by LC Champlin
“Doorway Pharmaceuticals is under investigation.”
Nathan’s interest in the neural regrowth research had led him to aid Birk in retrieving—stealing, he later learned—data from Doorway. If Nathan had known the bastard wanted to sell it to the terrorists, he could have averted the royal cluster that followed. But the disaster had turned into an opportunity: a chance to control the cannibals. B-horror-movie ideas of zombie armies aside, controlling the Dalits—without informing the government—would allow him to stabilize the Bay Area one neighborhood at a time. Cannibals: shock troops in more than one way.
Marketing a cure, if one existed, would also prove lucrative.
“Have you discovered anything?”
“We’ve locked down all Doorway’s servers.” Not good. “Also, I received word a few minutes ago that the company’s officers were found dead in their homes when agents went to question them.”
Nathan stared, his mind a freshly erased whiteboard. Static crackled in his ears. Locked down? And . . . “Dead? Including the directors of research, Skylar Wong and Lawrence Marcus?”
“Yes.” Her glare never changed. Either she lied like a politician, or . . . she spoke the truth. What motive did she have to dissemble, anyway?
And so died his opportunity for holding Doorway’s files for ransom. With the server lockdown, his chance at harvesting the company’s research also vanished. “Have you learned anything from Birk?” Nathan asked. Only Victor Anthony Birk, PhD, could provide alternate contacts among Doorway’s staff. They would know enough about the research to put Nathan on the road to Cannibal Control Country. But Sherlock might as well hope for Moriarty to help him.
Washington only frowned.
Clearing his throat, Nathan shook his head. “Unfortunate. He sang like a bard for me, Director. But he’s your problem now.”
A smile spread over Washington’s face as righteous judgment smoldered in her eyes. She leaned over the table toward him. “It just so happens that your friend Birk is asking to speak with you.”
Brows drawing together, Nathan leaned back from her gravitational pull. A trap? But from whom, Birk or the government? Questions piled into his mind, fought to escape through his mouth. “Oh?” won out.
“Strange, isn’t it, since you threatened to throw him off the building? Get useful information from him, and maybe I’ll believe you’re not a terrorist.”
“That’s rather up to him.” Nathan’s lip curled in disgust to disguise his grin at the opportunity to interrogate Birk, trap or not.
“That’s not my problem. I believe your freedom is important to you, and I want to help protect it. Don’t worry; you won’t even have to leave the comfort of the school here.”
“I’d prefer to meet with him in person.” Body language conveyed eighty percent of most conversations, especially the threat of his fist to Birk’s face.
“Video will suffice.”
Nathan’s jaw muscles pulsed. “If I do what you ask, I want it in writing that you’ll send me home in two weeks.”
“We’ll see.”
“I do value my freedom.” He took a breath, only half forcing an earnest expression. “I want to be able to leave the school and Armory at my own discretion.”
Washington stared at him. “Absolutely not. You think just because you’re a prick from Manhattan that you can do as you please?”
“I didn’t say permanently,” he reassured, hands up. “What if the outbreak spreads? What if the terrorists attack, as they did at the Tavaral Police Station? I want the ability to leave without getting tackled or Tased. Track my phone’s GPS if you want to find me.”
“So you can drop your phone and disappear? No.” Triumph sharpened her tone. “I think I have a much better solution to our dilemma.”
Chapter 5
Give to Get
America - Imagine Dragons
Across the table from Albin, Special Agent Greg Saito of the FBI folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Beside him, a camera provided a live broadcast of the interrogation to the DHS.
The Asian sighed after hearing Albin’s statement on the Hercules C-130 explosion and the cannibal incident. Neither account exceeded three sentences. “After all that, how are you holding up?”
Albin began polishing his glasses with a cloth from his pocket. Today’s session with the agent varied little from yesterday’s. The Joint Terrorism Task Force agent employed psychology and examined emotions during his interrogations.
Rationalism formed the core of the Conrad pride, passing from generation to generation as an heirloom weapon more valuable than any crown jewel. Soldiers, sailors, spies, and a dash of tinkers and tailors, if only in the figurative sense, composed the majority of House Conrad. Even so, they could put on a good show for the peasants.
Albin looked up from his work with a gulp. He massaged his temples as he murmured, “I . . . I’m not certain.” He rested an elbow on the table as he tapped his glasses against the plastic surface. “I thought this location was safe. I’m not certain anymore.”
“I understand your concern.” Agent Saito leaned forward, fingers interlaced before him. False concern etched his brow. “You and your friends have been through so much already.”
“Ignis aurum probat. The fire tests the gold.”
“Yes, it does feel like the heat’s been turned up.” Saito leaned closer. The infringement of personal space made Albin’s hackles prickle. “As I said in the last debriefing, any information you can give us will help you as much as it helps us. We want to avoid . . . misunderstandings. We aren’t the villains.” Saito winced a smile. Did he fail to understand that villains only intimidated heroes and victims? “We’re here to keep people safe. Nathan has nothing to hide if he’s innocent. I know that’s cliché, but it’s true.”
“Special Agent Saito, I feel you wish to find the truth rather than a scapegoat.”
Latching onto this foothold, Saito nodded. “If I had it my way, the wolf would live with the lamb.”
“‘The leopard will lie down with the goat,’” Albin continued the words of the prophet Isaiah. “‘And a little child shall lead them. They shall not hurt or destroy in all My holy mountain.’ I know the government does its best to judge the poor with righteousness and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.” In reality it struck them with the rod of its mouth.
“I appreciate your desire to see justice done.”
“Someone must see, as justice is blind.”
Enough toying with the naive agent. If Albin wanted to emerge from the fire, he would require a ladder. Who better than the senator who loved for others to climb him? Specifically, young interns, not to mention donors and lobbyists, though in a figurative sense. The blackguard owed his continued seat in the Capitol partially to Arete Technologies. This of course earned the company certain privileges when it encountered unfavorable government regulations.
Albin steepled his fingers as he met Saito’s gaze with full glacial force. “There is a politician we have dealings with. He may be able to bring things into better focus. His name is Charles Frack.”
Saito stared at him as if he had named Warren Buffett. “The New York senator?”
Albin smiled.
++++++++++++
Nathan ambled to a table in the school cafeteria and eased down, water bottle and compartmentalized meal tray in hand. Plunking them before him, he frowned at the unidentifiable substances, each in its own section. Since nausea already nosed around his stomach, he avoided a forensic examination of the viscous, vomit-like products in the other corrals.
“Bon appétit, Mr. Serebus,” Albin drawled as he swung onto the bench across from him.
“Just like Mom used to make, if Mom was a fast food cook.” Grimacing, Nathan pushed the tray toward his friend. “Hungry? Some of it resembles your English pudding.”
Albin rolled his eyes, then lifted the fork and poked at the meat product. “Chicken, perhaps? Fish?”
“Fish?” Nausea moved from sniffing to tackling Nathan’s stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers into his forehead as the attorney chuckled. Memories of the dark Bering Sea, fishing boats, and ice. Fish slipped over his hands, as slimy and cold as decaying entrails. No! Reaching blind, he found the water bottle. Several gulps watered down the urge to vomit.
When he opened his eyes, Josephine was across from him. “Thanks for late lunch,” she greeted him around a mouthful of mystery meat from his tray.
After fixing Albin with a glare that promised retribution, Nathan addressed the reporter: “My pleasure. When did you get here?”
“About three bites ago. Is this chicken?” She held up half a nugget. “Or fi—”
“Does it matter?” Nathan interrupted.
Albin smirked, then sobered. “How did your negotiations fare, Mr. Serebus?”
Nathan tapped the water bottle idly. “Josephine, how do you feel about never again having to find a way to summon a rescue chopper? In addition, wouldn’t you enjoy walking about the city freely?”
She looked up from swirling a nugget in tan slime. “Yes, but what are you talking about?”
Head cocked like a curious cat, Albin held his tongue.
“It just so happens I have a limited-time offer that guarantees both security and freedom in these dangerous times.”
Albin crossed his arms, elbows on the table. “What precisely did you do?”
Nathan ignored the suspicion. “Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?”
“It’s sounding too good to be true.”
“I thought so too, which is why I selflessly volunteered”—he put a hand over his heart—“to test the offer.” His fake smile dropped. “I’m getting a GPS ankle monitor. Washington offered them to everyone.” He met Albin’s icy gaze. “If I get injured further, I wouldn’t turn down law enforcement backup. It’s supposed to be used during emergency evacs from the Armory only, but the term emergency is open to interpretation.”
Albin’s jaw muscles tightened as his eyes closed. With a sigh, he looked up. “It appears to be a benign and possibly beneficial decision, sir.”
Nathan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he held.
“You’re okay with house arrest?” Josephine stared at him.
“In case you haven’t noticed,” he responded, “we already are on house arrest. This gives me more freedom because the government thinks it has me leashed.” He turned to Albin. “What about you?”
“When can we remove the monitors?” Impassive expression and tone, as if he enquired when the drycleaner would be finished with his suits.
“Whenever we want to go back to full house arrest, or when we find a sharp implement. We’re not technically prisoners.”
Josephine prodded a lump in the pseudo gravy. “It sounds like you are now.”
“On that topic,” Nathan shifted gears, “our beloved Director’s latest idea is to arrange for me to speak with Birk.”
“What the hell for?” The reporter stabbed a nugget.
Nathan’s wolf smile flashed. “Apparently he misses me after all the bonding we did.”
Chapter 6
All Bark
Get Me Out - No Resolve
A headache began to throb behind Nathan’s eyes. With a growl, he pushed his thumb against the bridge of his nose. “Washington said she would get Birk on the line ASAP. A cup of coffee would be appreciated before my interview.” At this, he looked up at Jo.
“All right.” She pushed to her feet. “You did get me lunch. Albin, do you want—”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s not green bean,” Nathan explained. “He won’t compromise his standards.”
After the reporter passed from earshot—not far in the noisy cafeteria—Nathan hunched over the table toward Albin. “What was the outcome of your negotiation?”
“Would you like to have first choice of supplies, protection, and medical care during a disaster?” The attorney imitated his employer’s salesmanship. “Would you like people in high positions to know your situation?”
“Who’s on our side?”
A predatory grin spread across Albin’s face. “Your old friend Senator Charles Frack.”
“Woodchuck? Fracking Frack?”
“The same.”
“Albin Conrad, you are truly magnificent!” Nathan clapped him on the shoulder. Satisfaction radiated from the blond: head up, shoulders back, smile cold. “He’ll be wishing yet again that he never sent those emails, or at least that he never used Arete’s servers.” Although, after last night’s sweeping hell, would anyone care about the congressman or his indiscretions?
Jo strode back to the table. She set a paper coffee cup before Nathan. “You’re welcome.”
Sniffing the brown water, he gave a derisive snort. “My kingdom for a cup of your Full City roast, Albin.”
“We have a guest.” The attorney lifted his chin.
Nathan half turned. A short, Hispanic Tasmanian devil marched toward them. “Serebus, Conrad, Behrmann,” Rodriguez barked. She halted at the head of their table and raked the civilians with her dark gaze. MP5 at her side, full duty gear and full duty scowl in place, she brooked no bull.
“My favorite DHS officer,” Nathan greeted her, pushing to his feet. Albin and Josephine stood as well.
“I damn well should be after saving your ass on that bridge. Now, let’s go. Birk’s ready to talk to you.”
“Is the benevolent Washington cutting Birk any deals?”
Rodriguez gave him a baleful look. “What am I, the Mouth of Washington?”
Either the DHS director thought highly of Nathan’s interrogation skills, or she didn’t give a rat’s rear if he found anything about Birk’s involvement with the terrorists. The DHS had a bulletproof case against him. Doorway Pharmaceuticals might as well consider itself an alien abductee for as much chance as it had against the DHS probe. They should consider themselves lucky if the government didn’t choose a vivisection.
A few halls later, they reached a room marked Communications. She opened the door and led the way into the school’s computer lab. Personnel in headsets and various styles of clothing—from digital camo fatigues to police uniforms to business casual—worked at the terminals.
Did investigators at similar workstations study Doorway Pharmaceutical’s servers? Big Brother now had the files it required for cannibal control, assuming the researchers actually had begun developing the data. A sense of urgency described the government’s MO to the same degree that it described a glacier’s.
“In here.”
He returned to reality to find Rodriguez guarding a storage / janitor’s closet. A folding table with a laptop waited. Behind the computer, facing the user’s seat, watched a camera on a tripod. Didn’t they trust the Skype-knockoff to record him?
“That’s it?” Josephine asked, hands on hips. “Just go in and talk to him?”
“We’ve been over this,” Washington declared by way of greeting. “And if you two don’t want to be escorted back to your rooms right now, you’ll refrain from derogatory comments.”
Nathan glanced over his shoulder. “If they go, I’m not speaking to Birk. We’ve been over this.” Witnesses never hurt. “Are there any plea deals in store for Birk?”
Washington stalked over. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
“Put this on.” Rodriguez held out a transparent earpiece, wire, and receiver.
“Am I being inducted into the Secret Service?”
“In addition to any information he volunteers, these are the questions we want answers to.” Washington shoved a printout in his face. He took it without reading it. “I have my eye on you.”
“And I have your voice in my ear, another demon on my shoulder,” he muttered.
Receiver to waistband and earbud in his right ear, he slid into the seat. The paper listed nothing of interest—the government wanted accomplice
names, affiliated companies, and pointless minutia—so it went on the table as a coaster for his coffee.
A tech specialist entered the closet room to initiate the connection.
Nathan closed his eyes. Golden eyes opened in the darkness. The hunt began.
“Ready.” The man turned the laptop around for Nathan to access, then stepped out, closing the door behind him.
“Start the show.” In his pocket, Nathan’s smartphone began audio recording.
The video conference window occupied the screen. An empty chair and desk waited for Birk.
Movement onscreen. A man in orange prison scrubs two sizes too large for his lanky frame entered the picture. The camera angle cut off anything above mid chest, but his fidgeting and slouch marked him as the Doorway Pharmaceuticals researcher Victor Anthony Birk. Handcuffs locked his hands in front of him. He flopped into the seat, giving the first view of his face since Nathan had thrown him into two terrorists as a distraction. Disheveled brown hair hung over Birk’s forehead, half obscuring the bruise that dominated the right side of his face and swelled his eye shut. He licked his split lip as he met the camera’s stare. Defiance smoldered in his remaining eye.
“Doctor Birk, I presume. I’m pleased to see you’re alive.” Nathan raised the coffee cup in salute.
“No thanks to you,” Vic grated.
“You wouldn’t be alive if my people and I hadn’t acted.”
“As I recall, you said of me, ‘Shoot him first.’”
“I said you deserved it most,” which he did, “and that was as a diversion.”
“I was hoping you’d caught a bullet or maybe, I don’t know”—the prisoner rolled his eye as if searching for the idea in the margins of his skull—“fell off the building.”
“I did.” Easy smile.
Vic glared.
“Serebus,” Washington snapped over the earpiece. “Stop antagonizing him and wallowing in your delusions of grandeur—” Nathan flicked the earbud out.