by DB Carpenter
"I just don't get on with Carl Moscovitz," he replied through clenched teeth.
"Don't worry about it. If we solve this case, you'll be the hero."
Pell smiled. "Always the optimist, huh?"
Chris chuckled, optimism was underrated. He could find a bright side to anything.
The elevator eased to a stop and the doors slid open. The two men stepped out into another ornate, marble-infested corridor that had a too-clean-for-a-high-traffic-area oriental rug running the length of it. They walked slowly toward the glass doors with the FBI logo.
"Sure beats your office, doesn't it?" Chris said.
Pell stared at the door wide-eyed, as if he expected something bizarre to happen. The call to Carl Moscovitz to arrange this meeting hadn't gone well.
Pell took a deep breath and swung open the door. The open, cubicled area behind the receptionist was a bustle of activity. Well-dressed professionals were hard at work as he said to the receptionist, "Agent Paul Pelletier. I have a meeting with Carl Moscovitz." He glanced at his watch. "Right now."
"He's expecting you, Agent Pelletier," the primped lady said as she looked at Chris. "And you are?"
"Chris Foster."
"He's with me," Pell said as he flipped open his ID wallet.
"Are you an American citizen?"
"Last time I checked," Chris replied.
"Sign your name here, please. You'll have to initial his signature, Mr. Pelletier. Do you have ID on you please Mr. Foster?"
Chris handed over his driving license and after tapping into her computer for a minute, she handed Chris a small plastic badge and told him to wear it at all times while in the office. Then she got on the phone to inform Carl Moscovitz of their arrival. "You'll be meeting in the west conference room. Have you been here before?"
"Sure, I used to work here. I know where I'm going," Pell assured her.
As they walked to the meeting room, Chris noticed that some people were giving them queer looks.
"I think people are surprised to see you, Pell."
They probably all had an opinion about what Pell had done. That sort of thing never died. People just couldn't, or wouldn't, forget – especially in an organization such as the Bureau.
In the conference room they found three men seated on the window side of the table, waiting. None rose as they entered the room.
"Gentlemen," Pell said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Chris sat next to him. "This is Chris Foster."
Chris smiled at the men who didn't acknowledge him, as if he were invisible.
Clad in a finely-tailored Italian suit, Carl sat between two agents. His hands were folded across his lean stomach as he tilted back in one of the expensive but incredibly comfortable Herman Miller chairs. Behind him, buildings partially blocked the view of Boston harbor but they were high enough to see the coming and going of jets at Logan. Carl introduced the two agents and said, "I must say that I was surprised to hear from you this morning, Pell. It's been a long time."
"Eighteen years."
"That sounds about right," Carl said. His pale blue eyes sparkled as he smirked, exposing fleshy gums that encased unnaturally small, pointy teeth, giving him a weasel-like appearance. "How's Bangor, Maine?"
"It's a great little city," Pell said. "Look, let's cut the bullshit. You know what happened. Whether you believe me or not doesn't matter now. It was too long ago."
"Al Jenkins' kid just graduated from Yale," Carl said.
"No one wishes that Allen Jenkins was alive today more than me."
Carl rolled his eyes. "I'm sure."
"Oh, come on, Carl. Your issue has always been with me, not what I did. For whatever reason, you didn't like me the minute I walked through the door and you know it."
"That's bullshit. I didn't like how you conducted yourself in the field. You were reckless and I just knew you were going to get someone killed. That was it and it turns out I was one-hundred percent right."
"You would have done the same thing."
"I would have never let the situation arise in the first place."
"Give me a break. That's a crock of shit and you know it. There was nothing I could do."
"I would say that's the real crock of shit."
Pell looked at the two agents who sat stone-faced. Between their training at Quantico and being stationed in the office where it had all gone down, they had undoubtedly heard the story multiple times and from different perspectives. It would be interesting to hear their unfiltered take on the Allen Jenkins affair but that was an impossibility here and now or, probably ever, given their relationship with Carl.
Carl was about to say something when Chris interrupted, "We're not here to discuss the past and Allen Jenkins. We've got a serious issue on our hands here and we need to move fast and, like it or not, if we want to stop these people we're going to have to work together."
The senior FBI agent finally acknowledged Chris with a cool stare. Pell kicked him under the table. Carl swiveled his chair square to Chris and put his manicured hands behind his male pattern baldness inflicted head. "Chris, was it?"
He nodded.
"Listen to me, Chris, and listen closely. This is an FBI office, and I'm the Special Agent in Charge of this office. I don't want to hear a peep from you unless I ask you a question. I'll debrief Agent Pelletier, and you're going to sit there nice and quiet while I do it. Do you understand?"
Chris glared at him and then nodded. The room was silent for a moment until Carl said, "I read the IR, Pell. It sounds light. Why don't you take it from the beginning?"
Pell shot Chris a quick glance, before starting in on their bizarre story. "It appears that a group of people have developed a virus that will change the face of the planet as we know it. I know it sounds far-fetched, but after some investigating, I'm convinced that what Chris told me is true and here's why."
Carl and his men sat stone-faced through the entire story. Pell would periodically have Chris either confirm or expand on something. Just after 5 pm, Pell finished.
Carl wore a bemused expression that Chris recognized as the same one Pell had when he first told him what he knew. Maybe they taught that look at Quantico – the official FBI raised eyebrow, pursed lips look – Facial Expressions 101.
"You weren't kidding when you said that it was far-fetched," Carl said finally. He looked at his agents who each shrugged in turn. "You'd think that we'd at least have heard some rumors or something, anything. Especially with all of the money we've dumped around the borders since 9/11, it's hard to believe we haven't picked up something. Someone would have made a mistake. They always do. Their blind ideology always makes them foolish."
"Maybe so," Pell replied, "But they're a small, dedicated, tight-knit group, and one of them did break out – David Rose. That's why we're here now."
"I have a theory about the Ngami thing –" Chris said.
Pell kicked him under the table, hard. "Don't even waste their time with that."
"But I thought –"
"No, Chris, that's not relevant here and now," Pell shifted in his seat uncomfortably and kicked Chris hard again.
Chris shrugged, not understanding what Pell was doing. Let him do things his way, for now.
"I'll tell you what, Pell," Carl said. "Let us do some of our own research tonight and call me in the morning. Unless we can dig up something more on our own about this, I'm going to tell you to drop it."
"Drop it!" Pell screamed. "After what I just told you?"
"You just told me about some different events that may or may not be related. You don't even know if this virus exists or not. You're basing everything on Chris' word and some unconnected evidence. In fact, it seems you could be trying to make the evidence you do have fit the story. My bet would be that this David Rose, for whatever reason, told you a lie."
"Who would make up a complicated lie like this on his death bed – to a total stranger no less?" Chris asked.
Carl shook his skin-capped head and said, "I don't k
now, but think about it. I'm not a scientist, but I know that developing a virus like the one you've just described isn't simple. It's a scientific undertaking that's going to take years and money – lots of money. There are undoubtedly companies across the river in Cambridge trying to do conceptually the same thing, except they've had corporate backing and some of the brightest minds in the world at their disposal and still haven't been successful. So why and how would a bunch of hillbillies in the middle of nowhere in northern Maine be able to pull this off? I need some time to look into this."
Carl was an extremely bright man – a megalomaniac personality, but definitely very smart. He had detached from their discussion and stared off into the distance, tapping one skinny finger against his weak chin. Chris watched him mentally compile and sort through the information. Spawning 'what ifs', trying to make sense of it.
Carl rose and without looking directly at either of them said, "Call me in the morning."
With that, he and his two shadows walked out of the room, leaving them alone.
"Damn," Pell muttered.
"What's the matter? The guy just wants to look into it himself."
"You don't get it. Carl's only motivation is his career. He doesn't care about anything but that. I'm telling you right now that when we talk to him in the morning, he's going to tell us we're crazy, and I should go back up to Bangor. Where I belong."
"Maybe not."
Pell snorted and said, "Just watch."
"Why did you stop me telling them about my theory on Ngami?" Chris asked.
"I'll tell you when we're out of here," Pell said "Where to now?"
Chris rose. "Let's get out of here. You can stay at my house tonight. I'll drive," Pell wouldn't be able to handle a Boston rush hour. Chris enjoyed Boston traffic. It was a game of nerves – whoever had the bigger balls made the best time.
Chris glanced across the seat at Pell as he drove through South Boston and into Quincy. He was quiet, his complexion ashen – most likely reminiscing about his career-limiting decision to kill Allen Jenkins.
"How you feeling?" Chris asked.
"Peachy."
"Giving up booze is the best thing you've ever done for yourself."
"It feels like it."
"When we get to my house, I'll have Karen make us something good for dinner – something to take the bite off."
"We almost there?"
"It's right around the corner."
His house was nestled in a moderately upscale subdivision. All of the houses were on the small side and had a similar Cape Cod style. Theirs was perfect for the two of them, but if they ever had kids, it would get small real fast. As they pulled into the driveway, he saw Karen's Volvo in the garage, and a shiny new pickup in the driveway. She would be surprised to see him.
"I wonder who's truck that is," he said as they climbed out and walked up the front steps.
To his surprise nobody was in the living room.
"Maybe she's out," Chris said. "She wasn't expecting me until Sunday."
"Can I get a drink of water?" Pell asked.
"Sure, the kitchen's down that hall. Help yourself."
Pell left the room and headed for the kitchen. Chris followed until he got to the stairs that led up to the second floor. He took the steps two at a time and went straight to their bedroom. He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The door was partially closed and he pushed it open.
Karen was naked, climbing out of bed. A man he had never seen before sat up in his bed. Chris screamed. Not a word, just an animalistic cry. For a split second, he froze in shock but that was rapidly replaced by a rage unlike anything he had ever felt. It tore through his body as time seemed to slow down, giving him the unwanted opportunity to study the scene in front of him. Karen's mouth moved but he heard no sounds. The man had a large scar on his shoulder and a number of moles across his chest but he was in good shape – lean, hard, ripped. Was that why she had done it?
Chris screamed again and hurled everything off the top of the dresser. Jewelry, perfume bottles and other totems of female beautification sailed across the room, smashing into the walls and careening off the hardwood floor. Chris was completely out of control.
He tore their large, ornately framed wedding picture from the wall and hurled it towards the bed. The picture sailed across the room and crashed into the man's skull, knocking him sideways out of the bed and onto the floor.
Karen cried out. "Stop, Chris. Stop!"
Chris started toward the man. Every muscle in his body quivering to inflict some sort of physical pain on him for being with the woman he had committed his life to.
Pell burst into the room and screamed, "Chris, stop!" But Chris tackled the guy and delivered a blow with his fist to the guy's face.
6:52 pm FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC
Arthur Kent picked up the handset and pressed the flashing line button at the request of his demanding but incredibly efficient secretary. Carl Moscovitz's nasally voice said, "Hi Arthur, got a minute?"
"Go ahead." He clicked an icon on his computer screen that started a recording of the conversation. "This got anything to do with that IR out of Maine I read this morning?"
"You don't miss anything, do you?"
Arthur nodded. What a kiss-ass. He had promoted Carl to Northeast SAC and sometimes wondered if that had been a mistake.
Carl filled him in on his meeting with Pell.
"That's it?" Arthur said.
"Pretty much. I've got two of my best men on it. If this really is something we need to work it out quick, similarly if it's all a bluster about nothing, we need to work that out too so we move on without wasting too much resource. We're looking at all of the obvious avenues, focusing on Sarah Burns. I also called a PHD friend of mine at DyNAcorp. I ran it by him – no details, just concepts. He confirmed what you would expect. Setting up this kind of lab is a big deal. Costs a huge amount of money for equipment. But it could be located anywhere, in a basement, a garage that sort of place. The key is the brainpower. He claims there's only a handful of people in the world capable of something like this and he knows most of them."
"So what do you think?"
"Gut feel. There's something here. I'm not sure if it's what Pell claims but it could very well be."
He scribbled notes as Carl talked. "I want twice daily updates. Morning and afternoon. Anything else comes up, you know how to get me."
Arthur hung up the phone, finished his notes and headed for the gym downstairs. He needed to blow off some steam and think. Half an hour on the heavy bag should do the trick.
7:02 pm Quincy, Massachusetts
"Don't do it!" Pell cried as he pulled Chris off the stunned man. Chris pushed him away and raised his fist to strike him again. But then he stopped, briefly regaining some control, he knew that this could easily escalate into something much worse than a cheating spouse. How could she do this to him?
"I can't believe this, Karen," he said as he jumped up, stumbled past Pell and out into the hall. He had to get out of here, out of this house.
He turned and screamed from the top of the stairs, "You better get your stuff out of the house before I get back. If you're here tomorrow, I don't know what I'll do."
"Wait. Please," she cried after him.
"Come on, Pell," Chris said as he leapt down the stairs and ran out to the car.
As soon as Pell was in the car, Chris peeled out of the driveway and down the street. For whatever reason, he drove to his office. Once he had parked in front of the building, he slammed his fist into the steering wheel and slumped over it, burying his head in his arms. "Why?" He moaned. "Why has she done this? Who is that guy? How could she?" He broke down and cried, jerking with each sob. One fateful moment had changed his life forever. His seven-year marriage was over. He could never reconcile what he had walked in on. He knew himself too well to entertain that thought.
Most of his employees were virtual and the office was dark. Pell hadn't spoken since they le
ft Chris' house. He passively watched Chris let it all out, he knew better than to comment at this point. After a few minutes Chris began to calm down and regain some control.
"This is my office," he explained, furiously wiping the tears from his face. He was still in shock. "We can spend the night here."
Chris pointed out the kitchen area and the bathrooms as they walked through the building and then guided him to an office with a comfy couch. "You can bed down here. I need to be on my own for a bit. I need to think." As Chris left Pell and headed up the hallway he looked back. "Thanks, Pell," he said quietly.
If not for Pell, he could easily have been a double-murderer right now. It was a long night. He went to his office and finally dozed off sometime after 4 am.
When he woke up, he was sitting in his chair with his head tilted to one side. After a few painful minutes of swiveling his head around, he was able to get rid of the stiffness that had set in as he had slept.
Looking at his computer screen, he remembered why he was sleeping in his office. It had the feeling of a bad dream, but it had happened – his wife had been in bed with someone else.
He shook his head in disbelief as he hauled his stiff, cramped body out into the kitchen area. It was a little before six in the morning. He poured himself a cup of cold, twelve-hour-old coffee and dropped down into a chair.
What the hell would he do now? They had been happy. How could she do something like this? It wasn't as though he hadn't had opportunities to cheat during their marriage. Temptation had knocked many times but his love for Karen had kept him in line. Was it that simple – that romantic? Was it his love for Karen? Or was it something else? A deep-seeded need for consistent connection fostered by the unbearable loss of everyone he truly cared about as a child in that gas explosion– a psychological weakness that had blinded him to the realities of the world, of human relationships in particular? No, it wasn't his fault! He wouldn't let himself fall into that self-blaming induced malaise. He had been there once before and it had taken him a long time to get out.