Infertile Grounds

by DB Carpenter

  She leaned forward and kissed Camilla who stopped laughing, wrapped her arms around Sarah's neck and pulled her close. They kissed for some unquantifiable time and when they parted Camilla said, 'It's about fucking time.'

  "You loved me?" Sarah asked.

  "I did and I still do," Camilla replied. "I'm sorry about not being completely up front with you back then."

  "I guess I understand."

  "You sure?"

  Sarah nodded. As sure as she could be.

  Camilla hugged Sarah to her. "Let's not fight any more," she said as she turned and opened a door that led into what could possibly have been the most beautiful bedroom Sarah had ever seen. Light flowed in through French doors that led to a small balcony overlooking the sail-dotted ocean. Sarah walked outside and leaned over the railing. She breathed in the ocean air and reveled in the beauty of the view from here. The blues of the ocean and sky, the green from the hills, the white sand – nature's palette couldn't have been better. It was a straight shot down the lush hill to the inviting beach. She raised her hands and tried to grab the sky. The stress of the past half hour flowed off her, carried away by the soft breeze like the petals of a turned flower.

  Camilla walked up behind her and slid her arms around her waist.

  "It's so beautiful here," Sarah said. Camilla's arms felt foreign wrapped around her.

  "You've done great," Camilla smiled. "Don't let Phillip upset you. He understands the complexities but he also wants results. He's not getting younger. He wants to see it come to pass before he does."

  "I know that. I just need him to appreciate that at this point it's almost unstoppable. Seth has mapped out our strategy for distribution, we've got everything in place and once we get the Carriers on their planes we're essentially done."

  "Thank you," Sarah said.

  "I could never have done this without your support."

  "It was our dream, Sarah."

  She turned and hugged Camilla, burying her face in her old friend's curly blond hair.

  After a minute, she let go and said, "There is one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "We might have a little problem back at the lab."

  Camilla's smile wavered and then disappeared altogether. "Really? What's wrong?"

  "You remember David don't you?"

  "Of course."

  "Well," Sarah swallowed hard. "He kind of defected earlier this week."

  "Defected?"

  "We got him back," she paused and looked at Camilla.

  "And?" Camilla prompted.

  "We had to take him out."

  "Take him out?"

  "We killed him."

  Camilla looked stunned, "Oh my God!"

  "We couldn't risk him exposing us," Sarah explained. "But before he died, he managed to tell somebody about what we're doing."

  "He what?" Camilla stepped back as if she had just been slapped in the face. "Someone knows all about this? How could you let this happen, Sarah? When Phillip hears this he's going to be furious."

  "We know who he is, and we're trying to find him. I'll know more tonight after I call Seth, but as of eleven o'clock eastern time this morning, he had managed to elude us."

  Camilla dropped into a chair. "This isn't good. We need to find this guy now. Hell, this could expose all of us. You should have been more careful, Sarah. Who is he? What are you doing about it?"

  "I know this looks bad," Sarah replied. "But we'll find him. Seth'll deal with it."

  Camilla looked up and said, "He better because if this guy gets to the law...I just don't want to think what that could mean." She got up and looked Sarah straight in the eye. "Sort it out, Sarah. I want to know this has been dealt with."

  Walking out of the room she stopped and said, "The bathroom's over there. Why don't you get freshened up and then come back downstairs?"

  "Don't tell them about what I just said, Camilla," Sarah pleaded. She had no desire to have to explain this situation right now.

  "I won't," she said as she turned and headed for the door. "Yet."

  The door closed. Sarah turned to take in the view one more time. A cloud passed in front of the sun casting a gloom across the beach, suppressing the vibrant colors as it raced up the hill – a shadowy apparition proceeded by an ominous wind. She stepped off the balcony and shut the door before it reached her.

  3:50 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine

  "Do they know who gave him a ride?" Seth asked, frowning hard as he banged on the window to get Jerry's attention outside.

  Mark replied over the horrible cellular connection, "Yeah, but nobody knows where he went. All they said was that he was looking for a ride to Bangor, and this guy gave him a lift. Apparently he's a regular at the diner but keeps to himself, no-one knows too much about him. We should be able to track him down and see if Foster told him anything or where he dropped him. We just need some time."

  "At least we know where he was headed. Bert can help us track down the guy who gave him a ride. Can you get a description of the car? Get down to Bangor and we'll contact you as soon as we find out more."

  "Got it," Mark replied.

  "You know what's at stake here, Mark. If you find this guy, Sarah is going to be happy – very happy."

  "You got it. I'll call you when I get to Bangor."

  "So what's happening?" Jerry asked as he ambled into the room. His slicked back jet black hair still wet from a shower.

  Seth hung up the phone. "It looks like he got a ride to Bangor. Mark's going down there to try to find him, but I'll bet he's long gone."

  "You think so?"

  "Sure, why wouldn't he be? He was from Massachusetts. I bet that's where he's heading," Seth said as he flexed his arms and hands, twisting them in a martial-arts learned motion. Jerry's lazy eye bugged the hell out of him. He never knew if the guy was looking at him or not. Maybe a roundhouse kick would knock that thing inline.

  "Think about it," Jerry said, his left eye staring at Seth and his right roaming over a topological map on the wall. "David told this guy something, probably everything, before he died. There's no other explanation as to why he ran from the Wild Bear. He must know about Gen96, and he saw what happened to David. He knows we're looking for him. If I were him, I'd be going to the authorities."

  Seth smiled. "Of course. He's going to want to find help."

  "Absolutely."

  "He won't go to the State Police. He probably doesn't know who he can trust. This isn't local-cop stuff anyway. He's going to try and go to the government."

  They both said in unison, "The FBI."

  "We don't want to be messing with those guys," Jerry said.

  "Maybe not, but there's always the chance that he hasn't got there yet. Or if he has, he'll still be in Bangor. If he's reported anything and they believe him, they'll want him to stick around for questioning. We need to get down there as fast as possible. Maybe we can get lucky and snag him."

  "I can have you there in just over an hour," Jerry said as they both rushed for the door.

  After landing at Bangor International, Jerry rented a car while Seth used his mobile phone to get the address of the FBI. Within the half hour, they were parked across the street from the dumpy little two-story building in a small industrial park.

  "Now all we can do is wait," Jerry said.

  "I wish one of us would have seen this guy," Seth said. "Bert said he could get us a picture, but it would take a bit."

  "So what's this guy's description again?"

  "According to Bert, he's early thirties, about six-two and around two-hundred-twenty pounds. Kind of long, light brown hair that's thinning on top. Unless he bought some clothes, he should be wearing a green, long sleeve shirt, jeans, and some LL Bean hunting boots."

  "You just described half of the men in this state."

  "I know," Seth said. "We've got to get this guy. He could flush the last eighteen years of work right down the toilet and worse than that, he could put all of us in
jail for the rest of our lives. We're so close I can taste it. All we need is another month or so and it'll be unstoppable and we can disappear into the sunset."

  8:15 pm FBI Field Office, Bangor, Maine

  Pell unlocked the door, and they walked into the empty office. The FBI team obviously keep to strict business hours up here, Chris thought. God forbid if there was a federal crime outside of nine to five. They hadn't said two words since leaving the helicopter at BIA. Pell was obviously agitated.

  "I'll be right back," he said.

  Chris stood alone in the lobby contemplating the events of the day and feeling a strange combination of excitement and vindication. He had been telling the truth – Sarah Burns and her cronies were for real. What was unraveling with each passing minute was pure James Bond – villains, heroes, evil plots and he was right in the middle of it. Wow! A little more exciting than signing up a new client or writing some cool code. He paced the small room.

  Pell returned to the lobby after a few minutes looking refreshed. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he said, "Let's go down to the conference room. I need to make some calls and use the computer."

  "Sure," Chris replied. Pell reminded him of someone, but up until now he couldn't place it and then, ah! An employee, Larry – a raging alcoholic, used to act just like this. Chris had thought he smelled booze on Pell's breath this morning. This guy was definitely a drinker. That's all he needed.

  They sat at the table, the notebook computer in front of them. Pell hung his jacket on a chair exposing his shoulder holster and gun.

  "So what do we do now?" Chris asked.

  Pell leaned back in his chair and twisted his sideburns. "This is a big one," he said after a moment. "The procedures are clear. I've got to escalate it to the SAC in Boston."

  "SAC?"

  "Special Agent in Charge, Carl Moscovitz." Pell grimaced as he said the name. "He runs the northeast Bureau branches. It'll percolate up from there. Based on this afternoon, I'm assuming what you're telling me is true and that something is definitely going on. Maybe it's this virus, maybe it's something else but whatever it is, whoever's involved is willing to go through some serious effort to keep it a secret. I wouldn't be surprised if Arthur Kent isn't directly aware of this tomorrow morning. He's responsible for all of the field offices – the number three guy at the Bureau."

  "So that means you'll get plenty of help?" Chris asked.

  Pell offered a short chuckle as he returned his attention to the terminal. "It depends on Carl. He and I don't get along too well."

  "Don't get along? Come on, Pell, for Christ's sake. Don't get along at a dinner party but surely stuff like this has to take precedence over not getting along. There's no room for pettiness."

  "The FBI is a political world, Chris. If it wasn't we wouldn't have had Ruby Ridge or Waco. Hell, you could probably argue that September 11 never would've happened but it did."

  Chris shook his head in disgust and Pell nodded in agreement.

  "Reality. Ugly damn reality," Pell said as he started to type. "I'm going to open a log and get the data gatherers working on the little bit that we know."

  "The data gatherers?"

  "Yeah," Pell replied. "That's what I call then. They work out of Langley, Virginia. I give them what I'm looking for, and they set up the searches in our databases. There's got to be something out there about this."

  "I hope so," Chris walked over to the window. The late afternoon sun blazed in the sky, and just as he was about to turn away, he saw two men getting out of a car. He would have thought nothing of it, except for the fact that the car looked like it had been parked deliberately to be obscured from view between a dumpster and the building across the street. The men moved stealthily, looking this way and that and then quickly ran out of his view as they came to the front entrance of this building.

  Pell began, "I'm going to need –"

  "I think they're here."

  "What? Who?" Pell asked.

  "Whoever the hell these people are! I just saw two guys get out of that car and come into this building."

  Pell got up and looked at the partially hidden car. "I think your paranoia is getting to you," he laughed. "There's no way anyone would be coming to get you in an FBI building. You're quite safe here," he said turning back to the desk.

  "I don't like it."

  "Ok, better safe than sorry."

  Chris watched him unbuckle his gun and remove it from his holster.

  "These people want me dead and, FBI building or not, those guys looked like they were up to no good. It's hardly like this is the J. Edgar Hoover building in terms of security. Christ, there is no security and we're the only ones here in the building," Chris said as sweat broke out on his brow and down the middle of his back. He was convinced they were here for him. How'd they find him? The things they had done in the past day raced through his mind – shooting David's plane, going to the Wild Bear, removing the wreckage and now showing up here – and he quickly concluded that his life was in grave danger. These people wanted him dead. Plain and simple. They would stop at nothing to achieve that goal. Hell, they were coming after him in an FBI office.

  "Come on, Pell," Chris pleaded. "You've got to do something!"

  "OK listen, calm down and follow me, let's check it out."

  They hurried back out to the lobby. With the door shut, they had no way to see into the hallway. They stared at the door.

  "I don't hear anything," Pell said. "Those guys probably have business elsewhere in the building."

  "Maybe –"

  A shotgun blast blew off the doorknob. A second shot partially opened the door.

  Pell emptied his clip into and around the door. He grabbed Chris and pushed him down a hall. "Come on!" Pell growled as he shoved him. "We gotta get out of here."

  The door cracked open with a kick and slammed into the wall.

  They ran down a staircase, burst through an exit door, and sprinted around the building to Pell's car. They hopped in and sped away. Looking back, Chris saw the two men emerge from the building.

  "They're going for their car!"

  "Don't worry, I can lose them on the side streets coming up. I assume you know how to handle a gun? Reload this. Bullets are in the dash."

  He handed over his gun, and Chris started filling the clip. Pell's blue eyes alternated between the rearview mirror and the road ahead.

  "What the hell is this?" He shouted "Who storms an FBI building and chases down an FBI car?"

  "The same people that remove wrecked planes and kill people," Chris said as he focused on jamming the slippery bullets into the magazine.

  "They're gaining fast. Hang on," Pell said.

  He whipped the wheel to the right. They careened around a ninety-degree turn into a small neighborhood. Pell laid on the horn as they sped down the kid-filled street. They skidded around another intersection. Then another. Racing wildly through the normally quiet streets of Bangor.

  3:27 pm Malibu, California

  Sarah could hear the voices as she approached the room. Refreshed after taking a quick shower and changing clothes, she paused just outside the room, eaves dropping. As if they knew she was there, the voices were soft, muffled – too low for her to make out anything.

  "Is everything okay, Ms. Burns?" A voice asked.

  She jumped. Albert stood behind her with a tray of caviar, cheese and crackers.

  She shook her head, "Everything's fine, Albert." She took a wedge of parmesan off the tray and walked into the room, silencing the conversation.

  Camilla stood up. "Feeling better?"

  "One-hundred percent."

  "That's good," Camilla said. The tone of her voice was different from forty-five minutes ago.

  Phillip started in immediately with the next round of questions. Sarah couldn't blame him. I guess when you're that old every minute counts.

  "It sounds like you've done exactly what you said you were going to do, but now we need to talk about how it's going to happen. Ho
w much of a plan do you have?"

  Sarah took her time on the delicious cheese before she replied. "We've already started the process. I've got six people who have volunteered to be Carriers."

  "Carriers?" Mike asked.

  "They are going to be voluntarily infected with Gen96."

  "And what are they going to do?" Camilla asked.

  "Travel the world, one for each continent – spreading the word, so to speak. They're going to have canisters disguised as every day aerosol cans that they will use in high-human traffic areas – subway tunnels, sporting events, anywhere there are large gatherings of people. We'll restock them as they move."

  "That'll be enough to get the job done?" Phillip asked.

  "Have you ever been to an outdoor event in the winter time with lots of people around you, Phillip?"

  He nodded.

  "Think back on it. You could see everyone's breath as they exhaled, and, like it or not, as you inhaled, if you had been paying attention, you would have seen that you were taking in the exhaled moisture and germ-laden breath of someone else. It was diluted but it was undeniably there. Look at the fans at an NFL game in January. Gen96 could get an eighty or ninety-percent infection rate during just one game, solely because of how we share the air."

  "Jesus Christ," Phillip growled. "It's scary."

  "Scary's not the word I'd use. Effective, efficient. Those are more like it," Sarah said. "We'll get that type of penetration, and then all of those infected people go home or to work. Some of them will hop on a plane. This will spread quickly." Pleased, she looked confidently around the room. It was going to happen. Nobody could stop them now.