The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  Grabbing her cell phone, she stuffed it into the pocket on the backpack she carried with her every day. Removing the spare clothes she kept in it for an emergency, she transferred them to the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Neatly folded as they were, anyone looking into the drawer would think she kept them there always. Transferring her laptop and its cables to the now empty sack, she picked up her coat and left the office, locking the door behind her, just as she did every night. She pressed the Call button for the elevator, well aware of the fact she was on camera but doing her best to appear nonchalant. What she wanted to do was run and hide. If there was ever a time she regretted not having an armed man by her side, it was now. Trevor had wanted to teach her how to fire a pistol, but she’d balked at the idea. She hated guns—well, maybe not quite so much at the moment.

  When the elevator dinged, she got in, pressed the button for the main floor, and stared at her reflection in the mirrored doors all the way down to her destination. She had a lot of nerve criticizing Trevor’s appearance when she looked like hell, the events of the last few weeks taking a toll on her. She’d lost even more weight, and the permanent bags under her eyes from too many sleepless nights testified to her inability to rest. Forcing herself to walk at a moderate pace, she waved at the security guard on the desk as she passed him, and, car keys in hand, she headed out into the brisk autumn wind, wishing she’d taken the time to put on her coat instead of carrying it. She shivered, but the cold inside her had nothing to do with the outside temperature.

  She was still a good 500 feet from her vehicle when the sound of footsteps following her spurred her to walk faster. Heart pounding, she forced herself to breathe slowly in spite of the accelerated pace. If she survived this, she’d have to talk to someone about allocating her a parking space closer to the main building. She’d always considered her walk to the far parking lot as her daily exercise, but at the moment, the island of safety her car might provide was an ocean away.

  “Julie, wait up.”

  Jumping at the sound of her name, frozen in place by a sense of familiarity, she turned, no doubt looking like a deer in the headlights until she recognized Dalton Rush. Rumor in the cafeteria today said the cancer specialist was married. He hadn’t mentioned a wife when she’d asked him to dinner last week.

  No, but he had a family emergency, remember?

  “Dalton, I was lost in thought. You startled me,” she said, dropping her backpack at her feet as if it didn’t hold anything of great importance, and putting on her coat. The rising wind whipped her hair into her face, momentarily blinding her. “I had no idea the temperature had dropped so dramatically.” She opened the front of the backpack, grabbed the elastic band she carried there, and pulled her hair back and out of her face. “How was your trip to Washington?”

  “The weather’s gotten downright nasty, that’s for sure. The trip could’ve been worse. You know the FDA, it’s always something, but they approved the first round of human trials for my immune system-boosting drug—lots of safety protocols in place, but I’m one step closer. Did you send in the paperwork for that West Nile virus test we discussed?”

  “Not yet;” she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. Damn, the man was attractive, but each time he looked at her like that, she felt like an awkward sixteen-year-old again. “I haven’t managed to fill out all the forms.” She chuckled nervously. “This is a new field for me…”

  “Listen, why don’t we meet for lunch later this week to talk about it? I’d be glad to help you with the red tape. The sooner you finish this task, the sooner we can begin our project.”

  “Of course. That would be great, but I don’t think I can make it this week. Can I have a rain check?”

  “Sure thing. I can rearrange my calendar, and we can take a long lunch.” He scowled. “I probably won’t be in the next few days, either. I’ve rented a house in the suburbs, and the weather report says we’re in for a snowstorm. Can you believe it? Snow in Georgia in October. I don’t trust my driving abilities in the white stuff.”

  “Your wife must feel isolated out in suburbia away from her friends and family.” Did it sound as if she was fishing? So be it. Gossip wasn’t always related to the truth.

  “My family isn’t with me. They stayed back home.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The baby’s too young to travel yet, and too many changes aren’t good for the rest of the children. I’ll call you about lunch. Drive carefully.”

  Family emergency equals new baby.

  “I will, and congratulations on the new baby. Boy or girl?”

  “I have a new son. We’ve named him Lucas.”

  “Nice old-fashioned name. I like it. See you next week.”

  He waved and walked away toward the luxury car he’d apparently rented for the duration of his stay in Atlanta.

  Must be nice. Handsome, rich, and married.

  Picking up her backpack, she hurried to her car. Dalton Rush probably made beautiful babies. She stopped and stood still, the cold wind buffeting her. Babies? If Dalton was alone, why rent a house in the suburbs when there were plenty of apartments in the city, some of them within walking distance of the CDC?

  The cold wind blew the debris in the parking lot around her. With the exception of a few cars at the far end, the lot was deserted. Not the safest place to be at twilight if you thought someone was out to get you.

  She turned the key in the ignition, then fiddled around with the radio until she found a weather report. As Dalton had said, there was a weather warning up and down the Atlantic Coast. A major storm capable of dumping more than three inches of snow in the Atlanta area was expected to start sometime tomorrow. She frowned. While no one in Colorado would consider it a significant amount, to Georgians, it most definitely was. The last thing she wanted to do was spend hours at the airport because of a cancelled flight.

  Dalton honked when he drove past her, and she beeped in response.

  Turning up the heat and the defogger, she reached for her cell phone to change her flight, then stopped. Instead, she put the car in gear and followed Dalton out of the lot, waving at the parking attendant on her way out. She scanned the rearview mirror. Traffic was heavy along Clifton Road, making it impossible to know whether she was being followed, but every now and then, she spotted a familiar dark vehicle.

  The last thing I want to do is let them know I’m on to them.

  Signaling, she pulled into the Sunshine Restaurant’s lot, the way she did each Monday. She didn’t notice anyone pull in behind her. She was probably acting all cloak-and-daggerish for nothing. She’d make a lousy CIA agent.

  Getting out of the car, she entered the restaurant, noting that it was all but deserted.

  “Dr. Swift. You late tonight. Same as always?”

  “Yes, please, Mai Linh. I hear we’ve got bad weather on the way. Can you add a half-dozen almond cookies?”

  “Of course. For you, only charge for four.”

  “Thanks. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

  Julie hurried into the washroom and straight over to the pay phone. Pay phones were few and far between, but older places like this usually had one around. It was amazing the damn thing still worked. Dropping in the correct change, she dialed the airport once more and made a reservation on the first available flight headed west, without canceling her previous flight. Keeping a ticket she wouldn’t use was expensive, but if it kept her safe … Neither Miles nor Cassie had mentioned where she was going in Alaska, and if someone had overheard, well, it was a big state. She’d be in the air most of the night, but anyone tailing her wouldn’t expect it. And she sure as hell wouldn’t be in Seattle at 10:30 PDT tomorrow morning.

  Exiting the washroom, she smiled at the older man seated by the window. He was a regular here—or at least she believed he was. He ordered Chinese every Monday night, too. Had he always done that?

  “Your order ready, Dr. Swift,” Mai Linh said, placing the large paper bag full of white cardboard cart
ons on the counter. “Added Father’s newest dish for you to try. It is a Szechwan dish from home—very spicy—like chicken you like.”

  “Sounds delicious. Your dad makes the best Kung Pao chicken I’ve ever tasted.” Julie paid with her credit card, adding a good tip for the young girl who was working her way through college. “I’ll see you next week.”

  Exiting the restaurant, Julie returned to her car and headed toward her apartment, stopping off to use the ATM at the bank. Nothing unusual about adding to her cash-on-hand when the weather was expected to get bad. Keeping up the image that she was just preparing for the potential foul weather, she got in line with the other cars at the service station and topped off her tank.

  A light drizzle had started, and the roads were slick. It took another ten minutes to get home. Parking the vehicle in her assigned spot, Julie hurried upstairs. Unlocking the door, she noted Lenore hadn’t arrived yet. Since it was only 7:30, it made sense. Despite Julie’s admonition to be careful, her temporary roommate used public transportation to and from the university, and it would be at least another half hour before she got home—plenty of time for Julie to eat, pack, and run.

  Loud meowing informed her that Patches and her minions were eager to be fed. She really needed to get around to naming the kittens soon. Minion One and Minion Two were cute monikers, but as the cats aged, those names would sound weird. The smell of the Chinese food tickled her nose, reminding her she’d been too upset after seeing Trevor on television to eat lunch today. Grabbing the box marked Dandan Noodles and a pair of chopsticks, she set them on the table while she put the rest of the meal—minus the cookies—in the fridge.

  After feeding the felines, she scribbled a note telling Lenore she’d be in touch within a couple of days and attached it to the fridge using one of the many magnets there. Quickly opening the carton, she stood against the counter and consumed the vegetable noodle dish. Mai Linh hadn’t been kidding. The food was delicious but hotter than hell. She drank two full glasses of milk to put out the flames in her mouth.

  Tossing the empty carton into the garbage, she hurried into her bedroom and packed a carry-on bag, wanting to avoid checked baggage. She’d need to wait until she got to Alaska to buy boots and warmer clothes, but she included a week’s worth of necessities plus jeans, socks, and sweaters. Once finished, she donned a fleece top, stuffed her hair up under the matching hat, and put on her hiking boots, which she’d probably have to remove when she went through airport security. She added her waterproof jacket and a pair of slip-on shoes. It would be warmer in Nevada, and while she wouldn’t be there long, she didn’t want to stick out and be remembered.

  Her cell phone rang, startling her. She reached for it, thinking it was Lenore. The caller ID told her it was Trevor. What did he want? Surely he didn’t expect her to have an answer about the oleander already. Truth be told, after seeing him on the television today, the poisonous plant had completely slipped her mind.

  She let it ring two more times before answering.

  “Hello, Trevor, what can I do for you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

  “I was wondering why you hadn’t returned my call. I know you’re probably busy…”

  “I am, but to what call are you referring?” she asked. If he was calling about the vials, she could tell him she was being followed. He’d keep her safe. No matter what else he was, he was a dedicated agent, and right now all she wanted was security.

  “The one I made earlier this afternoon. I left you a message at the CDC.” He gave the number.

  She frowned. It was the same one Miles had called, and there hadn’t been a message waiting for her. About to say as much, she stopped. If someone had erased Trevor’s message, then her calls were being scrutinized. Glancing at her watch, she realized she had to find out what Trevor wanted and get off the phone as quickly as possible. They were probably listening in on this line, too. Wasn’t it easier to monitor?

  “Sorry, I got snowed under and didn’t check my messages today,” she lied. “How can I help you?”

  When did I learn how to lie so easily?

  “The medical examiner contacted me with his findings on the massacre on the Boston College campus. He claims there was sarin in their systems, not enough to kill them right away, but enough to incapacitate them and let his Harvester slit their throats at his leisure.”

  “My God, that’s awful.”

  “Since it wasn’t the cause of death, do you think he was doing this as a test run? It was definitely the second plague he promised, but if anything it was overkill.”

  Trevor described the crime scene, complete with the hundred pickled frogs, making her queasy stomach even more so.

  “How was the sarin administered?”

  “They ate it.”

  “And this is the second plague? What was the first?”

  “A crude but effective pipe bomb in a tavern.”

  “Do these plagues have anything to do with the Great Burning?”

  “They might. He could be testing a mode of delivery or the chemical itself. The sarin was in the Chinese food the coeds ate. It was strong enough to kill them given enough time, but he didn’t wait. Once they were unconscious, he slit their throats. Maybe he thought the sarin would kill them right away and when it didn’t, he had to improvise.”

  Julie fought to keep down the noodles she’d just consumed, knowing that if they’d been poisoned, she’d be incapacitated by now. Sarin worked quickly.

  “It’s possible, especially if this was his first batch. Have your ME send me the results with the concentrations. I’ll have a look at them tomorrow,” she said.

  “Will do. Since the Prophet couldn’t be sure they’d consume enough of the nerve agent to die, my ME speculates that cutting their throats made sure none of them got the help that might’ve saved them. There were at least three killers—signs of hesitation on one or two of the wounds. This could’ve been a test for the nerve agent’s effectiveness. I should’ve listened to you.”

  So Trevor believed the Prophet would use sarin. Did he even know about the viruses? She couldn’t mention them, not if someone was eavesdropping, and again, there was the president’s gag order.

  “He’ll have to increase the concentration to make sure it kills. I saw the press conference. It looks like you’re the sacrificial lamb.”

  “Feels like it, too, but they have to blame someone. I have broad shoulders.”

  She glanced at her watch. She was losing precious time.

  “Look, I can find out the most effective sarin levels for you and get back to you at this number. Does that work?”

  “It does, and thanks, Julie. I know this can’t be easy for you.”

  “Not a problem. I want to see this guy caught as much as you do.”

  “Did you rethink my offer to come and work with us here? This is definitely an imminent threat right up your alley.”

  “I haven’t decided. It’s not all my decision and I’ve got stuff to finish here. I’ll be in touch. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Julie.”

  She turned off the phone and tossed it and her Fitbit onto her desk next to the computer she’d brought home from her office. Hopefully, whoever was watching her hadn’t been able to see what she’d called up on the flash drive. She put the USB lipstick case into the zippered pouch inside the knapsack. Trevor had told her they’d often captured a criminal by following his or her phone signal. The people who’d tampered with those virus samples had to be resourceful. No sense making it easy for them to find her.

  She opened the small safe in her closet and removed the money she had there. Nana had grown up on stories about the Great Depression, and because of that, her grandmother had always kept cash at home. Julie put $5,000 in the zippered pouch she wore at her waist. She added her passport, too. She had another $870 in her wallet. Dropping her credit cards and ATM card into the box, she took out a different ATM card for the savings account she still had in Carson Creek. In an emergen
cy, she’d have to chance that no one knew about it.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked around her room to make sure she had everything she’d need, then went into the kitchen. After stuffing the bag of cookies and two bottles of water into the knapsack, she locked the apartment door, took the stairs down to the basement to avoid being seen by the doorman, and exited the building through the service entrance. The temperature had dropped even lower as she hurried down the alleyway that ran between the neighboring yards. A few minutes later, she came out three blocks away near the Meridian Towers with its all-night coffee shop on the first floor. She used the courtesy phone there to call a cab. She had less than two hours to make the flight to Las Vegas. She’d call Cassie with the new arrival time once she had it.

  Chapter Eight

  Trevor watched the snow fall steadily outside his office window. It had started late last night and continued throughout the day, showing no sign of easing. The entire Eastern Seaboard was suffering because of this front. Despite the fact that he’d complained about it, he’d take last week’s rain any day.

  He’d never have believed he could feel any worse than he had after the press had roasted him yesterday. He’d come off looking like a damn fool, and if the people of Boston could have someone drawn and quartered, he’d be right up there at the top of the list. The mayor had insisted he be the one to come clean about the Prophet, and although he’d allowed Trevor to keep quiet about the Great Burning, the reporters were like vultures. They knew the juicy bits were just hiding underneath what he’d told them.

  Thank God Lilith, Rob, and Jacob would be back by Monday. There was no way he’d face the press again, and the fact that the mayor had insisted on daily briefings just made it worse. He’d have Tom or Declan do it tomorrow. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

  He’d hoped to hear from Julie by now. How long did it take an expert to find out about sarin? She’d sounded distracted on the phone last night, and while she hadn’t been rude, he knew she couldn’t wait for him to hang up. Something was wrong. He knew it, his gut knew it, and it wasn’t only the damn ulcer acting up again. It had to be those men and the reason they’d scared her. He’d always been able to read her—too bad he hadn’t realized he’d never be able to keep things from her, either.