by Bonnie Doran
Dan glanced at Hildi, hoping she could talk some sense into him. She took the hint. “Please, Frank. We’ll always be friends, but I’ve moved on. Dan’s the man in my life now.”
Man in my life. Dan’s heart sank. Not fiancé. He swore he’d fix that soon.
Frank exploded. Curse words pierced Dan like shrapnel.
“Stop it.” Hildi tried to separate them as Dan held Frank at arm’s length. Frank spun away, colliding with Hildi.
The vial flew from her hand with the speed of a fastball. It struck the corner of a box. The cap flew off.
Hildi pushed the men out of the lab.
Dan froze, staring at the floating globules of deadly virus. Dread knotted his guts.
Now they were all exposed.
45
Chet woke disoriented from a fitful sleep. Then he saw the bars of the brig. Right. What had disturbed him? The rumble of the engines had changed. The ship had slowed, and the sea’s whoosh had softened to a whisper.
He rolled from his cot, stretched, and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of the clothes he’d slept in. He couldn’t see anything from the cell. He did the usual morning stuff, stood at the bars, and waited. No one bothered to offer breakfast.
A security guard came to his cell, escorting the chaplain. The man of the cloth had a wrinkled smile and kind eyes. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. They’ll be hauling me away soon.”
The guard opened the door, and the chaplain entered, grasping Chet’s shoulder before taking a seat on the one chair in the brig. Chet lowered himself onto the bunk.
“Five minutes.” The guard walked away, scowling.
The chaplain lifted a worn Bible. “Do you want me to read you some Scripture?”
“I’d like that, Reverend.”
“Please. It’s Jack.”
“Jack.” Chet took a deep breath. Time to take the plunge into the deep end of the spiritual pool. “I doubt if anyone in this world will forgive me for what I’ve done. Will God?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” Jack opened his Bible and searched through the middle of the book. Chet grabbed the Gideon’s Bible beside him and flipped the pages.
“Psalm 103:12. ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.’”
Chet’s shoulders slumped. Not for me. “I’m having a hard time believing that. My father drilled that verse into me as far back as I can remember. It never stuck.” He sighed. “And I sure don’t feel it. My prayers for forgiveness haven’t gone any farther than the ceiling.”
“Feelings are, at best, unreliable.” The chaplain smiled. “There’s an old saying, ‘God said it, I believe it, that settles it.’” He frowned. “There’s also something called repentance.”
“I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before.” Bitterness coated Chet’s tongue. “Turning from sin and going another direction. I guess my father—a pastor by the way, who committed adultery—did that. I’d always assumed the hog would return to the mud.” But his father had never had another affair after he repented, at least not that Chet knew—and he’d been watching. Guilt chewed Chet’s insides like a hungry tapeworm.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “A pastor, huh?”
“Worth Hildebrandt.”
“I thought your name was familiar. Now there’s a prime example of God’s forgiveness.”
Chet shifted on his bunk.
Jack pointed again at the passage. “You’d do well if you read this psalm over and over.” He grasped Chet’s shoulder. “The apostle Paul was a murderer, and he spoke a lot about God’s forgiveness.”
“I guess. He couldn’t undo what he did, though.”
Jack nodded. “Neither can you. But you can admit what you’ve done.”
“Guess that means I can’t plead ‘not guilty by reason of insanity.’” Chet’s mouth quirked while his guts twisted into tighter knots. “I must have been crazy to unleash the virus and kill my own father.”
Confusion creased Jack’s forehead. “You killed him? How did you come to that conclusion?”
Chet lifted his head and locked eyes with the compassionate man. “I killed him, as sure as pulling a trigger. I didn’t know he was HIV positive, but that’s a flimsy excuse. His wrecked immune system couldn’t survive an assault like that.” He paused. “A lot more people are dying because of my actions.” How many more? He only hoped Hildi could develop a vaccine in time, before everyone on the planet succumbed. For once, he wished for her success instead of wanting her to fail. Her obsession to surpass him professionally had rankled him. Now he didn’t care if she got the accolades. The stakes were too high and his guilt too deep.
He snapped his attention back to Jack. “Sorry. Woolgathering. What did you say?”
“God forgives those who confess.”
“I’ve tried that.”
“Sometimes, it helps to pray with someone. Are you willing to do that?”
Chet was desperate enough to try anything. “Yeah.”
Jack reached for his hands. Chet grasped them like a drowning man.
The guard returned, took one look at them, and held up a finger. “I’ll give you one more minute.” He stood there, jingling the keys in his hands.
Chet shifted again then decided he didn’t care what the guard thought. He bowed his head as Jack prayed. “Lord, You know this man’s heart, and You know what he’s done. Help him confess and receive Your forgiveness.”
When Jack stopped and the silence deepened, Chet cleared his throat. “God, I…I admit I did a terrible thing. I don’t deserve Your forgiveness, but I ask for it.”
“Amen.” Jack stood and motioned to the guard, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed for eavesdropping. He opened the door.
Jack gripped Chet’s shoulder. “I’ll be praying for you.”
Chet nodded his thanks, fighting the lemon lodged in his throat.
As Jack’s steps faded to a hollow echo, Chet settled on his bunk and turned to Psalm 103.
****
Time crawled. Chet shut the Bible and pulled out his origami papers. Not many left. Would they allow origami in prison?
He chose a red paper and folded it. He grunted. A cross. Where had that come from? He’d just folded his fifth cross when he heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.
The captain ushered three strangers in dark suits who stared at him with undisguised disgust. Curious employees ringed the men but didn’t get too close.
The security guard turned the key in the lock. The door clanged open. One of the suits stepped forward and flashed a badge. “Special Agent Collins, FBI. You’re under arrest for domestic terrorism.” He turned to the other men. “Cuff him.”
Chet made no protest as they read him his rights and handcuffed him behind his back, pinching his wrists with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. “Am I allowed to make a phone call?” Having a lawyer right now would probably be a very good idea.
Collins growled. “After we get off this boat.”
The captain stiffened. “Please remove the prisoner from this ship as quickly as possible. We don’t want to alarm the passengers.”
“Maybe they should be alarmed with nutcases like this running around.” The guard scowled, twirling his keys.
“I’m not a nutcase.” No, he’d committed his crime with full control of his faculties.
“Save it for the judge.” The guard raised one eyebrow as he gazed at the origami crosses. “Getting jailhouse religion? Bit early.” He shrugged. “The losers always do. It never sticks.”
Chet hung his head but said nothing. Loser. He trudged out of the room. He craned his neck to peer through the doors leading to the kitchens but only caught a brief glimpse. He wished he’d had the chance to take the tour.
The agents herded him like a steer to the slaughterhouse. Crewmen gazed at him with accusing eyes, murmuring among themselves.
“Did you see the ship alongside us?”
“Maybe it’s to
keep us from violating quarantine.”
“Maybe it’s for this guy. I heard he’s a terrorist.”
“The sooner he gets off, the better. The guests are already spooked.”
The entourage took a service elevator to the third deck, the usual level for launches. Chet had a stray thought about his personal belongings. He’d never see them again except in a courtroom as damning evidence. He’d chucked the empty vial into the ocean, but that wouldn’t slow their investigation. They’d condemn him to life in prison or execution. Right now, he voted for the latter.
A woman waited near the elevator. She wore wrist splints. “I’ll visit you as soon as I can.”
Chet stared at her. “Don’t.”
Sandy crossed her arms. “What I do, mister, is my own business.” Her face softened. “I’ll be praying for you. God’s not finished with you yet.”
Chet shook his head as the agents marched him past her.
Alongside the ship, a launch bobbed in the water. Looked military. Chet lifted his gaze to the waiting vessel and startled. A naval destroyer?
Well, at least he’d be traveling in style.
****
The next morning, Chet felt like a squeezed-out dishrag. The FBI had grilled him for hours. Now he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
The destroyer’s engines changed in pitch as it apparently slowed for docking. Agents escorted him to the ship’s disembarkation ramp. In the distance, hoisting cranes skewered the sky as far as he could see. Southampton looked more like an industrial area than a destination for luxury cruise ships. He envisioned nearby London as a bustling metropolis with double-decker buses and international restaurants, not that he’d get a chance to sample any exotic foods now. At least Navy food was passable. His stomach rumbled.
Chet suspected the virus had already reached Great Britain. Everyone on the pier wore face masks.
An unmarked black sedan and four police motorcycles waited. His transportation. He descended the ramp and emerged into cool early morning, moody fog clinging to the ground. The stench of diesel fuel tainted the fresh salty air. Chet smiled when he recalled Sandy’s promise to visit, and his stride became a little lighter. Until the cameras flashed.
The press swooped down like seagulls on fish guts. Their barrage of questions bounced off the agents who ran interference for him. Chet refused the FBI’s offer to shield his face as they marched him to the waiting car.
Collins turned to address the crowds. “Dr. Chester Hildebrandt is under arrest for domestic terrorism.” The man droned on, stealing all the credit for the capture of a dangerous criminal.
Two agents waited at the car. Pain skittered up Chet’s arms as they bent in an awkward position, and one of the agents pushed him into the back seat.
“Oh. Sorry.” The man sounded sincere.
Chet nodded. “No problem.”
The car smoothed into gear. Chet peered once more into the miserable fog before someone slammed the car door.
46
Hildi’s heart thumped into overdrive. She grabbed a plastic bag from a locker, collected the vial, and herded globules of floating liquid into it. The stuff misted the air like a violent sneeze.
Rage and panic fought for control. “Of all the lamebrained, idiotic stunts…” Professionals, ha. She strangled the bag in her hand.
It would only take a few droplets to infect the crew. Level Four protocol wouldn’t help now. But first things first. She had to capture enough of the sample for analysis.
Maria had quickly drawn a clear curtain to seal the room with Hildi inside. Her effort might slow the spread of the disease, but exposure was inevitable. The crew breathed the same recirculating air in a closed ventilation system.
Hildi held the bag in front of the clear protective curtain for Maria’s inspection. She frowned at it. “What’s that?”
“What’s left of the flu sample. The vial broke.” She didn’t say how. It didn’t matter. She fought to keep her voice level while a panicked part of her screamed, We’re all gonna die.
****
Frank unclenched his fists as reality slammed into him. He should lick up the virus droplets and at least take the worst of the contagion, not that it would help now. He wondered how it would taste.
He stared at the vial stuffed into the bag. There was nothing he could do except maybe volunteer as a lab assistant. Or guinea pig.
Frank hung his head. He forced out the next words, lame as they were. “I’m sorry.”
Joe snorted like a longhorn ready to charge. “Sorry? Sorry? You think you can pour spilled whiskey back into a broken bottle?”
Frank grimaced. His simmering pot of anger had boiled over. His old Air Force buddy had been a convenient target, and he doubted he could ever repair the damage to their friendship.
Joe counted to ten aloud. Real slow. His reddened face cooled as he huffed out a breath. “I’m mighty tempted to throw you out the airlock without a pressure suit.” He turned to Hildi. “Anything you can do?”
Hildi sighed. “Not much to keep us from contracting it. Chet said he’s apparently immune. If I’m immune, too, I can try to isolate the factor in our blood. I think I’ve got enough of a virus sample.” She squinted at the droplets in the bag.
Frank stared at nothing. He’d endangered the crew. Maybe he deserved the airlock. “You can use me as a lab rat if you want. Inject me with the stuff and see what happens.” He didn’t care if he got sicker than a dog if it would help.
“Mighty kind of you.” Joe’s words had a tinge of remaining anger, but a slight smile crossed his lips.
Hildi shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. I suspect all of us will get it sooner or later. NASA sent up some antibiotics to prevent secondary infection like pneumonia, just in case. We’ll need them.”
What would weightlessness do to their chances of survival? Probably make them worse. Frank shut his eyes.
Joe floated back to the main cabin, muttering he needed to report the accident to NASA. Maria left. Frank stared at the floor. What could he possibly say? “I was out of control.” He turned to Dan. “And way out of line. Professionals don’t pick fights—”
“Yeah, you should have thought of that.” Dan snarled.
“It was an accident.” Hildi reached for Dan’s shoulder.
Dan slapped her hand away. “You stay out of this.”
Hildi blanched.
Frank reached for a handhold, gripping it till his knuckles turned white. He forced his contorted face into something closer to normal.
Dan swallowed. “I’m sorry, Hildi. You didn’t deserve that.”
She nodded.
Frank took a deep breath. “I let this media business get to me. I’ve been stewing about the docking. And I’ve been eaten up with jealousy as I’ve seen the two of you together.”
Dan and Hildi exchanged glances.
He met their gazes. “Fact is, I think you could really make a go of it. I hope you do.” Frank’s throat refused passage for any other words.
Dan nodded. “Thanks for being honest. Let’s talk after we’ve calmed down. Deal?”
“Deal.”
It was a start.
47
“I” Plus Fifteen Days
Dan floated to the lab entrance, his insides tightening at the sight of Hildi’s drawn face. “Dinner.”
She huffed but didn’t answer. She turned to Maria. “Still nothing?”
“Nothing.” Maria withdrew her hands from the heavy gloves of the clear plastic box and frowned. She pointed to the microscope inside. “No correlation between your blood and any immunity factor.”
He floated closer, but they continued to ignore him. The enclosed box kept the sample from floating around, but they could still work with it by using the built-in gloves. Hildi stretched, her back and neck cracking. “Three days of work, and we’re no closer to a vaccine.”
“Ahem.” He raised his voice. “Suppertime.”
They finally looked up from their work. D
an’s heart missed a beat when he saw defeat in Hildi’s eyes. He donned his sternest expression. “You two have locked yourselves in the lab for twenty-two hours. Way past time for food and sleep.”
Hildi’s stomach growled.
He grinned. “See what I mean?” He coughed into his sleeve, trying to hide the first symptom of the flu. Hildi quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. He’d hoped he wouldn’t catch it so soon. None of them could afford to be sick.
“I’ll eat later.” Hildi turned back to her work.
“You’ve got to eat. You too, Maria. Can’t work on an empty stomach and two hours of sleep.”
Maria smiled. “Yes, Mommy.” She planted her hands on her hips. “And just who’s been monitoring our sleeping and eating habits?”
“I have.” Joe jetted up to the lab. “You’re eating with us, dag nab it. That’s an order.”
Maria stuck out her tongue. “You can’t order me. I’m a civilian.”
“Don’t matter. You’re under my command. Or didn’t you read the fine print on your contract?” He grimaced. “Next time, my crew will all be military, or I’ll leave the corps.”
Dan fought to keep a straight face. Hildi was a civilian, too, but kept her mouth shut. Her pretty mouth. No one took the old cowpoke’s threats seriously. “We’ll be along in a minute.”
Joe twisted to face Dan. “Keep an eye on these strays and bring ’em back to the herd.” He shot toward the dining area.
Hildi headed toward the kitchen, Maria and Dan trailing. Dan’s own stomach rumbled at the smell of roast beef, his favorite. They’d finally run out of borscht, which actually was pretty good, and Leonid had promised to open a tin of caviar.
Maria spoke over her shoulder. “Dan, I sure hope Hildi’s prayers help with the vaccine. We need all the divine help we can get.”
Dan cocked his head. He’d never brought up the subject of religion with Maria. In fact, he’d hardly talked with her at all since she and Hildi had barricaded themselves in the lab. “What do you believe, Maria?”