susie’d had contact with, might be worth the scientist’s trouble. Harry’s own plan of contacting the doctor was not likely to bring results. It was just the only thing he could think of at the time. “I planned to contact the doctor at the CDC who was investigating Susie’s death,” he said. “I figured he might have dug up some of her acquaintances whom I could contact. I have to guess that her abduction had to do with the stolen data or stolen drugs, and that since Susie had the disease, maybe some of the people she worked with on the theft had caught it, too. The doctor would know about them.”
The maniac lifted his head up and stared at the mottled white ceiling of the van. “Not a bad idea. But I don’t really think that any of Susie’s or Felder’s accomplices are involved. The head of their little ring has tried to disappear. Felder and one of his muscle are both dead. The leader fears for his life. There’s someone else at work, though what their interest is, I don’t know. I have someone working on that. They may be key.” He stopped and gazed at the same spot on the ceiling. The van started, went a ways, and then stopped again. “There’s an old agency man I used to know who was involved in the investigation.” The maniac pushed a button, and the chair swung around. A few clicks on a keyboard later, the chair swung back. “Andrews is the name. I worked with him on a project some ten years back. Better would be Cee. I’ve worked with him, and he’ll need me in the future. Perhaps, I can encourage them to find Ms. Andrews.”
“Perhaps we should work together,” Harry said and forced a smile. “I’ll contact the doctor and let you know what I learn.”
The maniac turned the chair partly and smiled, one side of his face riding up higher than the other. “Yes, Mr. Adams, you do that.” The chair hummed as the man turned back to the screen. “Someone will take you to your car momentarily and give you a number where I may be reached in the future. Do call.”
The interview was over. In moments, the van came to a soft stop. Harry was led out. His car sat in the parking space next to the van. They were in a lot adjacent to the Macon Coliseum.
With relief, Harry climbed into the car, turned the ignition, and drove rapidly to Atlanta. It was a cold drive. The back window could not be closed, and frigid air rushed in and swept across the back of Harry’s neck, which quickly became stiff. He tried unsuccessfully to raise his collar. No fog bound this stretch of interstate, and he made good time.
When he finally arrived at his apartment, he found it a disaster zone. Papers were strewn everywhere, and the furniture had been upended. He ignored the mess.
T
he message light on his answering machine blinked rapidly, and taking out his notebook, he turned it on. Several of the messages were from the Dragon Lady, editor of the Stone Mountain newspaper that Harry worked for. Her last message said he was fired. He clenched his jaw.
In among the calls were several from Dr. Rendon from the CDC. Ree was to call her personal physician. Harry called Rendon.
He got voicemail and punched a zero for the operator. The doctor was out at Grady Hospital and would return soon. Would he care to leave a message? Harry didn’t.
He paced back and forth and then finally took a shower. Clean, he dressed in a white shirt that was in his closet. It still had a dry-cleaners tag in one of the button holes. He rubbed an ointment on his neck and began to dial the number for Rendon again.
Ree woke and threw up over the side of the bed.
Her bonds had been removed. Her body felt like lead. She staggered to the door and found it locked. Then she went back to the bed and fell down on it.
What had happened to her? She threw up again. She had a terrible throbbing headache. She’d been drugged, but she remembered being awake, answering questions. What had she said?
Then terror returned to her, and she curled up on the bed in a ball, shivering. The voice, the face, a nightmare from the past. It had been that voice, an English speaker’s voice, that day when her father had been killed and…
Later, she pulled herself up again and brushed the bangs out to either side of her forehead. She had to get out. On unsteady legs, she paced the room. There were no windows. The walls and floor were made of concrete. The ceiling was dropped panels at about eight foot in height. She stood up on the bed but could not reach the asbestos-looking panels.
She realized she was thirsty. A look around the room revealed no water. Nor was there a toilet, another need she felt burning inside her.
She forced herself to walk back and forth across the concrete floor. She counted the number of times. It kept the fear at bay.
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