by Louise Voss
For the next two hours, the old man continued to stare at the TV.
This was it. The one. For many years, he and scientists like him had issued warnings that one day a mighty plague would sweep the earth. The authorities – the CDC and the WHO and all those other government motherfuckers – pretended they were prepared for it.
But he was the only man in America who knew what it was and how to stop it.
He called for the guard. After a few minutes, one of the older guards arrived. Officer Hillier. He looked tired.
‘What’s up, Doc?’ he asked wearily.
In the prison, people always said this to him. It drove him nuts, but he ignored it.
‘Is anyone in the prison sick?’
Hillier raised an eyebrow. ‘What kinda question is that?’
‘A perfectly reasonable question. I just want to know if anyone in the prison has contracted this virus they’re talking about.’
Hillier looked over the old man’s shoulder at the TV. ‘Oh, that. Just a buncha people with a bad cold. Yeah, a few people here have got sick. Why you asking? Want to experiment on them, huh?’
The old man grinned at him. ‘You’re an asshole, Hillier.’
‘And you just lost your privileges for a week, Doc. And that includes using the phone and the internet. And the TV.’
He hadn’t expected that. ‘No, please, Hillier, I need—’
The big guard stuck a broad finger in his face. ‘Shut the fuck up. I’ll send someone to take away your TV later. Enjoy it while you can.’
The old man watched the guard retreat from the cell, banging the door shut behind him, and shook his head, the thinnest of smiles on his lips.
Let them take away his TV, his internet, his phone. They’d all be dead soon. If they knew what he knew, Hillier and the rest of them would be offering him all their money, their houses, their fucking wives in return for his help. Hillier was one of the people whose slow, hideous death he’d buy a ticket to watch.
He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long.
9
‘So, Dr Maddox,’ said Agent McCarthy, leaning back in the seat and stretching his arms over his head, linking his fingers together, palms facing the car roof. The leather underneath his buttocks complained noisily. ‘Been to Sequoia before?’
He was a big man, particularly when stretching, and his bulk seemed to fill the back of the car. His flesh had the compacted appearance of someone who works out a lot but who also loves his food a little too much.
‘Sequoia?’ Kate looked out of the window. All she could make out was the faint outline of bare rocky peaks rising against the deepening blue of the evening sky. ‘The big tree?’
‘The national park,’ said McCarthy, making a face at her.
‘Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I did know that. I blame the jet lag. No, I haven’t been there before. But it is the home of those giant trees, right?’
‘Right. We don’t get to drive through it, though.’
‘The park?’ The conversation felt to Kate, through her jet lag, as though it was going in claustrophobic spirals of incomprehension.
‘No, the real famous sequoia, the one everyone’s heard of: it fell across the road in the thirties and the sucker was way too big to be moved, its trunk is, like, twenty foot wide, so they cut a hole in it and made it into a tunnel instead.’ He made sawing gestures with his right hand, and then curved his palm in an arc, as if stroking an invisible cat’s head, to indicate the tunnel.
‘Redwoods are even bigger, though – they’re over the other side of the park. Those puppies are so big you can drive right through the middle of ’em, even when they’re still living.’
Jack would love that, Kate thought, driving right through a tree. She vaguely remembered seeing photographs of sequoias – or maybe redwoods – in an encyclopaedia. It was so surreal, she thought, to be in this car with two FBI agents, making small talk about big trees.
‘Right,’ she repeated dully, pulling out her BlackBerry to text Paul, but there was no signal. Being separated from both him and Jack within such a short space of time was making her feel irritable and lonely. And she felt nervous too. There were people out there who wanted to kill scientists. Still, this was probably the safest place she could be – in a car with two FBI agents.
‘Shit signal in this whole area,’ commented McCarthy, air-texting with his thumbs. Kate couldn’t decide whether she liked him or whether he annoyed her. At least he had a bit of personality, she thought, unlike the silent Thompson behind the wheel, who hadn’t said a single word the entire journey. Apart from his arms turning the steering wheel, he hadn’t even moved. Kate had spent some time staring idly at the back of his neck, small tight rolls of flesh from his bald head descending like supersized wrinkles into the collar of his black jacket, and it had remained completely immobile.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked, and was immediately reminded of Jack again. ‘Where exactly is this lab?’
‘Can’t tell you that, ma’am,’ said McCarthy. ‘Not its exact location, anyway. I can tell you it’s just inside the park. Actually, it’s only about an hour’s drive cross-country from the airport, but unfortunately there ain’t no roads through Sequoia that way, so we gotta go down and round and up again. Wouldn’t want to drive through those mountains anyhow. The air gets pretty thin at twelve thousand feet.’
‘What’s the set-up at the lab?’
McCarthy swivelled a forefinger into his ear and jiggled it about a bit. ‘I haven’t been there myself, but I’m told it’s a category four, state-of-the-art equipment, in a converted hunting lodge.’
‘Will you be staying there with me?’
‘For the foreseeable future, yes, ma’am. Plus we got Thompson here and some other security guards who’ll be looking after the joint. Not that anyone knows this place even exists, so you don’t have to worry.’
Kate nodded. That was a relief. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘McCarthy.’
‘No – your first name. Or do I have to call you McCarthy?’
He looked at her, slightly sheepishly. ‘Tosca.’
Kate laughed. She couldn’t help it. The name was ridiculous, but simultaneously kind of cool, and suited him perfectly. She held out her hand.
‘Call me Kate, then, Tosca, if we’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together.’
‘Nice to meet you, Kate,’ he said, shaking her hand and inclining his head. Kate thought that, all things considered, he was probably a good one to have on side – presuming he could move fast enough to pull his gun if required. But at least he had a sense of humour – and, God knew, there wasn’t a whole lot to laugh about in the state of California at the moment.
They drove in silence for another hour or so, and Kate was almost falling asleep, with her cheek against the cool tinted glass, when the car abruptly pulled off the road and bounced along on uneven ground on the edge of a densely wooded area. The sun was long gone, and the car headlights made eerie shadows of the trees. Her head banged against the window and she sat up, rubbing her temple. ‘What happened to the road?’
They were literally driving between trees now, with little other than tyre tracks in the soft undergrowth to indicate that any other vehicle had been here before. McCarthy pointed ahead. ‘Starts again over there. This is the back way in. The official road in is about five miles thataways, blocked off so curious tourists can’t drive up to take a look. Last thing they need is hikers banging on the door asking to use the bathroom, so they make it look like it’s deserted.’
‘Is this the national park?’ They were bumping along in dark forest now, and Thompson, behind the wheel, had an even more rigid set to his shoulders as he negotiated the BMW through the trees.
‘Edge of it. It’s right over there.’
‘Are there bears in here?’ Kate peered out at the foliage around her.
‘Lions and tigers and bears – oh my!’ sang McCarthy in a falsetto voice, and Kate rolled her eyes.
‘Just asking.’
The road suddenly reappeared in the middle of a clearing – as if someone had merely forgotten a chunk of it – and the smooth tarmac felt like a return to civilisation. After another ten minutes the car pulled up at a huge iron gate manned by a guard with a machine gun. Behind the gate, Kate could just about make out the rear of a huge building, neo-Swiss in appearance with gables and wood cladding. To the right of the house was a helipad, and to the left, a large coop filled with squawking chickens. The whole compound was surrounded by razor wire, giving it the unfortunate look of a prison. Guantanamo Bay for hens, thought Kate.
‘Here we are,’ said McCarthy, gesturing towards it. ‘Home sweet home. Plus chickens. What is this? Colonel Sanders’ secret HQ? Oh, I know – laboratories do keep chickens, don’t they, to culture flu vaccines in eggs?’
‘Biochemistry labs often keep chickens, but not outside like this,’ said Kate. ‘They’d need to be SPF – specific pathogen free, kept in sterile conditions. I think these are more likely to be providers of roast dinners.’
Thompson rolled down his window and exchanged some terse words with the guard, who said nothing in reply but opened the gate to allow them to drive in. Kate wondered if that was the first duty he’d had to perform all day. She couldn’t imagine there was much else to do, other than watch the chickens scratch away in their pen, and scan the width of the skies for eagles high above the forest.
A tiny but rotund Hispanic woman, dwarfed by a large flowery apron, came to the back door to meet them. She looked at them through eyes so narrowed that they almost vanished into the wrinkles on her face. She nodded at McCarthy, unsmiling, as he removed Kate’s suitcase from the trunk of the BMW and ushered them both into the lodge. Thompson stayed in the car.
‘Friendly round here, aren’t they?’ she whispered to McCarthy, trying to disguise her nerves with flippancy.
‘You are Dr Maddox,’ stated the Hispanic lady, still nodding. ‘We expected you.’
‘Yes, hello, do call me Kate,’ she said, holding out her hand. The woman stared at it with suspicion before giving Kate’s fingers the briefest of tugs. ‘I am Adoncia. Housekeeper.’
There was a considerable amount of luggage in the hallway, from designer suitcases to scruffy canvas rucksacks and, as McCarthy introduced himself to Adoncia (‘I am McCarthy. FBI Agent’), Kate flipped over a luggage label on the nearest suitcase, a smart gold Louis Vuitton, and read in neat capitals a name she recognized: Junko Nishirin, with a Tokyo address. She felt inordinately relieved – this confirmed that the team was only now being scrambled – so much easier to start when they were all on a level playing field, rather than having to catch up with an existing team’s efforts, and fit in with their social structure.
She heard light footsteps on the bare wooden boards of the wide staircase, and turned to see a petite Japanese woman descending, her hair an immaculate sheet of ebony and her make-up looking as though it had been professionally applied.
Kate felt very conscious of the fact that her own hair was in limp clumps, and the same mascara she had applied in the cottage yesterday morning was now resting in creases under her eyes. The Japanese woman was wearing a tight black miniskirt and ballet flats, with a perfectly ironed Ralph Lauren cotton shirt. When she saw Kate, she beamed at her. ‘Welcome!’ she said, with only a trace of an accent, coming down the final few steps with a slim white hand outstretched.
‘You must be Kate Maddox. We are so pleased to have you on board. I am Junko, one of the three other virologists here. I have been waiting for you. You’re in the next bedroom to me – shall I show you up there? It is so nice to meet you.’ Her face suddenly turned sombre and she cast down her eyes. ‘I am so sorry to hear of Dr Isaac Larter’s death. A terrible tragedy.’
Kate felt a little overwhelmed, and had to take a deep breath at the mention of Isaac’s name. But Junko was so friendly, and she liked her immediately. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I still can’t believe it. Yes, please do show me the room. It’s great to meet you. I’ve read your paper on …’
She tailed off, her mind having gone completely blank as to the subject of Junko’s paper, but the woman kindly pretended not to notice.
McCarthy, with Kate’s rather battered old suitcase in one hand, moved across the lobby and picked up Junko’s solid Louis Vuitton. ‘Allow me, ladies,’ he said.
‘This is Tosca McCarthy,’ Kate told Junko. ‘He’s an FBI agent. And a bit of a joker. But at least he’s a gentleman.’ Junko inclined her head towards him, and led them both up the stairs. Adoncia had vanished, with a loud ‘tut’ – presumably it had been her job to show Kate to her room.
Junko paused on the landing of the first floor. A thick steel door stood in front of them. ‘The lab is through here – more secure on the first floor, and better light. It’s a great facility. But we’ll take a look at it later, after you have freshened up.’
She continued up another flight, and Kate sniffed discreetly at her own armpits, blushing at the thought of how obvious it might be that she needed a shower. McCarthy was puffing and panting behind them, sounding like a stressed buffalo. ‘Jeez, ladies, you got rocks in here?’
‘Who else is in the team?’ Kate asked Junko, ignoring McCarthy’s grumbles. ‘Is everyone here? Have you started already?’
‘We’re starting tomorrow morning,’ Junko said, smiling back at her over her shoulder. ‘The Aeromedical Isolation team are bringing us in a patient at dawn, via army helicopter – assuming he lasts the night. It will be great to have some live tissue samples to work with so early on. Professor Kolosine from Yale is heading up the team. He got here two days ago. I met him when I arrived this morning.’
Kate stopped short on the stairs, causing McCarthy to bump into the back of her. ‘The Glenn Kolosine? Are you serious?’
She felt a frisson of excitement, as if Junko had told her she’d be working with Sir Isaac Newton. Kolosine was a legend among virologists, having made a number of important breakthroughs in the studies of some of the big hitters of the viral world: he had been instrumental in developing a vaccine for SARS; and led a team that mapped the DNA of Ebola and Marburg. She was surprised he hadn’t been at the conference, though he had a reputation for being a lone wolf so presumably he avoided things like that. Luckily for him.
Junko rolled her eyes very slightly. ‘Yes, I’m serious. And so is he … as you’ll soon discover.’
Kate wondered what she meant by that, but felt too worn out to question her. She craved the welcome hot pinpricks of water from a long shower on her tired head and shoulders, and the sound of Paul’s voice in her ear. She had already decided not to call Jack for a few days, as difficult as that would be – she knew from experience that it always tended to make him decide he was missing her, even if he’d been perfectly fine before she called. Vernon had promised that he would let Jack ring her if he wanted to.
They arrived on the second floor, and Junko led them down a dingy hallway decorated with self-conscious Americana: beribboned corncobs in shallow woven baskets on reproduction dressers, rag rugs on the dark wooden floors, a doleful-looking rocking horse. ‘Hard to imagine there’s a Cat 4 lab downstairs, isn’t it?’ she commented, opening a door at the end of the hall.
Kate’s room was pleasant, a patchwork quilt on the double bed, calico curtains and a washstand with a large china bowl and jug on it. The sickly smell of potpourri permeated the air, and Kate flung open the nearest window as soon as she walked in.
‘What’s the plan for tomorrow?’ she asked Junko, as McCarthy heaved her suitcase on to a luggage stand next to the bed.
‘Breakfast at seven. Adoncia’s cooking makes up for her lack of social skills, so don’t miss it. You’ll meet the others then: the other virologist, Chip Oakley, and the technicians – I haven’t learned their names yet. Well, I’m going to bed now. Sleep well, see you in the morning.’
‘Good night.’ Kate sat down on the bed and watched as Junko and McCarthy re
treated, closing the door behind them. The house felt utterly silent. She reached into her handbag and got out her mobile phone – but there was absolutely no signal, and no telephone in the room either. She sighed, flopped back on to the pillows, and was asleep within seconds.
She was awoken by a light knock at the door.
‘Ready for breakfast?’ called Junko, and Kate sat bolt upright. She felt a flutter in her belly. It was time to meet the rest of the team.
10
Paul watched the car containing Kate and Agent McCarthy retreat into the distance. He clenched his fists, kept his breathing slow and deliberate, and counted to ten in his head. The BMW he and Harley were in started its own slow crawl out of the airfield, and Paul thought he would snap if Harley tried to speak to him now.
The last couple of years, this anger was something he had to deal with whenever he was under pressure. His therapist, the same woman who talked to him about the bad dreams that soaked his sheets at night, had taught him a number of anger management techniques. Breathe deeply. Count. Remove yourself from the situation.
Paul exhaled through slightly parted lips, closed his eyes for a moment, and regained his composure. He did not like this new, bitter, person he seemed to have turned into. Often, he wished he could turn back the clock to become once again the man he was when he first met Kate, before the discovery of what had happened to Stephen had knocked his world off its axis. His faith in humanity had been badly damaged and he wanted to regain it, to see the good in people again.
He wanted to find peace – so he could move on, be the man he was meant to be, a supportive, dynamic partner, a great stepdad, and maybe a dad too, if Kate was up for it. But it was hard for him to get close to that peace when some of the men who were connected to Stephen’s death were still free.
Finally, when his heartbeat had returned to a steady pace, he turned to Harley. ‘Where are we going?’
‘First thing tomorrow we’re heading to the field office in San Francisco,’ Harley replied. ‘Once we’re there, we’ll find somewhere to put you up while you wait for Kate. Or you can return to the UK, if you prefer.’