“Or me. Either way, I’d like to know.”
Molly picked up the photo. I watched her face.
“You know that guy?”
She shook her head. “Should I?”
“We think he might be behind the release.”
Molly dropped the photo like it was one of the monsters from her lab. “Who is he?”
“Good question.”
I pulled a second Baggie from my pocket.
“What’s that?” Molly said.
“It’s a cigarette butt.”
“I can see that. Why are you holding it in front of me?”
I told her about the Korean’s cellar. And the body bags I’d found there. And the tall man with the rifle.
“And he’s the man in the photo?” Molly said.
“That’s right.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure enough.”
“How does the cigarette fit in?”
“When I first walked into the Korean’s cellar that night, I smelled cigarette smoke. I found the butt under the stairs.”
“And you think it belonged to him?”
“It looked fresh. So, yeah, I think it might.”
Molly picked up the Baggie and considered its contents in the speckled light from the street. “If there’s DNA, it will be from saliva trapped in the filter.”
“What are the odds?”
“If I did get a profile, what would you do with it?”
“I’d ask if you could run it through the feds’ system. See if we can put a name to our face.”
Molly stared at the butt. I let her sit with things and turned to Rita. “How about our money angle?”
“Best I can tell, there is no money angle.”
I waited. Rita pouted.
“I told you,” she said. “I’ll give it a try. First thing tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks.”
“Smile,” Rodriguez said. “At least you don’t have to break any laws to help him.”
“I could maybe start DNA extraction tonight,” Molly said. “Gaining access to the feds’ database might not be so easy.”
“Get me a profile,” I said. “Then we’ll worry about the rest.”
Everyone sat for another minute or so. None of them looked particularly thrilled to be there. Or necessarily happy with me. Rodriguez made a move to go. Rita followed suit. I touched Molly’s sleeve.
“Hang a minute.”
We waited until the other two had left.
“You okay for all this?” I said.
“You mean the arm? It’s fine. They told me I could drop the sling tomorrow.”
“Pain?”
“I slept most of the afternoon.” Molly picked up the photo DeLuca had given us and gave it a second look. “I’m gonna need a copy for the database search.”
“You can have that one.”
She tucked the snapshot into her jacket.
“How’s Ellen doing?” I said.
“If you’re asking whether she’ll crack the pathogen, the answer is yes.”
“Where is she now?”
“She should be back at CDA. Why?”
I brushed a key on my computer. “I just got an e-mail from her. Said she needed to talk.”
“That’s not so easy these days.”
“They’re not letting people leave the lab?”
“They’re not letting Ellen leave. At least not without someone from Homeland riding shotgun.”
“She’s that important?”
“You have no idea. Did she say what she wanted?”
“No.”
“I’m headed back there. I’ll talk to her.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“What?”
“Do you trust Ellen?”
A tick of worry worked its way into the corner of Molly’s left eye. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“Do you trust her?”
“With my life. Yours, too.”
I nodded. “You’ll get back to me on the cigarette?”
“If there’s anything there, I’ll find it. And, Michael… ”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“What does that mean?”
“The way you talk about Ellen. Just be careful.”
I watched from my windows as Molly left. She threw me a single look from the street, but I knew she couldn’t see into the darkened office. Then she crossed Broadway and disappeared.
I pulled up Ellen Brazile’s e-mail and gave it a final read. It was past six, and I needed to get moving. I shut down my computer, put on my coat, and left.
CHAPTER 50
Ellen Brazile stared at three files open on her computer. The first was the genetic blueprint for a superbug she’d created called Minor Roar. The second file contained a vaccine for Minor Roar. The third spelled out the entire genetic sequence of the Chicago pathogen. Ellen made a call. Jon Stoddard’s voice rang hollow over the speaker.
“You have something?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“That’s not necessary.”
She’d told Stoddard she needed space. He was more than happy to give it. No one wanted to be the white coat on the hook if the pathogen went truly global. So they’d posted a guard with a gun in the hallway outside her lab and left her alone.
“Talk to me, Ellen.”
“I sent some data to your computer. It’s a DNA blueprint of the pathogen.” She paused. “And a possible vaccine.”
Silence. “How possible?”
“I think it will work.”
“Why am I hearing a ‘but’?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
Ellen had jotted down some talking points on a piece of paper. Now she balled up the page and threw it in the trash.
“I told you earlier I felt the pathogen acted much like one I’d created in our lab.”
“You told me they were different.”
“They are.”
“I think that’s a more appropriate way to characterize things, don’t you?”
“The pathogen I created is called Minor Roar. I designed it as one of our nightmare scenarios-the virulent properties of anthrax and Ebola, altered slightly and embedded in the infrastructure of a flu virus.”
“Theoretically, shortening its incubation period and rendering it capable of airborne transmission.”
“That’s right. If Minor Roar had been released in its original form, the death total would already be north of ten thousand. This strain, while related, seems to require much closer, more intimate human contact for transmission.”
“Which is why we have only a few hundred dead?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“So we can contain this thing?”
“I created a vaccine for Minor Roar. With some modifications, it might provide a measure of protection.”
Stoddard paused. “How long until we can have it online?”
“Three months, minimum. Until then we keep the sick in isolation and slowly pare down the infected areas.”
“What about those already infected?”
“Anyone infected is dead, Jon.”
Another pause. “You realize we’re heroes, Ellen.”
“Five hundred people dead is not the work of a hero. Besides, we got lucky. Extraordinarily lucky.”
“It’s not luck, Ellen. It’s you. Your work, the work of our lab, have been able to stop what might have been a global pandemic… ”
“I harvested most of the pathogen’s DNA from the blood they drew from my sister’s body.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s nice.” Ellen looked down at her hands and wondered when they got so old. Stoddard’s voice came down the wire.
“Ellen… ”
“I’ll begin outlining protocols for manufacture of the vaccine.”
“Heroes, Ellen.”
She cut the line and clicked on the genetic readout for Minor Roar. E
llen stared at the constellation of chromosomes floating on her computer screen, then pulled up some data on infection rates for the last six hours.
There was a noise outside. Ellen walked to the door and glanced down the hallway. It was dark, the only illumination a cluster of security lights at either end of the hall. Ellen looked for her guard, but he was gone. She went back inside and pulled out the travel bag she’d packed. Then she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and took out the small revolver she kept there.
They’d be waiting downstairs. Or somewhere. Staring at her like their god. Until she gave them what they wanted. Then she’d be their lamb, marked and left for slaughter.
Ellen stuck the gun in her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and left.
CHAPTER 51
People love to write books about dive bars in Chicago. They usually describe a place with Old Style in cans, hard booze in gallon jugs, and a jukebox that still takes quarters. There’s a wrinkled old man drinking behind the counter, and six or seven regulars who have an unwritten set of rules about how to act if you’re gonna sit at their bar. People like these places. Like to search them out, have a beer, and then brag about it to their friends. Maybe they feel like they’re slumming. But they’re not. If you want to slum, belly up to the bar at Little Kings Liquors on the South Side of Chicago. If you own a gun, it wouldn’t be a half-bad idea to bring that along as well.
I got there at a little after seven. The place looked like it always looked-a collection of mismatched plywood and rusty nails, creaking in the wind at the corner of Fifty-seventh and State. A handful of parole violators were hanging around outside. Inside, a man named Deke tended bar. Deke was the color of stale dust and the width of a matchstick. He sat on a stool, eating greasy food from a white carton and sipping on a glass of something dark. Between Deke and his customers a run of chicken wire spanned the length of the bar and rose all the way to the ceiling. It seemed a bit over the top, until you saw the customers. Or, rather, didn’t. Little Kings was a bar full of dark corners. Most everyone who drank there sat in one. You could map the place by the glow of a cigarette, rasp of a cough, or scuff of a shoe on the scarred linoleum.
“What’re you drinking?” Deke said.
I hadn’t been in the place in five years. In Little Kings’ time, I might as well have just gone to the can.
“Jack and Coke.”
Deke assembled the drink in short, quick strokes and slipped it through a hole in the fence. I took a sip and sighed. Deke was still there, watching.
“What?” I said.
“You send a white woman in here?”
“Where is she?”
Deke jerked his chin toward his shoulder. “I got her in the back. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Sorry, Deke. I was supposed to get here before her.”
Deke shook his head, walked to the far end of the bar, and disappeared. He came back a minute later with Ellen Brazile, low heels tapping out the absurdity of her presence there. She took a seat beside me. I could feel every eye in the place on us and slipped my gun onto the bar.
“I asked to use the bathroom, Michael.”
“How was it?”
“They had to buzz me in from behind the bar.”
“Sorry. I thought I’d get here before you. Want something?”
She ordered a drink and took a tentative sip. “You come here a lot?”
“No one will bother us.”
“Really?”
I looked around. Little Kings was probably the only place in Chicago where they weren’t discussing the end of time and space. First, there were no TVs in the place. Second, no one much gave a damn what sort of global meltdown might be unfolding on the West Side. The folks who frequented Little Kings were up to their elbows in death on a daily basis. The fact that the rest of the world was just considering its own mortality was not their problem. Unless, of course, there was a buck to be made.
“Come on, let’s sit over here.”
There was one small table, close to the front door and under the only window in the place. I left my gun out. Ellen placed a black bag at her feet and took a quick glance around. “I thought smoking in bars was illegal.”
There were maybe seven cigarettes burning up the darkness around us.
“They bend the rules in here. You want to light up?”
“Yes.” She pulled out a pack and shook out a couple. I took a pass.
“Thanks for meeting me,” she said.
“Thanks for tipping me about the cameras at Cook.”
Ellen lit a cigarette and began to weave her web of smoke. “Did they follow you from the hospital?”
“Things are fine. For now, anyway.”
She nodded. A man in a gray overcoat came in. He dragged his left foot when he walked and took a seat at the bar. Besides us, he was the only white person I’d ever seen in the place.
“How did you manage to get out of CDA without an escort?” I said.
“It wasn’t easy.”
I slipped my hand closer to my gun. The man with the limp ordered a drink from Deke and stared at the run of chicken wire.
“Molly didn’t think you’d make it,” I said.
Ellen’s eyes snapped at mine. “Did you tell her we were coming here?”
“No, why?”
“I don’t want her involved.”
“Involved in what?”
Ellen jostled the ice cubes in her glass with a straw. “Do you know Jon Stoddard?”
“Your boss?”
“I had a chat with him this afternoon. Told him I’d cracked the bug.” She pushed at the black bag with her toe. “It’s all right here. Entire DNA blueprint of the Chicago pathogen.”
I glanced at the bag. “I hope you left copies at the lab.”
“Molly’s got everything she needs to replicate what I’ve done.”
“And why are you telling me all this?”
Ellen crushed her cigarette into a plastic ashtray and took a sip of her drink. When she spoke again, she leaned into her words, like she was whispering into a wooden screen and I was wearing a white collar on the other side.
“Two years ago, I created a bioweapon called Minor Roar.”
“Let me guess. It somehow escaped from your lab and is now killing people by the dozen over on the West Side?”
“If Minor Roar had been released in its original form, the total number of dead would already be in the thousands. Maybe tens of thousands.”
“Are you telling me there’s no connection between the two?”
“Depends on what you mean by connection. The genetic structure of the Chicago pathogen is very close to that of Minor Roar.”
“How close?”
“The Chicago pathogen differs in that it seems to require more intimate human contact for transmission.”
“Which is why we only have a couple hundred dead?”
“I believe so, yes. When I created Minor Roar, I also developed a vaccine. With some minor modifications, it should provide protection against the Chicago pathogen.”
“So the system worked exactly as you planned?”
“Excuse me?”
“You cracked the bug, ID’d its genetic soul mate, and found a potential vaccine in CDA’s data banks.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess you’re right.”
“Bravo.” I tipped my glass in her direction.
She took a small sip of her drink and left a blemish on the rim of her glass. I could see a dried cake of red on her lower lip.
“Can I ask you a question, Ellen?”
“Go ahead.”
“How sure are you about all of this?”
“I usually feel pretty good about my work.”
“Then what are you scared of?”
Her pale eyes blinked. “What makes you think I’m scared?”
I looked down at the bag again. “If you’ve really cracked the pathogen, you’re a hero to half the world. And yet we sit here, in this garden spot, dri
nking God knows what, surrounded by fuck knows who, with a gun on the table.”
I thought I saw the smallest of smiles. Then Ellen reached into her bag and pulled out a short-barreled revolver. “Actually, two guns on the table.”
“The more, the merrier. I know why I have my piece. What about you?”
“I have concerns.”
“I’m listening.”
“My projections tell me we should have at least a thousand dead by now, yet we have only a fraction of that. I crunched the latest numbers this morning. The infection rate for the Chicago pathogen has dropped by forty percent, just in the last few hours.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It’s a strange thing. Maybe a dangerous thing.”
I skinned another look across the room. The man with the limp shifted on his stool and reached into a pocket. My hand again crept toward my gun. He pulled out a cell phone and checked the screen. I turned my attention back to Ellen.
“Maybe the bug is just running out of victims?” I said.
“Too early for that. I also would have expected to see some leakage out of O’Hare as well.”
“Nothing?”
She shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen. It’s like the thing has just dried up and blown away.”
“Have you talked to your boss about the drop?”
“Stoddard? No.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t talked to anyone. Except you. And I’m not sure why I did that.”
The man with the limp flipped his phone shut, finished his drink, and stood. I studied the line of his coat but couldn’t discern the shape of a weapon. He threw a few dollars on the bar and left. Deke ignored the money and turned his eyes my way. I shrugged. Deke scraped the cash off the bar and stuffed it in his pocket.
“What do you keep staring at, Michael?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m still not sure what I can do for you.”
“I want someone to know what I’ve done. I know you won’t understand any of it, but there are some disks in my bag. They summarize my research. If you get them into the right hands… ”
“Where are you going?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“A friend is collecting Anna’s ashes in the morning. I was hoping to say good-bye.”
I’d forgotten about her sister. And now she was here. Suddenly in our conversation. And the pathogen’s faceless, nameless dead were again anything but.
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