“To our knowledge, the formulas haven’t been sold, and we’re trying to keep it that way. You can help us by providing more details about the project.”
Sufficiently rattled, Perkins described his daily duties of inoculating some lab animals and checking test results on others. He described his procedure for recording the results from the various Rabinil test lots into Briggsfield’s central data repository. He also ordered his fourth Miller.
Mallory mentioned Laura Peterson, the recently-deceased CDC analyst, but Perkins didn’t react to the name at all.
“Have you ever met any of the Army personnel who visit Briggsfield?” asked Mallory.
“No, I’ve only seen one guy. Tall guy with a mustache, typical Army puke. He never talks to me. He’s usually with Finch, our R&D director.”
“Have you ever seen the soldier come in with someone else? Someone you didn’t recognize?”
“No, I haven’t noticed it. But I’m not exactly looking for it, either.”
“Here’s my card,” said Mallory. “If you have any additional information in the future, I’d appreciate a call or e-mail.”
Feeling she had milked the cow dry, Mallory quickly wrapped up the meal before Perkins could order another beer.
Mallory stepped away for a moment, and Perkins leaned over to Alton.
“She’s a cutie. Is she single?”
“She is, but she’s not your type.”
“What do you mean? What is her type, bro?”
“Intelligent.”
Driving away from the meal, Alton and Mallory discussed the meeting.
“He seems to have taken Urban Cowboy to heart,” said Mallory, laughing, “but it was a good meeting. We didn’t learn anything new about Colonel Drake, but we did learn about the specific procedures used for administering the tests and recording the results. I doubt Perkins is involved in selling the formulas, at least not yet. If he were, I don’t think he could keep himself from going on a spending spree. He certainly wouldn’t still be catching a ride to work.”
CHAPTER 53
Research Triangle Park, North Carolina
“So, Agent Wilson, what are our next steps?” asked Alton.
“I need to return to Washington,” replied Mallory. “I have to work on my assigned caseload and give a deposition for the Anderson case. While I’m there, I can run a search on Tanner Perkins and Amy Newton to see what more we can learn about their backgrounds. They’re currently our best source of information about the Rabinil project. I’d like to research Colonel Drake, but his records are probably in the TS-SI domain, which are off-limits to me, at least officially.” She grinned at Alton as she finished the sentence.
“That sounds like a good plan,” agreed Alton.
They drove north until they merged onto I-85, then looked for a hotel to rest for the night. When they parked, Mallory was listening to voice mail, so Alton went to the office to pay for their lodging.
“One room, sir?” asked the clerk.
At his condo, Mallory had used the spare bedroom. Alton felt the awkwardness of this new arrangement, mainly on behalf of his companion.
“Uh…two, actually.”
As he returned to the car, he handed Mallory a key. “You’re in two-oh-one. I’m in two-oh-four.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. If she had any thoughts about the accommodations, she opted to keep them to herself.
On the way to Washington the next day, they discussed the case.
“Everyone we’ve spoken to has mentioned the Army’s presence. I have to think that someone is attempting to divert Rabinil for an undisclosed purpose,” said Alton.
“That seems likely,” said Mallory, “but we have to keep an open mind for alternative explanations, too. So, who would have a motive for taking some type of undisclosed action in general?”
“Tanner Perkins, of course,” said Alton. “He doesn’t seem above selling the drug’s formula to a competitor to solve his financial woes, if he had the chance. On the other hand, I don’t see how that fits in with Colonel Drake’s presence.”
“Yes,” agreed Mallory. “Also, Jeffrey Finch seems highly motivated, maybe even obsessed, with developing Rabinil. Between his son’s illness and the bonus he’ll likely receive if the vaccine is successful, I can understand why. If he thought the Army could help with the project somehow, he might be willing to enlist its help. The question is, ‘what does the Army get out of it?’ It must reap some type of advantage by being involved.”
“Yep,” said Alton. “Another person to consider is Amy Newton. She seems like a long shot, but maybe she has some connection. Hopefully we’ll know whether to follow up and have a live conversation with her once you’ve researched her background.”
“One huge unknown is Laura Peterson’s death,” said Mallory. “Maybe it was simply a tragic accident. If it wasn’t, though, it implies a whole different level of danger. It would mean that someone is willing to kill to protect secrets associated with the Rabinil project.”
“Agreed,” said Alton, who fell into silence as he pondered the alternatives.
They arrived in Washington that afternoon. Alton remained in Mallory’s apartment, while Mallory herself drove to the FBI offices to begin her work.
CHAPTER 54
Research Triangle Park, North Carolina
By 6:00 p.m. that evening, the Rabinil lab was empty save for one person. As usual, Luis Romero remained, wrapping up the day’s lab work by quietly entering test results via a terminal.
Romero looked up from his workbench, momentarily startled to find he wasn’t alone. The familiar visitor stood only two paces away.
“How are you, Mr. Romero?” asked the visitor.
“Fine.”
“How goes the testing? Any luck?”
“Not really. Do you remember lot seventy-four—the one that looked so promising? It’ll have to be scrapped. It’s highly lethal to humans.”
“But didn’t it use the same Thimerasol base used by many of the less harmful lots?” asked the visitor.
“Yes, it did. But the real question to me is why the other lots aren’t as virulent as number seventy-four. In any case, it’s a moot point since this lot is a dead end.”
Romero carried a rack of used serum bottles across the room and stacked them against the opposite wall. When he returned, he was surprised to see the visitor wearing one of the room’s emergency respirators.
“Is there a problem?” asked Romero, looking around the floor in concern.
“Not for me,” came the reply.
The next moment, the visitor unleashed a powerful stream from the canister he had fastened to the aerosol accelerant line. Romero’s last living sight was of the number “74” stenciled onto the side of the canister.
CHAPTER 55
Washington, DC
After working diligently all day, Mallory met Alton for dinner at Mario’s, a favorite Italian restaurant north of the city. They ordered their meal, and Mallory began to share the results of her research.
They had scarcely begun, however, when Tanner Perkins called.
“Wilson? Agent Wilson?” asked Tanner. His voice had lost its former cockiness.
“Yes, how can I help you, Mr. Perkins?”
“I almost got killed last night.”
Mallory put the call on speaker so Alton could hear. “What happened?”
“My housemate Johnny—the dude I ride to work with—was going to a poker tournament down at McAllen’s Grill, and I figured I’d go with him. The tournament didn’t end until two. When we finally got back home, the whole house was gone. The fire department was there, and the dude told me that the natural gas line had some kind of leak and exploded. Most nights I’m home. I don’t have no wheels, remember? If Johnny hadn’t decided to go to the tournament, I’d be a dead man.”
Mallory and Alton exchanged glances, frowning. They both realized Perkins’ account confirmed that the death of Laura Peterson, the CDC cat aficionado, had been no ac
cident. Perkins would have been the next victim if not for dumb luck.
“Mr. Perkins,” said Mallory, her FBI training asserting itself, “I need you to listen to me. You’re in danger. I can’t explain everything yet, but I don’t think last night was an accident. Whoever sabotaged your house has already killed one person. If I’m right, and you’re being targeted, you need to leave town now. Don’t go to a friend or relative’s house, and don’t use credit cards; they’re too easy to track. If you have to withdraw money from the bank, don’t use one in the direction you’ll be traveling in. If you do, it’ll be too easy to predict your movements. Don’t answer your phone unless the call is from me or my boss, Mark Sutton. In fact, take the batteries out of it to ensure you’re not tracked. Don’t go back to Briggsfield under any circumstance.”
With a minimum of words, Perkins acknowledged her instructions and hung up, stunned.
Alton immediately turned to Mallory. “Someone in the military must be involved in Laura Peterson’s death and the attempt on Tanner Perkins’ life. It’s too coincidental that Colonel Drake is deeply involved in this project and that anyone with too much inside information is suddenly at risk of a shortened lifespan. Whether or not Perkins had his own plans to sell Rabinil test formulas, it’s clear he wasn’t part of the military’s plan. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have tried to kill him.”
“If he wasn’t involved in the military’s plan,” said Mallory, “Colonel Drake wouldn’t have had a reason to monitor his activity outside of work—at least not normally. Perkins would have no more secrets to share than anyone else on the Rabinil project team. So, how did Drake find out Perkins spoke with us?”
“There’s only one plausible way the military could have perceived him as a danger to exposing their plan,” said Alton grimly. “Somehow, they found out that Luis Romero passed Perkins’ name to me during my ‘security’ visit. Perhaps Romero mentioned my visit to Colonel Drake, who would naturally ask follow-up questions. Drake may not know Perkins met with us, but he knows we acquired Perkins’ name. If just that small bit of information was enough to induce an attempt on Perkins’ life, we should warn Romero. He may be in danger, too.”
“Alton, if they tracked down Perkins and Romero, it’s a pretty safe bet they’re on to us, too.”
“You’re an FBI agent, dammit! Not that killing Laura Peterson wasn’t horrible, but do you seriously think they’d kill a federal agent? Wouldn’t that draw a lot more attention than they would want?”
“Someone isn’t happy with our inquiries,” said Mallory, “someone who has assassinated one US citizen and attempted to assassinate another, simply for what they knew. Clearly, the perpetrators of these crimes view the secrecy of their project as paramount. Whoever they are, I don’t think they give a rat’s ass about my occupation, especially since there are plenty of ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident. If it protected their project, they’d be fine killing an FBI agent…or a telecom security expert.”
“Good point,” said Alton. “Let’s get out of Washington. We’re not safe here. We can try to warn Romero once we’re on the road.”
Knowing that their normal cell phones would be too easy to track, they stopped and bought a cache of disposable ones. They used one of them to call Romero, but there was no answer. Alton didn’t leave a message, and he threw the phone in the trash.
“Do you have any FBI tools that can help us research Romero’s whereabouts?” asked Alton.
“Yes. We have a tracking program that accesses cell phone networks. It’s a standard program on most agents’ laptops, including mine. It should be right up your alley.”
“Could you use this program without giving away our location? We don’t want to leave a trail.”
“Good question. The program itself doesn’t leave a trail, but wouldn’t my internet access point be a dead giveaway?”
“Yes,” replied Alton. “However, I have a ‘rabbit hole’ application that will help. It bounces your signal all over the planet and modulates the IP address before connecting to the desired server. It renders our current location untraceable for a little while, but the downside is that it slows down the access time and data transfer rate, so your program will take a lot longer to use than normal.”
“That’s okay. By the way…once I’ve had a chance to look up Romero’s location, I’ll also need to withdraw cash out of the bank in case my account is shut down. Even if my checking account remains open, an ATM or credit card transaction later would flag our exact location the moment it happens, so I’ll need to get cash before we leave town.”
Mallory paused to reflect on Alton’s appearance. Neither of them had slept much in two days. “You look like crap,” she said. “You should get some rest, we both should. We’ll need to find a safe place to sleep, inside and unobserved.”
“David Dunlow lives south of the city. I can call him up.”
“There’s no time. We’ll only have two or three hours before I’m done, and you’d spend most of your time getting there.” She considered their options for a moment.
“It’s too likely your car would be spotted if you went to a hotel. That’s the first place a good tracker would check. You can go to my place. It’d be easier to hide your car in the lot there.”
“Wouldn’t our assassination-happy friends think of that possibility and be waiting for us?” asked Alton.
Mallory thought for a moment. “Probably, unless we create a diversion. I’ll place a call on my normal cell phone and leave a voice mail for Romero, telling him that you’re leaving right now for North Carolina to meet up with him, and that it’s urgent. If our friends are monitoring my line or Romero’s and take the bait, they’ll probably follow FBI protocol, which would be to converge on your expected destination. That should give us a few hours to sleep before we really do leave. If they’re not monitoring the call, that would indicate we’re probably not on their radar yet.
“Just in case they don’t take the bait and show up at my place anyway, you should still be okay. My apartment is in the middle of the building, and I have a connecting door to my neighbor’s apartment, which is a side unit. My neighbor is also a single woman, so we leave the connecting door unlocked for our mutual safety. You could make an exit through her apartment and out her side window if you had to. There’d be no reason for the assassins to guard the window of another apartment.”
“That makes sense,” said Alton. He didn’t want to sleep but knew from his Middle East experience that rest could provide a vital edge later.
“I’ll need a couple of hours,” said Mallory. “You remember the way to my apartment, right?”
Alton nodded.
“Good. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”
Upon arriving, Alton dead bolted the door and carefully swept through Mallory’s apartment as well as her neighbor’s, confirming each room was empty. He then collapsed onto Mallory’s sofa and almost instantly fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 56
Washington, DC
Alton awoke with a start, his heart pounding almost as loudly as the battering ram crashing into the front door. How had they found him so quickly? Why hadn’t the diversion worked? Attempting to balance silence with speed, he rose from the couch, glided through the connecting door into the neighboring apartment, and approached the side window.
Thank God Mallory’s place is on the ground floor.
He climbed through the window, closed it with a quiet snick, and—thankful for the cover provided by a dusk rapidly turning into night—limped across the lot to his vehicle, a late-model Explorer stashed behind a couple of low-rider pickups. As he slid into the seat, he could see dark jackets and flashlights huddled around the front door, which was beginning to buckle. Two more agents guarded the apartment’s rear exit.
Patience…patience.
Alton waited for the agents to break through the door and storm the apartment. Only then did he drive away with headlights off.
Upon cl
earing the parking lot, he called Mallory. “Don’t go home.”
CHAPTER 57
Washington, DC
Over the phone, Alton quickly explained to Mallory the close call he had experienced at her apartment. Minutes later, he picked her up from the Starbucks at which she had been conducting her research. Mallory’s access to FBI computer systems had been shut off during her research, an “ominous sign,” she told Alton.
“I know the FBI itself didn’t shut me down, but whoever did is either a higher government agency or a world-class hacker,” said Mallory. “I wasn’t finished with my research, unfortunately.”
She thought for a few minutes about the best course of action and eventually decided to call Mark Sutton, her supervisor. He answered his phone but was multitasking as usual and had to wrap up a call on his cell. “Nahim, I’ll call you back later.” He then returned to his office phone. “Sorry, Wilson. What’s up?”
“Hi, Chief,” said Mallory. “I need to ask you for a favor.” She had already explained the week’s events to Sutton earlier that day, so she needed to cover only what had transpired that afternoon to get him fully up to speed.
“Wilson, that’s not exactly keeping a low profile,” he said.
“I know, Chief. I was flying low until now. I didn’t put any expenses on my agency card, and we avoided air travel. Whoever is tracking us knows what they’re doing.”
“Lovely,” muttered Sutton. “How can I help?”
“There are four persons of interest I’m trying to research: three at Briggsfield, and an Army colonel. Can you finish researching them for me?”
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