by DB Carpenter
"Are these Carriers going to know what they're actually doing? How can they be trusted?" Phillip asked.
"Last spring of we did some prescreening at colleges in Boston under the auspices of looking for interns for a humanitarian initiative that would take place that summer. We identified fifteen solid candidates and Seth took them on a three-month trip. Very much like what you and I did, Camilla. Africa, India, Bangladesh – they hit all the world's worst examples of what overpopulation causes. They lived with them, walked among them, watched the children starve and families die. Seth said it was the worst twelve weeks of his life but what came out of it were six overpopulation zealots. These kids believe. Over time we've revealed exactly what they have volunteered for and they won't be a problem. They have drunk the proverbial Kool Aid."
"Brilliant," Mike said.
"Well, it sounds like this calls for a celebration," Camilla said and everyone agreed.
"Albert," Camilla cried. "Bring out the champagne."
In a few moments, Albert appeared in the room carrying a tray of crystal glasses and a very large champagne bottle. He prepared and distributed the glasses.
"Let me propose a toast," Camilla said as she raised her glass. "To the beginning of a new era, to the people with the vision to fund it, and to the person who made it happen."
"Hear, hear." They clinked their glasses together and drank.
The mood was much lighter now as they started to relax and socialize. Camilla pulled Sarah from the group for a moment, and they walked to the edge of the room.
"When did you say you were going to know about how big a problem we actually have on our hands back in Maine?" Camilla asked.
Sarah looked at her watch – 3:35 West Coast time. "In another hour or so I'll call Seth and see what's up."
Camilla smiled over her shoulder at Mike, putting her acting skills to work.
"Finding this guy doesn't really matter," Sarah explained. "We've already implemented phase two. This is happening. Worst-case scenario, we're going to have to get out of Maine a few weeks earlier than we had planned, and that's what Seth'll tell me soon."
Camilla ran her fingers through her curly blond hair, pulling it up off her slender neck as she stared at Sarah. Her eyes twinkled but something darker lurked just beyond the beautiful, fun-loving façade. Her old friend studied her for a moment longer then let her hair down and offered a weak smile.
"We'll make that call together in an hour, okay? Finding this guy matters very, very much."
"Whatever you want, Camilla."
Camilla led her back to the others, and they put on faces for the next hour, which to Sarah seemed like a day.
6:40 pm Bangor, Maine
"Son of a bitch!" Seth exclaimed as they screeched to a stop. "We lost them." He slammed his fist against the dash.
"We can probably get on their trail again," Jerry said. "This is a pretty small town."
"Not that small." Seth was already rolling over in his mind what Sarah had said when she called earlier. She needed to go back to the sponsors with results in the next few hours. That was why they had bitten the bullet and gone into the FBI building rather than waiting to follow Chris once he left. What was he going to say to Sarah tonight when she called again? It wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. She had already told the people on the West Coast that it was a go and that this was just a temporary blip that she had in hand. This would put a crimp on any celebration.
"Go to the airport," Seth said. "We've got to get back up north and close down the lab."
"Okay." Jerry put the car in drive and squealed the tires as they headed back to their plane. It was a quiet ride.
"What about Mark?" Jerry asked. They had returned the car and were jogging across the tarmac to the plane.
"We'll tell him to come in. We don't have time to wait. Christ, how long was Foster with the FBI? What does he know and how much do you think he's told them?"
Seth shook his head. That was the biggest issue on his hands. They didn't know if this guy was just worried about a plane coming down or if he knew everything that was going on. David could have explained everything? But then again, he could have died in the crash? How could things have gone so bad, so fast? Right now Seth didn't know if they had months before anyone figures anything out or minutes.
"We've probably got until sometime tomorrow morning before the Feds are knocking on our door," he said weighing up the situation erring on the cautious side.
"You're still assuming that David told this guy everything," Jerry said as they climbed into the plane.
Seth had to forcibly control his hand from punching Jerry in the face. Boy, it would feel great to pound somebody right now. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window as he slammed the door shut. The sharply angled features of his nose, cheekbones and chin more pronounced than usual – his closely cropped hair spiked up like a threatened animal's.
We need to assume the worst, he thought. These guys just don't seem to get what it would mean if the Feds caught them at this point. What it would mean to the project, to Sarah and to each of them individually if this became public knowledge.
"He knows, Jerry. He knows."
Airborne and heading north, the setting sun glowing in the western sky, Seth knew that he should try to get some rest as there was little he could do right now. They were in for a long couple of days, but sleep was never an easy thing for him. Sometimes it came quickly and other times it didn't. One time last year he had gone for over ninety hours without sleep. He had been in the final preparation phase for the Ngami test with Sarah and for almost four straight days his mind was far too active to rest.
At least the first batch of Gen96 was ready and waiting for them to implement phase two.
"Base, this is Seth, over," Seth said into the radio. No reply. If Wendel or Curtis weren't in the main building, they would never hear the radio. He repeated his call again and again for the next five minutes until finally Wendel's voice crackled back at them, "Hi, Seth. What can I do you for?"
He always said the same thing. The guy was a real moron. "Has Sarah called?" Seth asked.
"No, not that I know of. I could go find Curtis..."
"Don't bother, Wendel. Listen to me. This is very important," Seth snapped.
"Okay. How'd you guys make out?"
"Not good. We need to go with plan B," Seth said.
"So you didn't catch him?" Wendel queried. "I thought that was our main priority? You said you were going to take him out. You saying you didn't manage to get to him?"
"No, we didn't get to him and that's exactly why I'm saying go to plan B," Seth snapped. "Do as I say and get things rolling now. I'll be back there in twenty minutes. If Mark calls, tell him to come in as fast as he can."
"No problem, Seth. But are you absolutely sure this is definitely what you want to do? There's no going back once we activate, you know?"
Seth shook his head. God damned scientists could really get on your nerves.
"It is, Wendel. We're going with Plan B and we're all systems go. You know the drill. We've gone through what to do over and again if this situation arises. Make sure you follow it to the letter. I don't want any fuck ups."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"Yeah, if Sarah calls, don't tell her about this. I think that she should hear it from me. Tell her to call me or wait for my call. Understand?"
"No problem, Amigo," Wendel said. "Better you than me."
"Good. Get Curtis and get to work. I'll be there soon."
8:35 pm Bangor, Maine
Pell pulled into a dumpy Chinese restaurant called Lo Maine.
"Cute name," Chris said.
"These guys have the best boneless spareribs in the city," Pell replied as he stopped the car and climbed out. "They're third generation Chinese who stay true to their roots and recipes but know how to appeal to the American appetite and taste."
They walked into the dimly-lit, tackily decored establishment and the host immediately
greeted them. Two large, gold dragons sat on either side of an overly ornate carved wooden chair. Heavy red wallpaper depicting scenes from China covered the walls.
"Agent Pelletier," the old Chinese man said in a thick accent, struggling to properly pronounce Pell's name. "Will you be eating tonight or just sitting at the bar?"
"Give us a booth in the back, will you Chu."
"Anything for you, my friend," Chu said as he bowed to Chris and led the two men to a booth in the back of the restaurant.
"This is great, Chu. I'll start with a vodka tonic – make it a double," Pell said dropping down into the booth with a sigh.
Chris sat down across from him and said, "I'll have a beer. Got Heineken?"
Chu nodded.
"One of those will do."
Having drinks and eating Chinese food after almost getting killed back at the office was the last thing he thought they should have been doing, but Pell must have a good reason for bringing him here.
"So what are we doing?" Chris asked. "Shouldn't we be calling in backups or something? Why are we drinking cocktails and ordering Chinese food? We've got too much to do to be thinking about using your expense account."
"I need to make a few quick calls," Pell said pulling out his phone. "I need to know if anyone saw or heard anything back there. If anything has been reported."
Pell made various calls. It looked like nothing had been reported and the whole incident had gone unnoticed. Laying his phone down on the table Pell looked at his watch.
"I need some time to think," he said, glancing around the restaurant, studying each of the few patrons before looking anxiously over at the bar. Then he grabbed a napkin and started to shred it as he asked Chris to repeat again everything that had happened - from the beginning.
Chris clenched his jaw. Repeating everything over and over again was getting them nowhere. Hell, he was no FBI agent, but he knew exactly what they should do. He struggled to keep his cool as he said, "I think that we should be finding out exactly who we're dealing with here, Pell. You saw it for yourself. They killed David, hid the plane, tried to kill us – whoever they are, they're serious about keeping this thing under wraps. Call in the Army if you have to. David Rose told me that it was going to happen soon, and now that they know that we're onto them, you can bet that soon just got sooner."
He stopped talking as Chu brought their drinks over.
"You eat?" Chu asked.
"Bring us a platter," Pell said as he sucked on his straw. After downing a third of the drink, he set the glass down, pulled out the lime and sucked on it. Then he said, "What you just said makes sense to you, but to me there's a lot more to it than just that."
"Like what?"
"Like we know a plane went down, but we have no info about what type of plane yet or who this David Rose the pilot was. We saw the bullet damage at the scene so that backs up some of your story. That said, though, there's nothing whatsoever to corroborate this wild virus story. I don't have any evidence for that at all."
"But we just had two guys storm the FBI building, and chase us through the streets of Bangor," Chris said.
"That doesn't prove anything about the virus."
"It proves that someone is willing to pull out all the stops –"
"You don't get it, Chris. I've been doing this for a long time. Without concrete evidence, if I don't have answers or if I've missed something crucial, Moscovitz will be all over me. I have to tread very carefully or I'll end up stuck here," he paused briefly and glanced around before continuing, "In this godforsaken outpost in Bangor Maine until I retire. This could be the case that'll finally get me out of here or it could be the case that puts the last nails in my FBI career." He took another swig from his drink. Chris did the same.
"Why don't you just transfer?" Chris asked. Pell had a story to tell. He had sensed that this morning, and now he was going to hear it – whether he wanted to or not, whether this was a good time or not.
Pell chuckled. "I wish it were that simple, Chris. But it's not. I'm forty-two years old. I joined the Bureau right out of U. Mass when I was twenty-two. They recruited me on campus and, at the time, it seemed like the ultimate job. Travel, extensive physical and mental training, and most importantly to me, adventure. I started working out of the Boston branch, and in my second year I went undercover to infiltrate the mob. I didn't realize it at the time, but they had recruited me specifically for this job. They had gone on a search for someone that matched their criteria, and I was the one they chose."
It took three vodka tonics, a selection of Chu's chef's specials and the better part of an hour for Pell to explain the source of his demons. Back in the nineties, the Mob was on the ropes. There were still five families in New England that, while not the force they once were, they were far from sleeping with the fishes. They survived because of their persistence and ability to adapt. He had successfully infiltrated one of these five families, but an operation turned bad and he had been forced to kill a fellow agent to prove his devotion to the family.
Shoot him or we shoot you. He had made the hardest choice any agent could ever have to make; killing a fellow agent, Allen Jenkins, to save his own life and to continue the years of undercover work that they had gone through – plain and simple. If he had backed out, it would not just have been himself and Alan Jenkins at risk but all the other people they had on the job, not to mention the insiders turned informants.
Many lives were at stake in addition to the risk of blowing a complicated, multi-year undercover operation that was on the verge of bringing down the entire New England mob. He had made the right decision. Alan would have agreed. He had been just as dedicated as Pell. They had often talked about what they would do if push came to shove. Both of them had always agreed that the operation is greater than the individual. But if a man ever had a reason to hit the bottle, this was Pell's reason.
"Listen to me, Pell. You got a bad break, but this is your chance to make amends. Think about it. If everything that David Rose told me yesterday is true, you have a chance to stop people who want to change the world. You can make up in spades for what happened. This is your shot. You can either crawl into that glass and stay there for the rest of your life, or you can pull yourself together and find out what's really going on here."
Pell sucked hard on the small straw. "What the hell do you know?" He asked. "I did the right thing then. It wasn't good enough. I was the one being questioned and ultimately demoted, after giving my everything to the job. I've lost all credibility. This situation here could make or break me forever if I don't handle it right. Lots of people in the Bureau are just waiting and watching for me to make the right mistake at the right time so they can crucify me, to finish me forever."
Pell's eyes narrowed and a menacing scowl curled the corners of his lips. The look disappeared as quickly as it had come and he hung his head for a long silent moment. Finally, he looked up at the half-full drink and said, "I've always relied on gut feel. My gut feel has been right all through my career. Even when I got the demotion I knew I wouldn't have done anything differently because in my gut I knew had been right. Just those assholes at the office needed a scapegoat. My gut feel right now is telling me to get to work on this and find out everything that's going on before I have to drag that son of a bitch Moscovitz into this."
"Then let's go find out what the hell is going on here." Chris said standing up and feeling like he was ready to take on the world.
With that, Pell stood up, threw some money on the table and said, "Come on then, partner. I could have chosen worse, but you'll have to do for now." Chris followed him as he staggered out of the Lo Maine.
"I'll drive," Chris offered as they got to the car.
Pell gave him a weak smile as they climbed in and Chris asked, "So where do we start?"
"Let's go back to the office," he slurred.
The FBI office was exactly as they had left it – the front door was ajar, the smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Pell drew his pis
tol. He walked with much more authority than before. Three double vodkas in an hour can make anyone cocky.
"Shouldn't we call for backup?" Chris asked.
"Just wait in the hall," Pell whispered.
"No thanks. I'm staying with you."
"Okay, but if anything happens, hit the floor."
"You can count on it."
Pell paused briefly before flicking on the lights. Except for the shards of wood and the mangled doorknob on the floor, the office space looked untouched. He shut the front door and slid a chair in front of it before they went through each office individually. Finally, comfortable that nobody was lying in wait for them, they went into the conference room.
"So what now?" Chris asked.
10:11 pm Unorganized Township T8 R4, Aroostook County, Maine
The plane slammed hard into the field and bounced up in the air again. Jerry cut the throttle and nursed them back onto the ground. They stopped no more than thirty feet from the tree line.
"That was a rough one," Seth said as Jerry turned the plane around and they taxied toward the waiting pickup, its headlamps serving as the runway lights.
"It could have been a lot rougher," Jerry said. "I'm not going to miss this fuckin place – not one little bit."
Seth grunted as he opened his door and climbed out. He too was more than just a little sick of all of the inconveniences of their current location, but that was more or less a moot point now. Curtis was in the driver's seat and Seth climbed in next to him. Jerry squeezed into the small seat in the back.
"Did you hear from Mark?" Seth asked as he slammed his door shut.
"Yeah," Curtis replied loudly. The Grateful Dead blared out of the speakers. "About forty minutes ago. He said he'd be back in about two hours."