Vaill appeared genuinely distraught. If this was subterfuge and gamesmanship on the part of the FBI, designed to squeeze more information from Lou, it was a masterful performance.
“Tell me you didn’t know there was a leak when I gave up Humphrey’s name,” Lou demanded.
“I didn’t know. I swear it.”
“What does McCall think?”
Vaill looked over at him.
“Do you see him riding with us?” he asked.
“You think McCall could be part of this?”
“I don’t know what to think or who to trust. Right now, I’m navigating by instinct. I may have already cost two people their lives and I’m not about to do it to a third.”
“You mean me,” Lou said.
Vaill said nothing, which was answer enough.
Lou knew when he gave up Humphrey that he’d made a mistake. But the government had far surpassed his expectations for screwing up, and now Humphrey was either a prisoner of the Neighbors or dead. Lou had one card left in his hand—the notebook Humphrey gave him. And until he had reason to do otherwise, he vowed to hold that card close to his vest.
But time was running out for Cap.
“I shouldn’t have told you his name,” Lou said, as much to himself as to Vaill.
Vaill looked over at him.
“Hey, we’re just as good at what we do as you are at what you do, doctor. You didn’t stand a chance against us.”
The remark took some of the guilt away.
“So what now?” Lou asked.
“Too bad you gave us your hotel. McCall probably included it in his report, and whoever the mole is, if there is a mole, would have access to it.”
“Except that I lied.”
“What?”
“I made up a hotel. At the time you asked, I had decided not to make anything easier for you.”
Vaill pumped his fist and clenched his teeth.
“Yes!” he said. “Then no one can possibly know. First I’ve got to be certain we’re not being followed. Then we get you to your hotel and you double-lock yourself in and turn on a marathon James Bond retrospective or whatever.”
“You really think I’m in danger?”
“Listen, I get what you were doing with Humphrey,” Vaill said. “You wanted to save your friend’s life, no matter what you had to do, even if it meant being an accessory to grand larceny and setting up an illegal lab. Hell, I’d probably have done the same thing. But the truth is, like it or not, you’ve gotten yourself connected to the Neighbors. We can take a chance on putting you back in jail, but those people are heavily financed and very resourceful. If they want you, you’re not even safe behind bars.”
And I have something they may really want, Lou thought, picturing Humphrey’s book.
“Let’s see,” he said, “my hotel room or a return to jail … Tough choice. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
Vaill peered through the rearview and side mirrors and began a series of turns clearly designed to pick up a tail.
“Wish I knew this place better,” he muttered, swerving onto a freeway entrance at the last possible instant. “God bless GPS, that’s all I can say. After I drop you off, I’m going to pick up some stuff from my hotel and meet up with McCall at Miller’s place or headquarters—wherever he is. For the moment, he and my boss, Beth Snyder, think you’re with me. I’m going to tell them I dropped the charges against you and stashed you at a hotel until we can figure out how big a risk Burke is to you.”
“What about McCall?”
“I’m just going to tell him the truth—that I believe there might be a mole embedded in the agency, and that he’s on my list of possibilities. I’ve never been much at sparing people’s feelings if I thought it would help me get the job done.”
“Let me help you,” Lou said. “I need Humphrey to save Cap. Even with him, I’m afraid he may not make it. Without him…”
Lou’s voice trailed away.
“Give me two days to find the mole,” Vaill said. “At least I’ll feel you’re somewhat safe while I’m tracking him—or her—down.”
“I’ve got to get to the hospital. I’ve already missed time. Then I’ll tell you how long I’m willing to stay holed up in my hotel.”
Vaill made some more evasive turns and glanced over at him.
“I told you these bastards are resourceful. I don’t suppose I could talk you out of going to the hospital for like a day.”
“You don’t-suppose right.”
“They might be watching for you there.”
“If they’re that good, they deserve to have me.”
“Okay, okay,” Vaill relented. “I’ve got an extra FBI Windbreaker and hat in the trunk. We’ll both wear them and shades when we go inside Arbor.”
Lou regarded Vaill with gratitude and appreciation.
“So, does that mean we’re partners now?”
Vaill kept a stony expression as he watched the rearview and punched the gas to be the last car through a yellow.
“No,” he said making a U-turn in what Lou hoped was the direction of Arbor General. “It means I’m putting my paranoid mistrust of you on the back burner until you give me reason not to.”
CHAPTER 40
Government needs people to govern and so creates a subservient class upon which it can thrive and rule.
—LANCASTER R. HILL, A Secret Worth Keeping, SAWYER RIVER BOOKS, 1939, P. 64
From the earliest days of their friendship, Lou had kept no secrets from his sponsor. That included the news about the secret life of eccentric Humphrey Miller, and Lou’s decision to help him open his subbasement lab. Now he wished he hadn’t said anything. Cap had enough to deal with without having that rug of hope pulled out from underneath him.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since Lou was last in Cap’s isolation room, but there had been a noticeable change in the man. A change for the worse.
Lou and Vaill were together in the tiny antechamber. Both men had replaced their FBI caps and Windbreakers with the required safety garb. In spite of himself, Lou felt different swaggering around wearing the dark shades and displaying the iconic letters on his back. Special. Tough. Then he thought about the people Vaill and the other real agents had to deal with every day—people whose life or way of life often depended on killing them.
No thanks.
He checked Vaill over to make sure he was properly gowned before giving a strong pull against the negative pressure door. Vaill had wanted to wait outside, but Lou requested he come in. Like in the ER, it was always more motivating to put a face on the people one was dealing with, and he expressed that feeling to himself, then out loud.
This is the man you’ve heard so much about. This is the life we’re trying to save.
For an agent accustomed to clashing with dangerous criminals, Vaill seemed affected from the moment they opened the door to Cap’s room. Perhaps it was the purulent, blood-soaked bandages, perhaps the scent of pus that was hanging heavier than ever in the air.
“Are you all right?” Lou whispered to Vaill, soft enough not to rouse Cap, who was sleeping sonorously on his back, with a sudoku puzzle book splayed across his chest.
Vaill nodded. “Yeah, I just have a little thing about hospitals. Understandable considering I got out of one myself not too long ago. Believe it or not, it was my first time.”
Lou pointed to the rainbow scar.
“I imagine you’re in the minority of your profession to have made it that long.”
“Quick reflexes or incredible good luck. Probably both, combined with Kevlar vests.”
Since Cap’s ordeal began, the proprietor of the Stick and Move Gym had gone from a cruiserweight, just below the unlimited heavyweight rank, down close to a light heavyweight, and his wonderfully handsome face showed it. But as his eyes fluttered open, there was no mistaking the spirit in them.
No surprise.
“Hey, buddy,” Cap said, grunting as he reached for the adjustable bed con
trols.
As always since the infection began, Lou cringed. Watching his boxing coach and best friend struggle with even small movements was heartbreaking. Cap pushed a button and a motor whined as it elevated the bed to an angle more comfortable for him, although comfort, with his leg in a frame and up on pulleys, was certainly a relative term.
Cap gestured toward Vaill but was too weak to shake hands. Lou noted the flush in the agent’s cheeks and sensed he hadn’t given the man vivid enough preparation—probably by not accounting enough for the changes they were seeing in Cap’s condition.
“Looking pretty good,” Lou managed.
“Don’t bullshit me, Welcome,” Cap replied before being cut short by a brief coughing spasm. “Why don’t you just sell me some swampland in Florida. There’s a mirror in my tray table, remember. I look like crap and we both know it. They’ve even decided I’m too dangerous to take me for any more hyperbaric treatments.”
“You always did have a lousy self-image, my man. More meetings. That’s what you need. Cap, meet Tim Vaill from the FBI. He arrested me yesterday afternoon for obstructing justice, threw me in jail, and then changed his mind this morning about exactly what justice was.”
The two men greeted each other with their eyes and a nod.
“You don’t want to shake hands with me, even with those rubber gloves on,” Cap said. “According to Dr. Puchalsky, my charming mortician-turned-infectious-disease-specialist, this bug inside me has mutated again. He’s a specialist in infections you get from just being in a hospital. Believe it or not, there’s actually a name for that. I’m not a big fan of people who are full of themselves, even when they’re smart.”
“I have exactly the same take on him. Holier than thou doesn’t even cover it.”
“He thinks I might have to be moved to some kind of special facility in Wyoming or Nebraska or one of those other states that are all corners, in order to get me even more isolated than I already am. He said it to me like he was announcing what dietary was going to give me for dessert.”
“Great image of the man. I got it.”
“Believe it or not, when all this started, he actually asked me what kind of insurance I had, so he could find out if I was covered for certain experimental antibiotics.”
“What a strange thing to ask you. What did he say when you told him you didn’t have any?”
“The truth is, I was so upset by the question and his tone, I didn’t tell him anything except that he should check with you.”
“Well, he must have worked things out, because he never mentioned it.”
“He’s worried about the germ spreading to more patients, and for that I don’t blame him. But that’s going to be after.”
“After what?” Lou asked.
“After something not so good. So, what are you doing with the FBI anyway? Are you in trouble with the law again? Good gravy, I can’t trust you anyplace. Now, don’t you go bringing any heat down on me, buddy, I’ve got enough problems to deal with as is.”
“No heat,” Vaill said. “I’m here because this germ of yours was initially discovered by some very bad people, and now the government is interested in putting them out of business.”
“It involves our friend, Humphrey,” Lou said.
“Is he bogus? He seemed like such a sweet little dude.”
“No, not bogus. Not bogus at all. He’s missing. A guy killed the aide who was getting him ready for work, and kidnapped him.”
“Ouch.”
“I know about the lab in the basement, Cap,” Vaill interjected. “The doc, here, told me about it and said he had told you as well. We think the work Miller was starting down there is why they took him.”
“Damn,” Cap muttered, clearly grasping the significance.
No miracles.
“We think we know who did this, and we’re going to find him,” Vaill said.
“Better make it quick, brother.”
The way Cap said the words was ominous.
Lou put his gloved hand on the fighter’s forehead, feeling the burn even through the latex.
“Cap, what’s going on?” he asked. “What’s the not-good thing you mentioned?”
Vaill backed up a step, giving the two friends a little more space to connect.
“It’s ugly, Lou,” Cap said, his voice coming out like the hiss of air from a punctured tire. As he did during every visit, Lou poured a cup of water from the plastic pitcher and angled the straw so Cap could take a sip.
“What do you mean ‘ugly’?”
“I mean I got some news yesterday from Puchalsky and my surgeon, and it ain’t good.”
“Talk to me, big guy, what did they say?”
“I got a few days, Lou. A week at the most.”
Cap’s voice cracked mid-sentence.
“What do you mean a week? A week for what?”
“The germ is spreading to the rest of my body. If they can’t get the infection under control, they’re going to take my leg. Dr. Standish, my surgeon, says that if they do it, they’re going to cut it off way up here. He was going to let matters drop there for the time being, but fucking Puchalsky—excuse my language, officer—felt the need to add that the operations may not stop with the leg.”
CHAPTER 41
To remove responsibility from the individual is no different than to laden them in shackles.
—LANCASTER R. HILL, LECTURE AT MARIETTA COLLEGE, OHIO, MAY 1, 1938
Lou leaned up against Vaill’s sedan and gazed skyward, stealing a moment’s rest along with the chance to contemplate the gut-wrenching new developments. The man lying in the isolation suite was hardly the warrior who could once go fifteen rounds opposing ranked professionals. The visit with Cap had lasted fifteen minutes before he started to fade. Lou left with a promise to return soon, but kept the timetable vague. They had returned the FBI-issued Windbreakers to the trunk and Vaill had his suit jacket back on.
“Tim, this changes everything,” Lou said. “I can’t be locked up anywhere, my hotel room included—not if they could operate on Cap at any time. More important, I’ve got to keep looking for Humphrey or someone like the people at the CDC who can put his theories into practice.”
Vaill looked at him disapprovingly.
“You can’t do that, Lou. Anything you do right now risks compromising my work. I’ve got to manage this investigation, and unfortunately, because I can’t trust anyone connected with the agency, I have to do the important parts alone.”
“Look, I know how—”
Lou stopped speaking. Tim Vaill wasn’t listening. Instead, he was staring up at the glass and steel façade of the main building, his eyes squinting rhythmically. It was the same distant look Lou had seen in the interview room.
“Oh, God,” Vaill murmured.
Hyperventilating, he dropped to one knee, pressing his hands across his eyes.
Lou dropped down beside him.
“Another headache?”
Vaill managed a nod.
“I’m going to get you into the ER.”
“No!”
Lou checked his pulses, paying closest attention to his carotids.
“Is this the same as you’ve been having—the same as the one last night in the interview room?
Another nod.
Lou opened the passenger’s-side door, and helped him in. The hyperventilating was becoming even more marked.
“Jesus,” Vaill muttered, now holding his head on both sides as if to squeeze the pain into submission.
Standing outside the open door, Lou gently lifted his lids apart and checked his pupils. Abnormally dilated, but equal in size, and symmetrically constricting a bit to the light.
Almost certainly not a stroke, hemorrhage, or clot.
“If you need to get sick, just do it out here, Tim. You sure you don’t want me to get some help and get you into the ER?”
“I’ll … be … fine.”
In his years as an ER doc, Lou had seen every kind and degree of pain.
Kidney stones and acute gout were high on his list of those he did not ever want to have, along with aortic artery leaks and of course, from all he could ever tell, childbirth. But also on the list were big-league headaches—migraines or even worse, cerebral aneurysms. Vaill’s pain seemed right up there with any of those, although, as the previous night, it seemed to have come on faster than a typical migraine. Had he not had that prior experience, Lou would have called for help. Instead, he kept his fingers alternating from Vaill’s carotid to radial pulse, and waited.
There was a large manila envelope on the driver’s-side floor. Lou emptied its contents on the floor and fitted it as best he could over Vaill’s mouth and nose to allow him to rebreathe some of the carbon dioxide he was blowing off.
“Easy, pal. Easy.”
Gradually, the rapid breathing began to slow. Lou checked the time. Twenty minutes.
An elderly couple, who had apparently been watching from nearby, came over to ask if they could help. Vaill, his eyes now open, waved them off.
“Let me stand up,” he said.
Lou helped him to his feet and for another few minutes, Vaill braced himself against the car roof.
“I’m not certain what is causing those headaches,” Lou said, “but I don’t think I want one.”
“Believe me, you don’t. I’m okay now. Thanks.”
“Tim, listen, you are really in no condition to be going after Humphrey or Burke on your own—especially if you’re getting an attack every day. You need a partner, and since you can’t trust anyone you work with, I want to come with you. I have as much at stake here as you do.”
“No. Absolutely—”
“Dammit, Tim, you’ve got to trust me and let me help.”
“Exactly what do you think you could do?”
Time was becoming as big an enemy as One Hundred Neighbors and the Doomsday Germ. It no longer seemed important to keep Humphrey’s research notebook a big secret, and Lou told him about it.
“There’s a lot of Humphrey’s work that isn’t over my head,” Lou said. “I can help in that regard. Is there any way you could share with me what you’ve found so far?”
“Everything? We have reams and reams of reports and interviews.”
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