The White Iris

by Susanne Matthews

  Of course you didn’t. Work comes first.

  She sighed. “How was your day?” It felt odd talking like this, as if the last two years hadn’t happened.

  “Long and boring for the most part,” he answered, frustration evident in his voice. “I wasted most of the day flying to Washington to see the president’s advisor on homeland security.”

  “You mean L.D. Hamilton, the owner of White Iris Petroleum? I’ve never met him. When the president appointed Brad as director of the CDC, I was in Carson Creek, but Ellie wasn’t impressed with Hamilton. She claims he talked down to her.”

  “He probably did.”

  She scoffed. “Maybe he feels entitled. He donates a fortune to charity each year, determined to make life better for all Americans. Plus, he funds millions of dollars in research, the kind of stuff our tax dollars can’t afford. In fact, he’s funding a project I’ll be working on next spring.”

  “Are you leaving the CDC?”

  “Not permanently yet, but I may. With Ellie gone, I don’t want to stay in Atlanta—it’s too hard. The project I’m talking about is part of the CDC exchange program. I’ll be spending a few months in Nevada. Dalton Rush, an oncologist, is currently working in Atlanta doing a study on cancer-causing viruses and improving immune system response to treatment. He’s asked me to work on a project with him.”

  “That’s the facility near Reno, right?”

  “Yeah, that one,” she said. “How do you know about it?”

  “It used to be an orphanage run by nuns. We’re looking into an adoption that might’ve taken place there fifteen years ago.”

  “I see.” She swallowed awkwardly, picturing gray walls and institutional dorm rooms. Orphanages and institutions hadn’t been the best places for children thirty years ago. “God, if it hadn’t been for Nana, I’d have ended up in a place like that.”

  “Well, apparently they didn’t keep the children long, and placed them into families through private adoptions. Normally, because of the cost involved, those kids are treated well, but having real family raise you is priceless. Your grandmother was a wonderful woman. I know you miss her.”

  She thought he was going to say something else. Before she could speak, he continued.

  “What will you be working on?”

  “The Epstein Barr virus.” She wanted to change the topic as much as he did. Talking about Nana with him brought back too many sad memories.

  “I didn’t know that caused cancer.”

  “It doesn’t, not directly. EBV causes mono, and that leaves people more susceptible to a large number of fast-growing cancers. For once in my life, I’d like to find a cure for something.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “I need to finish Ellie’s research. I owe it to her.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. My medical examiner has the file. It’ll probably end up just an accident as originally reported. But as far as finding a cure goes, if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said and meant it. “So what did you learn from the president’s man?”

  Had L.D. mentioned the wayward virus samples? He’d been the one Brad answered to each month.

  “Nothing beyond the fact that I prefer town car rides to the airport over taxis, but I did get a call from Keith when I got back.”

  “And…” Her heart pounded in her chest. Had they found evidence to identify Lenore’s killer?

  “Keith’s convinced the murder was the focus, and the robbery a search and grab for your computer and cell phone. They were both found, smashed beyond any chance of repair, in the dumpster a couple of buildings away. Your note was inside an empty Chinese food container. Nothing else was taken. By the way, do you have Lenore’s mother’s contact information? The police are going to imply you were the victim of a home invasion, but someone needs to let her know what happened.”

  “She died last year.” Julie answered. “As far as I know, Lenore has no other family. The university in Oxford might have some information.” Julie sniffed, unable to stop the tears. Lenore was dead and no one other than herself would mourn her. Was she destined to end up alone that way, too?

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. I’ll see what I can do. She must have a will or something, property…”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. If she has no one, I’ll see what I can do about keeping her here.”

  “I’ll help with that in whatever way I can, but we won’t be releasing her body until this is all over. Letting people believe you’re dead is our best bet at keeping you safe. You sounded upset in your message earlier. Have you found anything else?”

  “Just a sec.” She moved away from the phone and blew her nose. Feeling somewhat restored, she picked up again. “Sorry about that. You know what a train wreck I am when I cry. It wasn’t what I found that upset me, but what I didn’t find.”

  “What do you mean? Were you wrong about the cytokine storm? Wasn’t it the cause of death?”

  “No, that was it, alright. What’s missing is the virus that triggered it and four others that should’ve been in his system and weren’t.”

  “Honey, you lost me,” he said.

  She smiled. How many times had he used those four words when she’d tried to explain something science-related to him? Something he just couldn’t grasp?

  “Sorry,” she said and quickly went over everything she’d learned so far.

  “Did anyone else who got the flu shot that day get sick?”

  “No. The local doctor took blood samples. Everything that should be there, is there. No one else in Seward has been sick either. If Felix had gotten that flu shot, he’d have had those antigens.”

  “Let me get this straight. You think someone’s screwing with the vaccine? God, how many more will die from seasonal flu if we can’t give any inoculations?”

  “Too many. I believe Felix was the first step in an experiment on the virus’s effectiveness. Small, contained space, and you erase any trace it ever happened. Somehow, they boarded the vessel, got the data they needed, and then sank the ship. The next step is a larger sampling, maybe in a small town or village. They need to test the contagion level, find out how quickly it infects others, and how it spreads. They might even have a dozen or so of these controlled tests before the final release. We can stop them—or rather, you can. If you give me an e-mail address, I’ll send you the information on these vials. Felix’s vanished, but all of the vials were packed in the same box. You can track down the various steps in distribution and find out exactly where the vaccine originated. Whoever substituted the virus for the vaccine is somewhere along that chain. Someone manufactured that pathogen, and if we can find them, we can stop it.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Trevor gave her his e-mail address.

  “It’ll be a message from Ariel Logan,” Julie said. “I don’t have anything I can use just in case someone doesn’t buy my death. To everyone here, I’m Dr. Julie Smith.”

  “Good to know. If someone created a virus, would they have created a vaccine?” he asked, trying to get his head around this frightening reality.

  “Probably. Once something like a pathogen gets airborne, it spreads quickly. On the off-chance it gets out of hand, he’d want to protect those he feels are worthy—what did you call them? Chosen?”

  “Yes. Those are his heirs.”

  “At least he has some.”

  Trevor swallowed awkwardly. By now they’d hoped to have a child, something else he’d taken from her.

  “L.D. Hamilton mentioned your death to me.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I’m not sure, but the man knew more about my team than he should have. At times, I had a hard time keeping a straight face.”

  “Well, you’ve always been good at hiding your emotions,” she said, a tinge of bitterness she couldn’t stop in her voice. “I’ll call if I get anything else you can use.”

  “Julie,
I … I’ll be in touch with my arrival time.”

  “You don’t really need to come here,” she said. “I’m safe. Miles and Luke won’t let anything happen to me. Besides, you’ll be miserable here. You’ll hate it for the same reason Cassie and I love it. It reminds me of Carson Creek.”

  “Who’s Luke?”

  Was that jealousy in his voice?

  “The base medical officer. He’s in charge of the hospital. Even he doesn’t realize who I am. I hate lying to people, but … as I said, I’m safe here. You can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing in Boston.”

  “I’m coming, Julie. Nothing will stop me. Not this time,” he stated as if he were swearing an oath. “I’ll check online to see what to bring.”

  “If it makes you feel better, it’s warmer here, and we don’t have any snow except up on the mountain glaciers.”

  “No snow? I love the place already. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  • • •

  The sound of the door opening startled Trevor awake.

  “Suck it up, buttercup, rise and shine,” Tom said, stepping into the office, two cups of coffee and a couple of muffins in hand. He set them down next to the computer and opened the drapes, letting the early morning sun brighten the room. “You giving up your apartment or what? This is the second time in as many days that I’ve found you asleep here.”

  “Buttercup? Nice.” Trevor yawned.

  “Sorry to cut short your beauty sleep, but duty calls.”

  “What’s happened? What time is it?” he asked, sitting up. He stretched his stiff shoulders. His lower back ached, and his clothes were as wrinkled as Pierce’s alter ego Columbo’s had ever been. A couple more nights like this, and he’d need physiotherapy.

  The laptop on the low table in front of him was dark. He’d fallen asleep reading up on cytokine storms. Julie had added a few links for him to check out when she’d sent the vaccine batch numbers and information. It had sounded bad when she’d explained it, but the stuff he’d learned about the Spanish flu scared the bejesus out of him. If the Prophet’s virus triggered something like that, God help them all.

  “Just after seven.”

  “What are you doing here so early?” Trevor tried to engage his brain, but since he’d fallen asleep only a couple of hours ago, after almost no sleep the previous night, it wasn’t an easy task.

  “The judge issued those search warrants, and the SWAT teams went in before six, wanted to catch everyone at home. It’s not good.”

  “Damn. How bad?”

  “The first two houses were empty, apparently cleaned with the same precision the techs saw during the original Harvester investigation. Not a fingerprint or hair follicle left behind. According to the lieutenant I spoke to, you can still smell the bleach used to sanitize the place, so they missed the occupants by hours.”

  “I assume they expected to find someone inside?”

  “They did, and believe me, the lieutenant is pissed. No one can figure out how the men, at least three in each location, got in and out of the places unseen.”

  “And the third?” Trevor asked, finally alert.

  “An abandoned warehouse down near the harbor. They’ve found three bodies so far, all male, but they haven’t finished checking the building. No one’s cleaned this place. The men were lined up, on their knees, shot in the head. No signs of a struggle. Again, no one can figure out how the killer got in and out.”

  Trevor frowned. “Someone’s going to have to rethink surveillance protocols. Let me get this straight. They were sitting on nine guys, and now have three dead and six in the wind?”

  “It looks that way. I’m glad I’m not the one who has to face the mayor on this one.”

  “I’d send McNamara flowers, but people might get the wrong idea. This doesn’t sound like the third plague, more like a gang execution. Maybe they’ve been watching the wrong guys, but if the houses were cleaned as you said … Why were we called in?” BPD was taking the lead on plague-related incidents.

  “Apparently, you’ve got mail again,” Tom said. “I agree it doesn’t sound like the plague, but it’s on time, and the note’s addressed to you and signed ‘H.’ McNamara called it in, and they called me.”

  “Why you and not me?”

  “Because he tried to reach you first, but your cell phone went straight to voice mail, and he didn’t want to leave a message.”

  “Damn. It’s probably dead. I was on it a lot yesterday.”

  “I keep a spare charger in my desk. Anytime you need one. Just ask.”

  “Good to know.” Trevor reached for the coffee cup on the table in front of him. The brew was strong and hot, just the way he liked it. Hopefully, it would clear the cobwebs from his brain. “I think we may have an edge in the search for a way to stop the Great Burning. I talked to Dr. Swift, and she’s willing to help us—may even have a viable lead right now.”

  “Wait a minute. Dr. Elizabeth Julie Swift from the CDC?”

  “Yes. I met with her in July, remember? She gave me all that information I shared with you about dirty bombs and nerve agents. I saw her on Saturday. We discussed Dr. James’s report and the oleander, and I talked to her again on Monday night about the sarin. Back in July, she’d mentioned the possibility of using a virus, but until Jacob confirmed it again, I didn’t see that as a good possibility.”

  “Goddammit,” Tom said, his face a deeper shade of red than it should be. “He’s done it again—we get a lead, he takes it away. I didn’t think the cases were related…”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Tom?” Trevor took another mouthful of coffee and savored the flavor.

  “Dr. Swift is dead. She was murdered in her apartment Tuesday morning, some kind of home invasion gone wrong.”

  Trevor’s gut clenched at Tom’s words, but his brain reminded him that was the story he himself had orchestrated. He took a deep breath. His stomach ached. He’d better put something in it other than strong coffee or he’d be eating his way through a bottle of antacids again today. He reached for one of the muffins.

  “Don’t believe everything you hear. The woman killed in Dr. Swift’s apartment was a friend of hers, a visiting professor. Julie’s incommunicado. She’s far away from here and as safe as she can be given that the Prophet wants her dead.”

  “Julie? And you know this how?”

  “Keith Grant, the Atlanta detective on the case, is an old friend.” Trevor explained the late-night call. “She needs to stay off the grid until this is over. I was going to tell you yesterday, but I had the command performance in Washington, and by the time I got back here, you’d left for the day.”

  “Why is she hiding?”

  “She was the target. They killed her friend thinking Lenore was her. In fact, this is the second time they’ve missed.” He outlined what he’d learned about Ellie and the accident. “Amos called me as soon as I got in last night. He contacted Atlanta because the truck driver’s autopsy was missing from the file. When he tried to get the man’s medical records, things got complicated. It seems the truck driver doesn’t exist. Everything about him, from his Social Security number on down is false. It was an elaborate cover-up. According to the morgue, the widow claimed the body and it was cremated, but the widow, like everything else that could’ve helped, has vanished. I haven’t told Julie yet.”

  “Crap. So, assuming it is the Prophet, why does he want to kill Dr. Swift?”

  “Julie’s a virologist, capable of finding a vaccine and a treatment for his super virus. In fact, she may be working on the Great Burning’s first casualty.”

  “How’d you manage to get Atlanta PD to issue a false statement?”

  “Like I said, Keith and I go way back. I called in a few favors and made sure they knew I suspected they have a mole. Grayson is keeping the murder investigation low-key. Anybody showing undue interest is going to pop and they’ll follow up on it. I’ve had the bo
dy sent here. Amos has her downstairs as another Jane Doe.”

  “How do you know we can trust this doctor? This could be an elaborate sham. You’ve never mentioned her before, and if you’ve only met her once … The Prophet could be planting another expert into our midst like he did Pierce. Maybe she’s another drag queen working for him, like the kid who blew up the bar. We can’t afford to make another mistake.”

  Trevor laughed “Julie’s definitely not a man. I’ve known her most of my life. We were engaged once, but it didn’t work out.”

  “You were what?”

  The stunned look on Tom’s face confirmed how close-mouthed he’d been about his personal life.

  “Look. I know you have questions, but this isn’t the time, Tom, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can. For now, just believe me when I say she knows more about viruses and vaccines than anyone I know. If anyone can stop this thing, it’s her.”

  “Understood,” Tom said, but Trevor sensed his concern.

  “When we get back, I need you to put someone on tracing some vials of vaccine. I didn’t mean to spend another night here. I was doing some research on cytokine storms…”

  “What the hell are those? They sound like something from the Twilight Zone.”

  “You aren’t far off. I’d never heard of them, either, but they’re your worst nightmare. I’ll send you that information, too. At any rate, this is a nice couch but a lousy bed. Give me a minute to try and make myself look a little better, and we’ll get going. Thank God I keep spare clothes here. You can drive.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trevor and Tom exited the elevator at the garage level. Despite the fact that the garage was heated, it was cold, too damn cold for mid-October. Trevor blew on his hands, wishing he had gloves. According to Julie and the Internet, it was warmer in Alaska than in Boston. Go figure.

  “It’ll take twenty minutes to get there,” Tom said turning on the lights and the siren. “Amos is on his way. I feel like I’ve been out of the loop for weeks instead of a day. What happened in Washington?”

  “Not much.” It was hard running an investigation when everyone was scattered—easy to forget they weren’t all on the same page. It wouldn’t get any easier when he joined Julie in Kodiak, either. “I don’t trust a man I can’t look in the eyes. I can’t figure out how he got to be part of the president’s inner circle. Anyway, he cross-examined me about the team—knew more than I thought he should’ve about Lilith. Suggested Rob should’ve been benched—conflict of interest and that, as a foreign national, the country couldn’t afford Jacob.”