Imminent Threat

by Jack Patterson

  “Someone doesn’t want you talking,” Banks said, eyeing him in the rearview mirror.

  “Well then, it’s probably because of this,” Thatcher said, holding up a small vial containing a clear liquid.

  “What is that?” Flynn asked.

  “I was hoping one of my friends could tell me.”

  CHAPTER 30

  DR. MELISSA WATSON AWOKE to find herself in the quarantine area, lying next to Mosley. She grabbed her back as she rolled over and tried to stand up. Mosley, eyes wild and face pale, looked up at her. Then he sprang toward her, pushing her back against a table.

  Withdrawing, Watson stared in disbelief. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Saliva oozed out from the corners of his mouth. “Did you find a cure?” he asked.

  She pushed him away. “I hope so. Give me a few minutes to run some tests.”

  “If you didn’t succeed, bring me a gun,” he growled.

  Watson hastened into the lab and drew a sample of her blood. While she waited for the blood to spread over the slide, she glanced at Mosley, who clutched his stomach and writhed in pain. She shook her head and returned her attention to the slide. A smile spread across her face while she studied it. “I did it!” She paused. “We did it!”

  She stared intently at the blood then heard a slow clapping sound, causing her to look up.

  “Well done, Dr. Watson,” Dr. Franklin said as he approached her. “I knew you could do it.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Oh, I think there’s every bit of thanks due to me.” He settled onto a stool next to her. “I found you—and the monkeys.” A slight grin. “I also found Dr. Mosley.”

  The mention of his name reminded her that she needed to get him some antidote as soon as possible. She pushed her way past Franklin and started to mix some more antidote for Mosley.

  “You really think that can save him at this point?” Franklin said, motioning toward her chemical construct.

  “You got any better ideas?”

  “I wouldn’t waste my time with him,” Franklin said.

  “Saving a life is never a waste of time.” She filled up a syringe and glared at Franklin as she walked toward the quarantine chamber.

  “I’ve got something for you,” she said.

  Mosley groaned, muttered something unintelligible, and rolled over.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Just be still. Don’t move.”

  She slid the point of the needle into his arm and forced the rest of the liquid into him.

  After helping Mosley sit up and handing him a glass of water, Watson returned to finish her conversation with Franklin.

  “You know what I don’t understand?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “Why us? Why this lab? I mean, I don’t even know what this virus is other than this generically assigned XC-47 listed on this vial here. If this is really as big of a deal as you say, why are we the only ones working on it?”

  Franklin folded his arms and took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t answer all of those questions.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “What’s the difference? You don’t get to know all the answers, Dr. Watson. Some things will always be a mystery—to both you and me.”

  “I’m not sure I’m buying that.”

  Franklin smirked. “I’m not selling anything to you but the truth. If you don’t believe it, just log on to the Internet where you’ll find someone somewhere spouting off something that you agree with—truth be damned.”

  “Truth isn’t relative.”

  “Well, that’s your interpretation of it, isn’t it?”

  “Are we done here? I need to check on Mosley and then get home so I can get some much-needed rest.” She stood up only to watch Franklin slide in front of her path toward the quarantine room.

  “Mosley will be fine—as long as you are.”

  Watson tried to push past him, but he didn’t budge. “I need to check on Mosley.”

  “What you need to do is sit down and remain under observation by a few other fellow scientists before we let you go charging back out into the world.”

  She looked him up and down. “You’re not wearing anything to protect you from the virus, so it’s pretty safe to say that you’re confident my antidote worked.”

  “For now. But we must observe you regardless.”

  “While you roam free? You may be carrying it and not even know it.”

  “Highly unlikely given what we know about the virus.”

  Watson huffed. “We hardly know anything, according to you.”

  He picked up a thick folder and threw it onto the table next to her. It landed with a thud as papers spilled out. “We know more about it than you think. Read for yourself.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but only slightly. “You mean to tell me that you had more information on this virus all along but chose not to give it to me?”

  “I told the director you wouldn’t need it.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Are you out of your mind? Withholding this kind of information cost several monkeys their lives.”

  “I didn’t realize you were a member of PETA?”

  “If I was a gun-toting member of the NRA, I’d still be upset about this—if anything, from a professional standpoint. You can’t just go around withholding vital information from me that could prevent me from doing my job.”

  Franklin loosened his tie. “Yet it had no effect on you. This information would’ve only bogged you down and slowed down your research.”

  “It’s inhumane.”

  He winked at her. “Good thing we weren’t dealing with humans then, eh?”

  Watson rubbed her face with both hands. “Look, I just need to check on Mosley and get outta here. Can you let me do that?”

  He shrugged. “Check on Mosley? Yes. Get outta here? No. I need you to stick around for at least another hour or two.”

  “My blood’s clean.”

  “Let’s verify that first before we let you out to infect half of D.C.”

  She growled. “I’m losing patience with you.”

  “I thought you might appreciate my respect for protocol. Nevertheless, it’s what must be done.” He headed for the door before he stopped and turned around. “And Watson? I expect to see a formula for the antidote on my desk before you leave. This is an issue of national importance.”

  She forced a smile. “How convenient. I’ll leave you one. Just don’t let any of those people—whoever these mystery people are—wait around to verify me. I’m itching to get out of here.”

  “I bet you are,” he said, turning back toward the door.

  Watson didn’t move until she heard the ding of the elevator and waited ample time for the doors to close. She rushed over to the windows and peeked down the hallway just to make sure he was gone. Satisfied that he was, she raced back into the quarantine room to see how Mosley was doing.

  “Mosley? Mosley?” she said, shaking him. “Are you awake, Mosley?”

  He squinted his eyes and opened them, turning away quickly due to the sudden influx of light. “I am now,” he said, looking to one side at the ground. “Did you find a cure?”

  She knelt down and took his hand. “I don’t think you’d be here if I hadn’t.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse than you know. Here, let’s get you to your feet.” Watson grabbed Mosley’s arm and helped him up. “Have a seat so I can check you out.”

  Mosley slumped into his seat, still groggy. “How’d you solve it?”

  “That’s my secret, for now.”

  He started to roll up his sleeve so she could take a blood sample. “The whole world will need to know soon enough.”

  “Why? For an outbreak that hasn’t happened yet?” She shook her head. “I doubt that.”

  He shrugged. “Why else would we be working on this?”

  “I’m not sure, but once I clear you, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

/>   Mosley laughed. “Now, now. Don’t be so angry. You weren’t properly motivated before—otherwise, I’d be dead.”

  “We both could’ve been dead,” she said, roughly jamming the needle into his arm to draw the blood.

  “Owww! Watch it there!”

  “What? You don’t like people ramming needles into your arm when you aren’t expecting it?”

  He glanced up at Watson and didn’t say a word.

  “That ought to do it,” she said, pulling the needle out of his arm and stuffing a cotton ball on top of the entry wound bubbling with blood. “Sorry I don’t have any cookies and juice for you.”

  He stared at the floor. “Look, I’m sorry about what I did, okay? I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “You weren’t thinking at all. And if I didn’t feel so sorry for you, I’d sock you between the eyes right now.”

  Mosley forced a smile and clapped as he stood up. “But it all worked out, right? No harm, no foul?”

  “This will take me a while to get over.”

  “How about getting over it over dinner tonight?”

  She shook her head. “I’m too tired. Plus I’m not sure I trust you after that little stunt you pulled.”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  Watson noticed the color had returned fully to his face. “Now go get some rest while I create a report for Franklin.”

  “Sure I can’t help?”

  “You’ve helped enough for tonight. Now, get outta here.”

  He grabbed his briefcase and headed toward the door. “If you change your mind—”

  “Go,” she said, waving him off. The second the door shut behind her, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe she should’ve gone with him to dinner, though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him at this point. She needed time—and answers, though she doubted she’d get what she was looking for out of Franklin.

  She returned her attention to the report and finished filling it out for Franklin. She was careful to leave out one element that made the antidote work. As uneasy as she felt, she figured she could chalk it up to being tired and barely having survived the virus herself.

  No need to give them everything just yet, is there?

  She made a copy, taking a picture of the formula on her phone. She kept the missing ingredient in her head.

  I’ll never forget this—nor is anyone else smart enough to figure it out.

  The short walk upstairs to Franklin’s office gave her more time to process the events of the past forty-eight hours. It had been a blur, but a painful one. For all that she gained from working for Franklin, she’d willingly give it up for normal—whatever that looked like.

  When she entered Franklin’s office, he was on the phone. She tossed the file folder on his desk. “Here’s your report.”

  He put one hand on the receiver and turned toward her. “Excellent work, Dr. Watson.”

  “Am I clear to leave now?”

  “Sure. See you in the morning.”

  Dr. Watson ambled down the steps to the parking garage and climbed into her car. She turned the ignition as her Toyota Prius awoke with something akin to a mild purr. Before putting her car into gear, she tweaked the rearview mirror so she could see herself. Bags under her eyes, frazzled hair, sunken cheeks. She wanted to go home and watch one of those makeover shows while gorging herself on ice cream. It wasn’t the ideal life she imagined for herself when she graduated from college, but she couldn’t turn back time no matter how much she wished she could.

  She readjusted the rearview mirror and put the car into drive. She pulled out of her parking space and headed toward the exit.

  Headlights flashed behind her.

  Is someone following me?

  She shook her head and smiled.

  I get so paranoid sometimes. It’s probably nothing.

  She turned on the radio and started humming along to Dmitri Shostakovich’s Symphony No. 5.

  She failed to notice those same headlights following her down the street.

  CHAPTER 31

  FLYNN WATCHED BANKS MANEUVER through D.C.’s evening traffic with ease. She effortlessly whipped her car down several different side streets, avoiding major jams throughout the city’s main veins.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” he asked.

  “You gave me the address, didn’t you?” she said, flashing a smile at him. “I’ll get us there. Don’t you worry. I don’t need a GPS, nor would I ever use one taking someone to a safe house.”

  Flynn rubbed his face. “Guess I’m a little rusty.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Several minutes later, Banks had her car out of D.C. and headed for a safe house in the Virginia hills.

  “Promise you’ll forget this place?” Flynn said.

  She crossed her heart with her right hand. “Hope to die.”

  Flynn glanced at their passenger in the backseat. Staff Sgt. Thatcher hadn’t said a word since they got into the car. Flynn wondered if he was still in shock from the fact that someone was still trying to kill him—someone in high places. Regardless of the reason, it didn’t matter. Processing that information would be difficult for anyone, especially a sergeant in the U.S. Army who was willing to sacrifice everything for his country.

  Flynn turned around to look at Thatcher in the eyes. “Want to tell me about that vial you showed us?”

  Thatcher looked around the vehicle. “Is it safe to talk in here?”

  “Safest place on earth,” Banks answered, watching him in her rearview mirror.

  “I don’t know. I’d rather talk about it when we get there.”

  “Fair enough,” Flynn answered.

  Thirty minutes later, Banks pulled off the interstate and turned onto a state highway leading into a wooded area. “I always wondered what was out here,” she said.

  “Trees,” Flynn said. “Lots of trees.”

  “And safe houses, apparently.”

  He put his finger to his lips. “Not as many as you might think.”

  They wound up and down the road, turning several times until they pulled into the driveway of the house. Flynn jumped out and punched in the security code for the garage door to open. Once the door revealed an empty space, Banks roared in and parked her car.

  Flynn opened Thatcher’s door. “Say hello to your new home for the next few days.”

  Thatcher headed inside without a word.

  “Think he’s okay?” Banks whispered to Flynn.

  Flynn nodded. “Just give him some time. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Thatcher had already settled into the couch. He looked relaxed—and tired.

  “Wanna talk?” Flynn said, handing Thatcher a glass of water.

  “About what?”

  “Why don’t we start with that vial in your pocket? It seems that might be the reason someone’s trying to kill you?”

  Letting out a long breath, Thatcher rolled his head around, cracking his neck. “I don’t even know anymore. I’m just scared.”

  “Well, I’m here to help you,” Flynn said, locking eyes with Thatcher. “It’s not just a line—and I’m not just doing this for a story. If there’s something corrupt taking place in our government, I want to expose it. It’s why I was kicked out of the CIA in the first place.”

  Thatcher cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Yet, here we are in a supposed CIA safe house?”

  Flynn pulled out his phone and started recording their conversation, gesturing toward it until Thatcher nodded and gave a thumbs-up signal.

  “It’s complicated,” Flynn continued. “But there are some people there who still trust me—and are distrustful of others in the agency. It’s a mess, I know.”

  Thatcher stared at his feet. “I just don’t know what to do or what to make of anything that’s just happened. Our own military ordered an apparent drone strike on our location when they knew we were there. I had to fend off not one, but two people who wanted to kill me on a transatlantic flight just to pa
rachute out. I even had to break the pilot’s arm and take his gun just to get away. Otherwise, I’d be boxed up somewhere, never to be heard from again.”

  Flynn leaned forward in his seat. “But you’re not. You’re here with—with a chance to turn the table on these bastards. So, why don’t you tell me why you think they want you dead.”

  Thatcher dug into his pocket and fished out the vial. The clear liquid swirled around as he moved the cylinder in a circular motion. He stopped and held it up, waving it around for Flynn and Banks, who’d settled onto the couch next to Flynn. “Whatever is in here holds the answer.”

  “What is that?” Flynn said.

  Thatcher shook his head. “I’ve got no idea. But whatever it is, it was making those insurgents crazy.”

  Flynn furrowed his brow. “Crazy? How?”

  “They looked like they were being tortured by something. One guy was marching around the compound, shooting his own soldiers on demand. I wasn’t close enough at the time to hear anything, but it appeared like they were asking him to shoot them. A lot of writing around, foaming at the mouth.” He paused and took a deep a breath. “Quite frankly, I didn’t want any part of it. I’ve done scores of missions like these, but I’ve never seen anything quite like this—especially in Afghanistan.”

  “What do you mean?” Banks asked.

  “Chemical weapons like this are almost non-existent. The Taliban aren’t sophisticated enough. They rely on intimidation, fear, and guerilla warfare. But this was like another level.”

  “Maybe they purchased some off the black market?” Banks said.

  Thatcher shrugged. “Possibly. But I’ve never seen any intelligence report anywhere suggesting that the Taliban in the area where we were fighting had ever gained access to something like this.” He held up the vial again and stared at it. “And even if they did, the most puzzling question for me would be why they used it on themselves.”

  Flynn folded his arms. “Maybe they didn’t use it on themselves. Maybe it was an accident.”

  Thatcher shook his head. “What I saw was no accident—it was clearly an intentional attack.”

  Flynn stretched and yawned. “We’ll get it analyzed soon, but let’s sleep on this. We have a lot more to talk about, but I think a good night of sleep would do us all a world of good.”