by Jenifer Ruff
“Quinn Traynor, please.” She prayed the call wouldn’t go to voicemail.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Los Angeles
November 4th
The plane from Boston landed at LAX under blue sky and a late-morning sun.
“Can we grab something for lunch?” said Rick. “I’m starving.”
“Me too. Let’s make it quick.”
“Do you have the keys? You drove to the airport, right?” Quinn asked after they had grabbed sandwiches from an airport kiosk.
Rick rubbed his eyes and laughed. “Yes. I’ve got them.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and started one of the FBI’s cars. “Are you going into the office when we get back?”
“Yes. I need to check out a few things before I leave on vacation.”
“The intelligence you’re going to look at, is there something specific concerning you, or are you just searching for new leads?”
“Both.” Quinn turned to stare out his side window, dozed off for a few minutes, and said little else until they were pulling into the field office lot. He should have felt relief, the weight of apprehension and responsibility lifted from his chest and shoulders, but he didn’t. “Something about the whole plot didn’t sit right with me from the beginning.”
“How so? A full arsenal of bombs was found with the terrorists in each target city. The right guys were caught. I mean, I know I’m new to this department, but, jeez, it was impressive. The coordination across agencies… So, what is it? Do you think there are more of them?”
Quinn shook his head. “Think about this with me. Their plan was vague but hardly a secret—discussed amongst jihadists online and in mosques. Even Redman, knew something about it. Once we located Fayad, he gave up enough intel to find the terrorists in a matter of hours. Terrorist organizations don’t plan a revenge attack for years to go down so easily. ISIS leaders are grossly misguided, but their motivation is unparalleled. It’s almost as though they wanted the bombers to be captured.”
“Hmm. But why?”
Quinn shook his head. “That’s what’s bothering me. Terrorists aim to kill, but also to destroy morale. To leave everyone, including civilians, but especially our military and defense, afraid and unable to do our jobs.”
“We’re not afraid.”
“No. But what else could prevent us from doing our jobs?”
“Being too tired? Like spread thin, going in all directions chasing false leads.”
“Exactly.”
Rick parked the car and they walked together toward the front of the building. “You should go home. Get some rest,” Quinn said.
“I’ll stick around a bit more. In case something exciting happens. I want to see what comes out of the interrogations. I slept a few hours on the plane. Let me know if you need me.” They parted in the hallway, Quinn going to his private office and Rick to the field agents’ War Room.
Quinn’s office had one window with a view of a few bushes, a Palm tree, and the concrete side of the building next door. He pulled the blinds down to block out the light, sat down at his desk, and rubbed his eyes. He downed the remainder of a Coke, crunched the can, and tossed it into the corner trash bin. He’d lost track of how many cans he’d consumed for the caffeine in lieu of sleep. Holly would be angry if she knew. “Cut out the soda,” she always said. “It will make you fat, even the diet ones.” Even if she was right, now was not the time to give up his preferred source of energy.
Concerned for the rest of his team, he sent a brief message congratulating them for their success. He suggested they go home and sleep, and come in the next day. If they hadn’t already crashed, he knew they had to be feeling just like him—on their last chemical-induced fumes of energy. Quinn closed his eyes for a brief second. He planned to read the case files one more time, trying to pinpoint the source of his discomfort before he left for home. He looked forward to changing out of the clothes he’d been wearing for two days and taking a shower. He was scanning the incoming intelligence from the terrorist interrogations when his phone rang. A glance at the caller ID brought an immediate smile. He had half expected—maybe even hoped—to run into her when he was in Georgia doing the training presentation. He remembered his excitement and subsequent disappointment when the woman in the hallway turned out to be someone else. He wondered what had led to this unexpected contact.
He picked up the phone and heard, “Quinn? Thank God. I was afraid the call would go to voicemail.”
“Maddie! Hey.” An image of the accomplished doctor filled his mind. He and Madeline grew close seven years ago, around the same time he met Holly. He was working a case jointly with the CDC. In addition to being a medical doctor, Madeline also held a Ph.D. in epidemiology. They consulted each other often on the phone, although it had been some time since he’d seen her in person. She was based in Atlanta, at the CDC’s main headquarters.
“Still working eighty-hour weeks?” she asked.
He resisted the immediate urge to share how he and his team had just helped prevent terrorist attacks in three cities. “Actually, I’m about to leave for vacation in a few days. What’s going on?”
“I’m here in LA.”
“You are? So…”
“This isn’t a personal call. I was attending a conference and something came up. I’m in the San Fernando Valley. I’ve got a suspicious dead body. The cause of death is not from any known hemorrhagic fever, but something similar. Worse.”
“Worse in what way?” What could be worse?
“The victim’s death appears to have come with little warning. A sudden and violent onset. Nothing I’ve ever studied in nature has a comparable rate of progression.”
“And you’re calling me because—?”
“I don’t have evidence to back this up yet, just an instinctive reaction. I don’t want to say more, but I think you should look into it right away. The deceased man’s name is Raj Pivani. You can have anyone from your team call me directly if they need to. I’ll be putting an epidemiological case together, no matter what you find.”
“Did you say you’re still on site now?”
“I am. I’ve got people coming to remove his body and run tests. I’ve ordered a quarantine on the premises. I’ll make the area available for your team if you can send people out right away. Have them wear full protective gear. Not just masks, but pressurized suits with respirators. Like I said, this is a serious one and I don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with yet.”
Quinn wrote down the name and the address Madeline provided. “Give me thirty minutes to do some research. Can you hold off local law enforcement until then?”
“Yes, absolutely. The containment team is on their way. They’ll treat the area as a potential crime scene. But get here as soon as you can, and then call me, I mean, if your research finds anything supporting my suspicion.”
“Of course. Thank you, Maddie.”
Quinn trusted Madeline’s judgement. If she had a gut feeling about an uncommon disease, there was likely something to it. She wouldn’t have called if she didn’t believe there might be probable cause for bioterrorism. He called Rashid and Stephanie, conferencing them on his phone. “I know I recently told all of you to go home—”
“Yes. You were like go home or else.” Stephanie laughed. “But we’re still here. Both of us.”
“Good. Something new came in. It’s urgent. Possible bioterrorism. Here in LA. The victim’s name is Raj Pivani. An epidemiologist from the CDC, Dr. Madeline Hamilton, is on the scene in the San Fernando Valley. We have twenty minutes to gather intelligence and determine if our involvement is necessary. If it’s not, go home. I mean it this time. And if it is, well…I’m sorry.”
“We’re on it,” Rashid said. He and Stephanie started gathering information on Raj Pivani.
Quinn opened the top drawer of his desk, and removed an electric shaver. He ran it over his face as he looked over the interrogation reports. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. H
e was missing something, but he didn’t know what.
Twenty minutes later, lacking any new revelations, Quinn grabbed another can of Coke and joined Stephanie and Rashid in a conference room. “Okay, tell me what you found on Pivani from the valley.” His choice of words sounded odd to his own ears. That’s what happened when he skipped a night of sleep, now that he was older. His thoughts weren’t as focused. The word groggy flashed inside his brain in tall bold letters like it was part of a cartoon reel. The inside of his mouth felt gross. He could use a good gargle with mouthwash.
Stephanie spoke first. “Here’s what happened. Frank Hayes, a neighbor who lives across the street from the victim, spotted Pivani just outside his house. Time estimated to be zero nine hundred hours. According to Hayes, Pivani could barely stand. He vomited and collapsed. Hayes called 911, insisting his neighbor had radiation poisoning. All of this is in the police report.”
“Okay. Then what?”
“First responders arrived, but before they took a close look at the victim, Dr. Madeline Hamilton from the CDC entered the scene. That’s her.” Stephanie gestured to the picture she projected onto the wall, Madeline’s slender figure obscured by a bulky blue suit. “The local police took this picture an hour ago. Based on the information Hayes provided to the 911 dispatcher, Dr. Hamilton initially thought radiation contamination was a possibility, but the symptoms also sounded like a hemorrhagic fever.”
Quinn interrupted. “I know Dr. Hamilton. She spent a year in Sierra Leone working with patients during the Ebola outbreak. She’s one of the premier experts on the virus. And she’s the person who called me.”
Stephanie wrapped her hand around her water bottle. “According to Hamilton’s analysis, the victim died of an unknown hemorrhagic fever. Extensive bruising and bleeding from multiple orifices. The viral RNA is being analyzed right now, with top priority rush on the results. There are zero known cases of hemorrhagic fever in the United States. The CDC will have a better idea of what we’re dealing with by the end of the day, but they have good reason to be concerned.” Stephanie took a sip of water. “I was able to speak with Hayes, the neighbor. He was eager to share everything he knew about Raj, but it’s not much. He said Pivani was home all week, which was out of the ordinary. He saw Pivani walking to and from his mailbox every day, presumably waiting for something specific to arrive in the mail. Hayes also said he had a conversation with Pivani two days ago. Pivani didn’t appear to be sick in any way, shape, or form. I’m quoting him.”
“Okay. Tell me more about Pivani.” Quinn directed his attention to Rashid, who had been leaning forward in his chair, listening to Stephanie.
Rashid sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat before speaking. “Twenty-eight years old. Born in Berkeley to parents who emigrated from Iraq. No siblings. Educated at Cal Tech. For the past five years, he’s worked at the San Louis Obispo nuclear power plant. Last year he was promoted to lead engineer and radiation technical specialist. No close friends or known relationships, per his colleagues and neighbors. They referred to him as nice, quiet, and polite, and, consistently from everyone, as a loner. All of them were of similar opinion. No one claimed to be friendly with him outside the office. A few also used the words disciplined, and normal.” Rashid cleared his throat again and continued. “Well, if that was true, he stopped being normal four weeks ago. On October 1st, he handed a physician’s report to his employer and requested a long term sick leave. His coworkers were surprised. No one had noticed any signs of illness.”
“What sickness did he claim to have?” Quinn asked.
“Lupus. The nuclear facility has the report on file in their HR office. But lupus has never been known to leave someone bleeding from every orifice,” Rashid said.
“No, it has not,” Quinn said, biting his lower lip.
“That’s his ID picture from the employee database.” Rashid tilted his head toward a picture of Raj projected from his laptop onto the wall. “So—here’s where it gets interesting. The day after his sick leave began, Raj boarded a plane for Paris using a ticket he purchased with his credit card in September. He landed at Charles de Gaulle.”
“And?” Quinn said.
“That’s the thing. There is no and after he landed. No record of him eating, traveling, or making any purchases until the day of his return four weeks later. Six days ago.”
“Could he have been in Paris receiving special medical treatment? Did you check hospitals?” Stephanie asked.
“I checked hospitals and outstanding hospital invoices and found nothing, although it may be too early for them to have put together a bill,” said Rashid.
“Damn, you’re fast,” Stephanie said.
“I still need to look into treatment centers.”
“Maybe he was working as a missionary? Or doing something similar where he picked up this new disease?” Quinn suggested.
“I’ll need his computer to dig deeper. I also contacted his parents. They believe he was in Europe for an engineering conference. They knew nothing about him having lupus. They sounded convincing,” Rashid said.
“Okay. First, that’s great work in a short amount of time. One, we have an expected cause of death from an unknown, aggressive hemorrhagic fever, and, two, a red flag timeline—leaving the country with unexplained activity abroad. That’s more than enough evidence to arouse suspicion. Let’s stay on this until we can either confirm or rule out terrorism,” Quinn said.
Stephanie’s normally bright eyes were dull and Rashid let his head drop forward as they waited for Quinn to decide on their next move.
“Do you know if Rick and Ken are still here?” Quinn asked.
“Ken probably went straight to the gym,” Stephanie said.
“Hold on.” Quinn picked up his phone. “I’m calling them.”
Rashid and Stephanie discussed their research on Pivani while Quinn made two phone calls. Rick and Jayla appeared in the conference room a minute later, but Ken had gone directly home after his flight from Chicago. With Ken on speaker phone, Quinn brought them up to speed. When he finished explaining the situation, he set his hands on the table before saying, “I know I just briefed you, but,” he paused, closing his lips and filling his cheeks with an exhale, “I’m going to call in another unit—”
“No way,” Ken said. “I can be wherever you need me to be in just as long as it takes to get there.”
“We want this.” Stephanie made a fist. “We can always sleep later.”
“Okay. Good. Ken, you’ll search Pivani’s house for anything to either confirm or rule out bioterrorism. You’ll need to come back here to get your equipment and…Rick. Rick is going with you. You’ll bring Pivani’s computer and cell phone back to Rashid.”
“Told ya, you’d get the computer.” Stephanie jabbed Rashid gently in the arm with her elbow. In response, Rashid managed a slightly awkward smile.
“The CDC is holding the scene for us,” said Quinn. “You’ll need full PPE. Rick can get it organized while you drive here.”
“Okay. I’m leaving now,” said Ken.
“Will do.” Rick tucked in an errant side of his wrinkled dress shirt. Quinn studied him for an extra second, searching for any sign of reluctance toward working with Ken. Rick blew out a long breath, clasped his hands together and smiled.
“You shouldn’t be nervous, but you should be afraid. That fear will keep you safe,” Quinn said to Rick. “We don’t know what this disease is or how it’s spread yet. If you have any questions with the precautions—ask first. Understood?”
“Absolutely.” Rick nodded and smiled.
Quinn turned to Stephanie. “Keep digging for info. Contact the physician who wrote the lupus note, if he exists. The note could be forged.”
“Okay,” Stephanie said.
“While you’re waiting for his computer, find out what’s going on at the nuclear facility,” Quinn said to Rashid. “Jayla, I’m glad you’re still here. Put a national query out to all federal agencies to se
e if anyone else has a similar situation.”
Jayla nodded, tucked her braids behind one ear and immediately began typing into her portable tablet.
“Once we’ve ruled out that this situation requires our involvement, all of us will get some sleep,” Quinn said, glancing at his watch, his voice much softer and not all that convincing.
He left the conference room, took out his personal phone, and read a recent message from Holly asking him if he needed new shoes for the trip. Without hesitation, he typed: I don’t need more shoes. I might be late tonight. Or I might not be home again. I’ll let you know when I know. Sorry.
They had just averted one crisis, he hoped they weren’t stepping into another. He debated calling the FBI Director for a briefing and decided to wait. The evidence wasn’t sufficient enough to warrant the call. If luck was on their side, Raj Pivani’s death might be a case for the CDC alone. His team would decide as soon as possible. In the meantime, visiting the CDC to see what Maddie’s tests uncovered might be the best use of his time.
Chapter Thirty
San Fernando Valley
November 4th
Rick could barely see around the pile of PPE suits and evidence kits he carried. He stepped into the hallway and almost walked straight into Ken.
“Watch it,” said Ken.
“Oh, sorry. You’re back. Good timing.”
Ken tossed the remainder of a protein shake into a nearby garbage. He wrapped his arms around Rick’s pile and relieved him of half of the equipment.
“We’re not just wearing face shields, we’re going with full-blown pressurized suits and respirators.” Rick sounded excited. “And the CDC set up a decon tent at the scene.”