We All Fall Down mk-4

by Michael Harvey

  “It’s almost four a.m.”

  “I know.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Down at Cook.” Ellen slipped her phone into her pocket and walked back into CDA’s main lab. Stoddard followed.

  “The ER down there should be shut down,” Ellen said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  She sat down at her desk and picked at a stack of papers. “Is that really the way you want to play this?”

  “It doesn’t matter how I want to play it. And don’t get so excited. They’re moving us all down to Cook. For a few hours, anyway.”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  Stoddard took a seat across from her and steepled his fingers under his chin. “The government, Ellen. They want you to take a look at the bodies. We have a car ready downstairs.”

  “I can find my own way, thanks.”

  Stoddard shook his head. “You’re the lead scientist on the ground here.”

  “For the time being.”

  “Someone’s gonna be on you 24/7. Just how it works.”

  “What did the CDC come up with?” she said.

  “They don’t have our field experience or expertise.”

  “What did they recommend?”

  “They’ve ID’d seventeen potential cases. Based on a first look at the blood work, they’re saying it’s a possible release. Emphasis on ‘possible.’ Maybe some modified strain of anthrax.”

  “They got it half right.” Ellen hit a couple of keys on her computer and data filled the screen.

  Stoddard swung around to her side of the desk and put on a pair of reading glasses. He studied the screen for a moment, then eased the glasses up onto his forehead. “How certain are you?”

  “The symptoms mostly match anthrax, but there are some inconsistencies.” Ellen pulled up a map of the West Side. Small flags dotted the landscape on either side of the Ike. “Suspected infection pockets start where the Blue Line surfaces. There are a couple of cases, however, that popped up more than a mile from any stop on the train line.”

  “And you’re positing that the anthrax spores could not have traveled that far?”

  “I’m saying the likelihood of that happening is problematic. And, best we can tell, none of these people were anywhere near the Blue Line at the suspected time of the release.”

  “So?”

  “So if it’s a pathogen, it might be spreading by some other means. Most likely person-to-person.”

  “Anthrax doesn’t work that way.”

  “Anthrax isn’t supposed to manifest itself in a matter of hours either, but it appears that’s happening as well. The reality is a pathogen will work however it’s designed to work, Jon.”

  Stoddard sat back and tilted his head to one side. “You don’t think this came from any lightbulb pilfered out of Detrick, do you?”

  “Based on what I saw today, not a chance. This is a chimera, possibly synthetic. Cutting edge.”

  “Similar to anything we have here?”

  “I won’t know until I see the DNA.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “It might be a close cousin.”

  “Big difference there, Ellen.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. And so do you. What are the chances of containment?”

  “Depends on the method and ease of transmission. We’ll know more as cases come in. You realize the Blue Line empties out at O’Hare?”

  “I’m aware of that,” Stoddard said. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  Ellen had her hands full with the world living under her microscope and let the question fall away.

  “This is not where we want to be,” Stoddard finally said.

  “I told you in all of our mock-ups. Once there’s a release, the best we can hope for is to minimize casualties and hope we get lucky.”

  “A vaccine?”

  “If we have something close in our library, maybe. But it’s going to take a while.”

  “So there are going to be more bodies?”

  “Yes, Jon, there are going to be bodies. In Chicago, probably lots of them. Has Homeland talked about a quarantine?”

  “They’re full of plans. Question is: who has the balls to pull the pin?”

  “What about a policy on those already infected?”

  “Is that something you really want to know?”

  “We can’t be part of that.”

  “We’re not.” Stoddard pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and slipped it onto the desk.

  “What’s that?”

  CDA’s director shifted his shoulders, eyes taking a walk around the room. “I recorded Homeland’s presentation tonight-laying out its plans for how to deal with any infected on the West Side. Asshole went into great detail.”

  “Why give it to me?”

  “I know Danielson dragged you into this. And now he’s off the grid.”

  “So you do think we’re going to be made scapegoats?”

  Stoddard pushed the drive forward with his thumb. “A little insurance, Ellen. Days like these, it’s not a bad idea.”

  She shook her head once but slipped the drive into her pocket. Stoddard stood and walked to the door.

  “Let’s hope we’ve got it all wrong,” he said. “I have a six a.m. call with Washington. I’ll catch you up after that.”

  And then Ellen was alone again. The clock on her computer read 4:12 a.m. She typed and clicked for a few minutes, even as cold tears filled the cracks in her cheeks.

  “Hey.” Molly Carrolton had slipped in without a whisper. Or maybe she’d been there all along.

  Ellen grabbed a Kleenex from a box on her desk. “I’m sorry. Long day.”

  “And night. You okay?”

  “Been better.”

  “Stoddard?”

  Ellen shook her head. “It’s not his fault.”

  Molly took the chair Stoddard had just vacated and inched it closer. “What is it, then?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  “You heard from Anna?”

  Ellen felt the cell phone, heavy in her pocket. “Not yet.”

  “I checked the hospitals,” Molly said.

  “Thanks. I did as well.”

  “She’s fine. Probably forgot to turn on her phone when she landed.”

  “I know.” Ellen recognized the lie between them but didn’t have the energy for anything else.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  Ellen shook her head. “The government wants us down at Cook County Hospital within the hour.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where the dead people are, Molly. Now, help me pack.”

  Ellen began to shove files into a leather case. Molly hesitated a moment, then did the same. By 5:00 a.m., they were back down at Cook. A half hour after that, they started cutting people open and saying hello to whatever killed them.

  CHAPTER 23

  I got up at a little after nine, found Maggie’s leash, and took a walk. A dark seal of clouds pressed in off the lake, bottling up the city in a jar of shiny glass. I leashed the pup outside Intelligentsia, grabbed a coffee, and pulled out the binder Ellen Brazile had given me on CDA.

  The first few chapters laid out the basics of black biology. I flipped to the middle and found a section called “Smart Clothing.” As an offshoot to their research, CDA had developed something called nanofibers-essentially carbon nanotube molecules woven into the fabric of clothing. According to the binder, nanofibers added less than an ounce of weight to any garment and rendered it virtually bulletproof. The fibers also monitored the wearer’s vital signs and were capable of holding and releasing small amounts of stimulants and antibiotics directly into the bloodstream. For a soldier freshly shot on the battlefield, pretty handy.

  I took a sip of coffee and turned the page. The next chapter talked about piezoelectric nanofibers capable of storing kinetic energy generated by the human body. When woven into a shirt or pair of pants, they turne
d the garment into a portable battery pack, charging up a cell phone, radio, PDA-anything you might carry in your pocket.

  I thought that was pretty cool as well. I also thought the word “piezoelectric” gave me a headache. So I put the binder away, and watched a good-looking woman put cream and sugar in her coffee. Then I pulled out my cell-noting how pedestrian my pockets suddenly seemed-and dialed Rita Alvarez’s number.

  “Michael?”

  “Rita. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “You tell me.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You talk to your boyfriend?”

  “I talk to him all the time.”

  “You talk to him about last night? About the address you gave me?”

  “You know I did, Michael. I had no choice.”

  “Did you know Lee was peddling dope?”

  “Christ, no. All I knew about Lee was what I told you. He was acting as a middleman on the medical supply contracts.”

  “Why was Lee talking to you?”

  “He was thinking about talking. Seemed to me like he might have a score to settle with someone, but I couldn’t say for sure. I told him I’d keep his name out of any story.”

  “Who do you think killed him?” I said.

  “You really need to ask?”

  “The Fours?”

  “If he was selling dope, I’d say that’s a good bet.”

  “Nothing to do with your story?”

  “I doubt it.” A pause. “I know this sounds selfish, but did you find anything that might help on that?”

  “On your story?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was soaked in guilt, which made it that much easier to forget I hadn’t told her about the cellar full of body bags.

  “Lee was dead when I got there, Rita. Sorry. By the way, you and Vince need to start talking to each other about your work.”

  “Thanks, Michael.”

  “No problem.” I looked up as the front door to Intelligentsia creaked open. Another good-looking woman walked in. This one, I knew.

  “Rita, I need to call you back.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is it about my story?”

  “Gotta go, Rita.”

  “Not a word to anyone downtown.”

  “Good-bye, Rita.”

  “Michael.”

  “Good-bye.”

  I clicked off. Rachel Swenson slipped into the seat beside me.

  “I went by your place,” she said, “but there was no answer. Saw Mags tied up out front.”

  We both looked out the front window. Maggie was huddled against the side of the building, tail sucked between her legs.

  “She’s scared of the weather,” I said. Rachel nodded and made a soft sound in her throat. The pup was our common ground. Our surrogate child. The only safe patch in the shifting terrain of a relationship.

  “I thought you’d be in court today,” I said, my voice easing.

  “I had an early morning conference call.”

  “You want a coffee?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “What is it?”

  Rachel glanced around the shop. It was mostly empty, but her voice dropped anyway. “Late last night, Homeland requested an ex parte order allowing them to take control of the National Guard in the event of a health emergency on Chicago’s West Side.” A pause. “This morning, they withdrew it.”

  “And you think I know something about this?”

  “I already know about the lightbulbs. I know about the subway. And I know you got called into something yesterday. Something you thought might be heavy.”

  A double burst of lightning split the sky into shards of purple and white. Maggie lay down on the pavement, curling herself into a tight ball and tucking her nose between her paws. She kept one eye fixed on us.

  “We’d better get her,” Rachel said.

  “In a minute. You ever heard of CDA Labs?”

  “What does CDA have to do with the government’s petition?”

  “You’ve heard of them?”

  “I know who they are, yes.”

  “How?”

  “I didn’t come here to answer your questions, Michael.”

  “It’s important.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Her voice mocked my own, and, for a moment, I saw her, clothes torn, face bruised, tied up in an abandoned Cabrini-Green high-rise, wondering if the shotgun pointed her way was loaded. Then there was nothing, save the creaking wreckage of our relationship and the knowledge there was little I could do to fix it.

  “The government withdrew its petition, Rach. If there was a problem, it’s been taken care of.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She folded her hands together, stared at her crossed thumbs, and drew a cleansing breath.

  “Five years ago, George W. issued an executive order giving the feds specific power over the Guard in the case of a national emergency. From what I understand, one of the geniuses in Justice realized this morning they could mobilize in Chicago without any action from the courts.”

  “Can they?”

  “There might be some constitutional issues, but probably.”

  My phone rattled on the table. I held up a finger and checked the caller ID. “I gotta take this.”

  I stepped outside and gentled Maggie as I picked up the call. Molly Carrolton didn’t bother with the formalities.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “Just got some coffee. Why?”

  “We need you back at CDA.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Things are escalating.”

  The first volley of thunder cracked and rolled overhead. The pup shivered under my hand. Inside the shop, Rachel had gotten herself a cup of tea. She was staring at me through the glass as she added milk and sugar.

  “Where’s Ellen?” I said.

  Silence.

  “Molly?”

  “Get down here. Before they come get you.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” I said, but the line was dead.

  I flipped the phone shut as Rachel walked out of the coffee shop.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I said.

  “Your case?”

  “One of them. Listen, I’d like to talk about this. Let me give you a call.”

  “So there is a connection to what you’re doing?”

  “Let me call you later. We can grab dinner or something.”

  She took a sip of her tea. “You’re not going to be able to play them, Michael.”

  “Play who?”

  “Not like you do everyone else.”

  “Rach… ”

  “It just won’t work. Not with them.”

  “Dinner, tonight. I’ll call you.”

  Rachel scratched Maggie behind the ears and left me standing on the sidewalk. As I arrived back at my apartment, the first spit of rain began to fall.

  CHAPTER 24

  CDA’s lobby was full of three men in dark suits and sunglasses. They didn’t look very friendly, so I took the road less traveled. Also known as the freight elevator. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  “This way, Mr. Kelly.”

  Two more guys wearing dark suits and shades were waiting on the third floor. They led me down the same blank corridors, past the lab where I had gotten my first taste of black biology, and into yet another conference room.

  “They’ll be right with you.”

  The suits left before I could ask who “they” were, or why “they” all wore sunglasses during a thunderstorm in March. Three minutes later, the door opened again. It was Molly.

  “Sorry, Michael.”

  “Not a problem. When did the Men in Black show up?”

  She tried to smile, but her features wouldn’t cooperate.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  “Come with me.”

  She walked me down the hall and back i
nto the lab. I didn’t see any of the government types along the way. In fact, I didn’t see a soul.

  “Everyone go out for a liquid lunch?”

  “They’re over at our level-four facility.”

  I skimmed her eyes and saw dark shapes, swimming fast just beneath the surface. ”What’s going on, Molly?”

  “We might have a release.” Her voice caught on the words, but they tumbled out anyway.

  “Of a weapon?”

  She nodded and glanced at the door.

  “Are they coming back here?” I said.

  “Pretty soon. We’ve been down at Cook all morning. They decided to take it back here for a conference call with Washington.”

  “Then you better hurry.”

  Molly took a breath. “Ellen told me she saw you last night.”

  “What did the blood turn up?”

  “It’s still not entirely clear. Cook County morgue picked up two bodies yesterday. Homeless men. Both were originally thought to be dead of natural causes. They get a lot of that in the winter.”

  “It’s not that cold.”

  “Yeah, well, an orderly didn’t like the look of one of these guys. So he called us. Blood work finally came back early this morning as definitive for some sort of anthrax exposure.”

  “Just the one?”

  “The other was asphyxiated, but they’d both been exposed.”

  “Where were they found?”

  “About two blocks from the Clinton entrance to the Blue Line. The thinking is they might have been sleeping in the subway. And then there’s the cop you mentioned to Ellen… ”

  “Donnie Quin?”

  “His blood came back positive as well. How did you know to have him tested?”

  “He was on the West Side yesterday. And he was dead. Just a hunch, really.”

  “Yeah, well, it turns out Quin found the bodies of our two homeless men and called them in. We’re still putting together the rest of the timeline, but it looks like the Blue Line might be a point of origin.”

  “Your tests said the anthrax we found was irradiated. Harmless.”

  “It was.”

  “So?”

  “The incubation period for weaponized anthrax is five to seven days. This thing apparently kills in a matter of hours. And it appears it might be transmissible from person to person.”

  “So it’s not good old weaponized anthrax.”

  “It might be something more.”