“We’d best continue this conversation in person, if you know what I mean.”
Jake did. Homeland security had free reign over this type of communication, and the NSA monitored all communications for certain keywords. While neither he nor John knew exactly what those keywords were, both men realized it would be a lot better for everyone if no one paid their little cell-to-cell call any more attention than necessary.
“Just sit tight once you get home and I'll fly out this afternoon. You have a pen handy?”
“Hold on,” Jake said, motioning to Leslie for a pen. Paul and Leslie had both turned in their seats, listening intensely to the conversation between Jake and John. Paul was really confused by the conversation, having no knowledge of Jake's investigation, so he handed Jake a pen and waited.
John gave him a ten-digit St. Louis number and an extension for Dr. Andrew Bryce.
“Give him a call. All I could get was his voice mail.”
“Will do,” Jake replied.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible. Take care, buddy.”
“I always do. See you soon.”
The line went dead.
Jake looked at the expectant faces.
“Well, it seems like our doctor in the psych ward turned out to be a good lead.”
“What’d he say?” Leslie asked.
“Let's catch Paul up first.”
Leslie fired up the Escalade. WRAL FM flashed on the stereo and David Bowie's “Major Tom” flowed from the SUV's speaker system, filling the vehicle compartment. Leslie lowered the volume and navigated her way out of the congested parking lot while Jake began to tell Paul what he and Leslie had discussed the night before. Leslie was content to listen as she drove.
The journey south to Spring Lake took two hours through the outskirts of Raleigh, past beautiful countryside with rich farmland and forested areas. The men’s voices faded as she slipped into thought. She was hypnotized by the landscape. Coniferous and deciduous trees passed on the roadside hills and valleys like old still sequencing shots on a zoopraxiscope. Sparse autumn leaves clung to the ghostly gray deciduous trees, the last to surrender to the change in seasons. If you were a tree would you rather be a coniferous or a deciduous tree? Leslie wondered if her family would be like those last leaves to surrender but destined to fall or constant like an evergreen. Such weird thoughts. She hoped her family could cling to some vestige of their former lives.
All of those guns Jake brought home made everything very real and she considered the moral boundaries she might push or cross to ensure the safety of her family as they walked that razor’s edge Jake warned her about.
The men’s voices grew, drowning out her thoughts as they crossed the Cape Fear River and cruised through Lillington and Spout Springs.
As Jake spoke, Leslie interrupted periodically to share an opinion or answer a question. They shared all that they had learned with Paul, who had opinions of his own.
“So John is flying in today?” Paul asked.
He still seemed shaken by the news about his father-in-law. He was every bit as angry as Leslie, yet clear-headed with the same insatiable need to know more. Something wasn't right, and they all knew it.
“So where do we go from here?” he asked.
“If this is mouse pox, we’ll have to run. Isolate ourselves.”
“Jake’s already made some plans,” Leslie said.
Paul shifted his worried focus to Jake.
“I stocked up on water, beans, and rice,” Jake answered, “and other supplies.”
“What about guns?” Paul replied, causing Jake and Leslie to share another look of surprise.
“I have a few,” Jake said, treading lightly.
“Jake’s got enough guns to outfit a freaking militia,” Leslie chimed in.
Jake shot her a look, but Paul was still surprisingly calm.
“You expect trouble, Jake?” Paul asked, but he already knew the answer to his question. The arrival of mouse pox in the U.S. would cause mass hysteria, chaos. Only a fool wouldn’t anticipate that, and Paul was no fool.
“Yes, I do.”
“You have some protection for me?” Paul asked, sounding a bit more tentative than before.
“Beretta or Sig Sauer. Your choice.”
“Let's hope it doesn’t come to that,” Leslie interrupted.
“Honey. Are you ….?” Paul realized how profoundly stupid that question was and tried to cut it off. There were tears in Leslie’s eyes but she was focused on the road and what lay ahead and he had hardly noticed.
“No. I’m not. We’re sitting here discussing this so matter of fact like this was a….a fucking game but it’s not. This is our kid’s future.” Leslie paused and the three of them sat a moment in reflective silence. “Let's just get confirmation first.”
Leslie collected herself as she maintained focus on the road. “I’m sorry. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.” It had been a favorite quote of her father’s.
Paul continued to comfort her as he rubbed her shoulder.
“Go ahead guys. Just a bit of a girl moment.”
“Nonsense, kiddo. We’re all thinking about it, but let’s just make sure they have a future.”
“What kind of world is that going to be?” Leslie asked.
They paused again, Paul still rubbing her shoulder head bowed, Jake looking out the window at a changing landscape.
Paul looked at his wife to get a read. They had been together a long time. Long enough that he could sense that it was all right to proceed.
“Okay,” Paul said, “so we call this Dr. Andrews?”
“Dr. Andrew Bryce,” Jake corrected.
“And he's a son of one of the doctors from Panama?”
“That’s right,” Jake answered.
“And then what?” Paul asked.
It was a very good question; one Jake still wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. But he didn’t want them to worry, so he answered with more confidence than he felt.
“Take the necessary steps, follow the leads, and wait to see what John has to add. It sounded important.”
“What about the obvious?” Paul asked.
“What's that?”
“We do a story,” Paul said simply, tossing out the idea like he’d just answered a math problem.
Spring Lake came into view on North Bragg Boulevard. Jake hadn’t thought of that, but of course Paul would.
“Wouldn’t it incite panic?” Leslie asked.
“Probably,” Jake said, “but it might save lives, too.”
“Better the people know what’s coming so they can prepare.”
“Let’s just make sure we're prepared.”
The three of them rode the next several minutes in silence as they considered just what that meant.
Leslie rolled up Kristin Ave.
It was one-forty when she pulled into the driveway.
“What do the kids know?” Paul asked.
Leslie shut off the engine and turned to Paul.
“They know about China, but not the mouse pox. Cassie heard about the travel restrictions and was worried sick about you getting home.”
At that moment Cassandra and Christopher came running out of the back door. They’d heard the car pull in the driveway. Christopher opened his dad’s door, and Paul jumped out and scooped them up into his arms. To say he was glad to be home was an understatement. He adored his children.
Cassie was an old soul, far older than her years. She was a beautiful girl who was quickly becoming a gorgeous young lady. She had her mother’s sandy blonde hair, and her face was lightly freckled across her nose and under her eyes. Paul could smell the shampoo in her hair as she clung to one side, with Christopher on the other.
“Look at you my little man.” Paul said running his hand through Christopher’s hair and over the little cowlick he had going. “You’re growing like a weed.”
Christopher propped himself up on his toes, chest out and started to laugh. Cassandra gave him a playful shove.
>
“Hey.” he shouted, clinging to his dad to keep balance.
“Okay you guys, “Leslie said.
“That’s all right,” Paul chuckled. This kind of thing might be stressful or irritating day in day out but these were the little things he knew he cherished.
“You take care of your mom and sister while I was away?”
Christopher didn’t have time to answer.
June was walking towards them almost at a slow jog. She was putting on a brave face, but Leslie knew her mother. She looked scared.
“Paul, thank God you're home”
“Kids, go in the house and set the table for your dad’s welcome home lunch,” Leslie instructed.
Chris and Cassandra complied. They raced around the back as the adults turned to June.
“What is it, Mom?” Leslie asked.
“The president just confirmed its mouse pox. Our borders are closed.”
June came apart, bursting into tears. “I didn’t want to believe.”
Jake took her in his arms while Leslie rubbed her mother’s back trying to reassure her. Jake lifted his head to look at an ashen-faced Paul.
“Looks like you made it home just in time,” Jake said.
“In time for what?”
Chapter 13
A dark sedan was waved through the gates of Walter Reed Medical Center. No credentials were shown or needed. The men on duty knew the man in the dark sedan from previous visits. They had never been formally introduced, although they knew he was a major whom the hospital Commander seemed to fear. He always seemed a little jumpy or anxious when he got the call to inform him that the major was visiting.
The major climbed from the sedan and paused to button his long wool coat. A cigar continued to burn away in his mouth as he open the rear door and remove d a black leather briefcase from the back seat. He took a last draw and tossed the cigar to the steps as he entered the Acute Long Term Care Facility
“Major Folkstone.”
“Corporal.”
“Sir. You asked me to tell you if Dr. Evans had any visitors, sir.”
“Spit it out, Corporal.”
“A private investigator named John Rolston was here today, sir.”
“Knock off the sir shit! What did he want?”
“He said a family member hired him to check into Dr. Evans wellbeing and to inform him of a death in his family.”
Folkstone’s eyes narrowed.
The Major was an intimidating man and the hard look of displeasure he gave the Corporal was crystal clear.
“Evans didn’t have family.”
“Sir?”
“I'm going to need a copy of their visit.”
“Sir. The visit was in the courtyard.”
“We have audio and video?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get me a fuckin’ copy.”
“Sir, Dr. Kendrick will want to review…”
“That wasn't a fuckin' request, Corporal. Do you want to be stuck here? Do you like this post soldier?”
“I'll get it right away, sir!”
He turned and ran off as Folkstone watched, bemused. Put it like that and the kid’ll set a land speed record, he thought.
The young corporal was part of a security detachment at the Acute Long Term Care Facility at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. He thought Major Folkstone would be a better ally than an enemy. He’d been told that the Major had served in Desert Storm and behind the scenes in Afghanistan when the Russians were there. He had enough military clout to stall his career.
The corporal returned even quicker than Folkstone expected with a bulky manila envelope clenched in his hand. He reluctantly passed it to the major, who flipped it over, scrutinizing its contents. It was nine by twelve inches, sealed with a thin red string wrapped around two red plastic tabs. He could feel a memory stick in the bottom corner.
The major said nothing, just nodded his head, tucked it in his briefcase, turned and walked out. The young corporal had no idea where Major Folkstone was stationed. He figured the Pentagon or possibly NSA. The hospital Commander had told him to extend the Major certain courtesies regarding Dr. Evans’ case, and he wasn’t about to deny the order.
Outside, the sun was high in a cloudless blue sky. There was a crisp breeze with a bite that signaled the approach of winter. Major Folkstone buttoned his overcoat and took out another Monte Cristo cigar. He had a weakness, embargo or not. Nobody rolled a cigar like the Cubans. He cut the end and lit up.
The strong smell carried in the wind, irritating the odd passersby. He was oblivious to their harsh looks of disapproval. He looked out over the well-manicured, park-like setting. Then out to the quiet tree lined residential streets and took out his phone.
“I think we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” The voice on the other end asked. It was a raspy voice with a slight drawl. Maybe Louisiana or Mississippi. Folkstone had never quite been able to place it.
There was a WIMAX video uplink on the phone, but the man with the southern drawl was always shadowed, maintaining his anonymity.
WIMAX used digital signal processing, or DSP algorithms to deliver point-to-point connection using the internet. In order for WIMAX to function, there had to be a base station. The race for intelligence gathering and communications had spurred the military to swallow up several upstart communication companies, propelling them ahead of the field. They were field testing WIMAX using nomadic base stations.
“A private investigator came to visit Evans today.”
“You get copies of their meeting?”
“I don’t know how good they are. The visit was outside in a little courtyard. I'm going to my office now to review them.”
“Name?” asked the raspy voice.
“John Rolston.”
“We’ll locate him. He’ll need money or else we’ll pick him up on triggerfish. Keep me informed.”
The line went dead.
Folkstone pocketed the phone. In all these years, the sonofabitch had never once said goodbye.
*
John Rolston landed at RDU just three hours behind Paul. He had no luggage and quickly made his way to Rental Car Road and the Hertz rental desk.
He was anxious to see Jake. The doctor had dropped a bomb on him. The suspicious deaths of Robert and his colleagues were clearly not accidents. John filled out the paperwork for the rental agreement and gave the woman at the counter his MasterCard.
He chose from the Prestige Collection, opting for a new Lincoln Navigator, black with a big V.8. It was roomy and John fit comfortably behind the wheel. The green collection and fun collection were less costly, but they would have needed a shoehorn and a come-along to get John in and out of the tiny cars.
John turned over the big 4x4 and headed down Rental Car Road. He turned onto Aviation Parkway, adjusting his mirrors as he drove.
*
Major Folkstone had scrutinized the details of the meeting between Dr. Evans and John Rolston. His tech guys had filtered out background noises and cleaned up the grainy video. Even though it was small courtyard, he couldn’t decipher the conversation, but what he saw spoke volumes. It was evident that both men were aware they were being watched.
The major’s phone rang. He turned down the volume on the computer and picked up the secure landline on the fourth ring.
“Folkstone.”
“What did you find out?” asked the man with the raspy drawl.
“Looks like the good doctor has let the cat out of the bag. He told the P.I. about the vaccine.”
“Won’t change anything. The pox is out of control and spreading faster than expected. He may have let it out of the bag early, but we’re announcing the vaccination program anyway.”
“Any sign of Rolston?” asked Folkstone.
“Used his credit card at Reagan National for a ticket to Raleigh-Durham, then again at Hertz.”
“Where's he going?”
“We tagged his cell. He’s headed towa
rd Ft. Bragg.”
“Why there?”
“Not sure. It’s where he was last stationed as an MP.”
“So he’s handled?”
“Can’t let him chase this thing. We’ll move Evans to Ft. Carson, so you’re done there, Major. Come on home. Rolston’s handled.”
“Yes, sir.”
*
In his eighteen years as a Military Policeman, John Rolston had learned how to spot trouble. He was well known as a proactive MP, often finding solutions before others knew there was a problem. Trouble never snuck up on John Rolston, and he certainly knew when trouble was following him.
He checked the rear view once more.
They were hanging back. It was a black Mercury Marauder with two men, the driver and one passenger. John had gotten a look at them in Lillington. He was guessing that they were military maybe CIA. They looked hard and ugly, both shaved near down to the wood. Their faces were expressionless, menacing behind the same dark sunglasses. His visit to the doctor had obviously disturbed hornet’s nests. But, how?”
“Goddamn credit card.”
He knew he’d fucked up. No more mistakes.
He didn't want to tip them off that he’d made them, so he maintained a nice, constant speed. There was a small car between them. A Toyota. The driver looked agitated and kept easing slightly left looking for an opportunity to pass. John thought it might create just enough of a distraction. Timing was key.
At the first opportunity of a clear road, he slowed down and cranked the Navigator right. He hoped he’d executed the turn down the side road perfectly. The Toyota shot around him, horn blaring, the driver flipping him off.
Perfect. John put the hammer down. Maybe it was just the jump he needed, but it was a long shot. These guys would be as well-trained as he was possibly better. Shouldn't have gotten off the 210.
The Marauder slid by the side road but then locked its brakes. The transport truck that was following them took the empty northbound lane. The driver jammed on the truck’s engine brakes, struggling to bring it under control. The truck sheared the side mirror off the driver’s door. Clean. It didn't even touch the side of the big sedan.
The pursuers reversed. John now had the edge, but for how long? His stomach was in knots.
The Marauder turned. John saw it in his rear view. The rear wheel drive car spit gravel, and its tires lit up, smoking, and grabbing. Three-hundred two horsepower off the line.
Playing God Page 8