The Ares Virus

by A P Bateman

  He turned around and looked over the room again. There was a neat little table in the comer with a telephone and a couple of directories on top. A little red address book was open and face down on the top of the pile. He turned over and looked at the entry: Elizabeth Delaney (parent's address). There was a phone number, but he didn't recognize the area code. He slipped the book into his pocket and picket up the receiver and pressed the redial button. The phone rang for a few moments, and then switched to one of those pre-recorded ring tones. After another few moments, the phone switched to a recorded answer phone message: Delaney here, you know the drill ...The voice was no-nonsense and a little forced, like the person behind it was putting up an act.

  Stone put the receiver back down and glanced around the room again. It was a short search but he had what he wanted.

  TWENTY TWO

  Sullivan's was a trendy bar designed with the intention of a crossover between old town Irish grass roots and cosmopolitan chic. At least that was what was printed on the back of the laminated cocktail menu. Whether or not it was the fact that the likes of Murphy's or Guinness had made it into the cocktail menu as part of that cosmopolitan chic, Isobel didn't know. She had ordered a simple white rum and coke and had taken a secluded table in the furthest corner of the bar. She was now leafing through the extensive traditional grass roots Irish cocktail menu merely for a distraction. At the same time she was wondering what exactly it was that made Sullivan's so cosmopolitan chic. Perhaps it was the chromium finishing around the edges of the tables and bar counter, or perhaps it was the frameless prints of contemporary modern art on the walls. Either way, she thought the crossover was lame. Perhaps other people thought the same, maybe that was why the bar was so quiet.

  Another glance at her watch told her that it was eight thirty. Five minutes later than when she had last looked and eight minutes later than the time before that. She picked up her cell phone and hit redial. It connected and played the same curt message. She tried Delaney's home number and was again greeted by the answer phone message, even curter than the first. Delaney had time to change her message, but not to answer her phone evidently. Isobel took a sip of her drink and realized that she was starting to cloud over. It was her fourth and she decided to make this one last longer than the previous three. She had not yet eaten and the combined effect of stress, tiredness and an empty stomach was going to take its toll if she didn't slow down. Besides, there seemed to be an awful lot of ice and not a lot of coke, and the glass wasn't all that tall either. They were easy to get through and the service was a little too quick for her liking. She had barely taken the glass from her lips and the waitress was asking if she cared for another. She didn't want to sit at a table without a drink in front of her, so had dutifully obliged. She kept catching the eye of the two bar stewards, who seemed to be talking about her. Either fancying their chances or making fun of her misfortune, sitting there for a whole hour and a half, all alone. They most probably had her down as an easy touch at the end of their shift. Most likely had bets and odds laid down.

  Yet another glance at her watch told her that time was either dragging or that her battery was dying. Hardly two minutes had passed since she had last looked. It was becoming ridiculous, no matter how busy Delaney had been; she should have let her know by now. She picked up the glass, swallowed the rest of her drink and stood up. She felt a little unsteady. Delaney knew where she was staying and she could come to her, or call her when she was available. She was damned if she was going to wait alone looking like some lost cause that had been stood up for a date. She counted the chits and dropped a two twenties and a five down. She wasn't going to leave a tip worth a damn for the two aging Cocktail wannabes behind the bar.

  The outside air cooled her down and cleared her head. There was a slight chill, a sign that fall was upon the city, but still not too harsh. She walked the two blocks and enjoyed the sights of the city by night. It was a good area, an area of theatres and bars and decent looking restaurants. The people were light on the street and the taxicabs carried passengers towards a night out of fun and entertainment. A few bars were still accommodating the after work drinkers, but most had taken off to eat or go home. Another half hour and the bars and clubs would start becoming busy for the start of the weekend and she could see various establishments further down the street becoming the destination for streams of yellow cabs. These were obviously the more popular bars and not dubious crossovers between Irish grass roots and cosmopolitan chic. She wanted to go and explore the city by night and eat in some of the excellent looking restaurants but she knew that she couldn't.

  She felt vulnerable and she felt alone. She had hoped that Elizabeth Delaney would show more urgency, and she was starting to fear that the FBI agent was not taking her seriously. Or at least, was not being strictly on the level with her.

  She shivered as she walked. It wasn't very far, but she was starting to regret having not brought a coat with her. She could see the hotel now, its sign bringing her to warmth and comfort like a ship to safe anchorage. She was tired and she was irksome. She needed to get a good night's sleep and look at things differently in the morning. She needed to get Delaney to communicate with her and she needed to know the extent of this man David Stein's input and what conclusions he had drawn.

  There was a black and white squad car opposite the entrance to the hotel, its lights were off, but she could hear the chatter of the dispatch coming from the radio inside. She climbed the steps and walked into the foyer. She had a key card to the room, so didn't bother going to the reception desk, but stopped in her tracks as the duty manager stepped out from the desk and made a direct line for her.

  “Ms. Bartlett,” he paused. His face was ashen, a look of concern. “If you wouldn't mind waiting down here for a moment...”

  “What's the problem?” She glanced around, there were a few people sitting around the foyer. They looked like travelers at an airport, just waiting because they had no other choice.

  The manager sighed. “I 'm afraid there has been a break in. Your room has been broken in to,” he paused. “I 'm ever so sorry, and on behalf of the hotel, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies. Of course, anything taken will be covered by our insurance...” He looked at her apologetically, but she made no comment. She was simply stunned and felt ill. The four rum and cokes weren't helping much. “I have taken the liberty of re-booking you a suite, free of charge of course. As soon as the police have finished with your room, I'll have your things moved over at once.”

  “The police? Oh, of course.” She looked around for somewhere to sit, she felt as if she were about to fall. She glanced up and caught sight of a tall male police officer, carrying a clipboard. He walked straight towards her, glanced at the duty manager as if for confirmation, and then smiled.

  “Ms. Bartlett, Isobel Bartlett?”

  “Yes.” The unsteady feeling had passed. She looked at the police officer, unsure whether to tell them what had been happening.

  “If you’ll come with me, we need an inventory of what has been taken.”

  She nodded dutifully and followed him to the lift. She said nothing as they rode up together, but looked at him as the lift stopped on the fifth floor.

  “It's safe, right?”

  “Sure, my partner's up here. She's keeping a guard on the door until you're moved.” He beckoned her forwards and waited for her to leave the lift first. “After you, ma’am.”

  She stepped out in front of him and walked somewhat tentatively down the carpeted corridor towards her room. She had a hunch about what she'd find and the ramifications if it were so would be too much to bear.

  She neared the room and looked at the door which was ajar. It had been splintered open and as she stepped into the room, she could see that it had crashed back into the wall, chipping and flaking the plaster. It must have been kicked hard, hellishly powerful, because the locks looked strong and the door was thick and heavy. A woman police officer smiled as she entered, then looke
d back at her clipboard as Isobel took in the scene.

  There were piles of clothing that had been scattered across the room, and her bags were far from where she had left them, but even at a glance she could tell that nothing had been taken. She had been travelling light and really hadn't brought much with her. It was the attention that had been paid to the dresser, which sent a shiver down her spine. It had been moved, dumped aside and the carpet was torn up a good three feet around the area. She had told Elizabeth Delaney where she had hidden the flash drives, but for some inexplicable reason, she had decided to lie. And now there was all the confirmation she would ever need. She could trust no one.

  She had never felt so alone.

  TWENTY THREE

  She hadn't slept that night. Not even for a few minutes. Her mind had raced and her anger had raged. How could she have been so let down? How could she have been betrayed so? What had Delaney been thinking? She couldn’t have possibly been involved in stealing ARES and APHRODITE so what had happened today? Had she contacted McCray directly, tried to get in on some sort of finder’s fee? Or was she going to take it for herself and make McCray an offer? And was McCray even involved? Too many questions, too many possible answers.

  She had left the Amsterdam Court Hotel as soon as the police had completed their report and left the building. The duty manager had attempted to persuade her to stay, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears. Isobel wanted out completely. There had been no charge for her room and her credit card had been reimbursed in full. The duty manager had called a cab for her and helped her with the door of the cab personally. The cab had taken her to a small hotel called The Albany on west 71st and Columbus. It had been thoroughly recommended by the taxi driver and the staff had been extremely accommodating as she checked in. The night manager had called for a porter to carry her largest bag and show her to the room and the night porter had willingly performed his duty offering no end of nighttime services, such as shoe polishing, room order service and personal early-morning wakeup calls - complete with her choice of newspaper and freshly brewed coffee. She figured the guy did pretty well on gratuities. Or maybe he had a thing going where all the services offered only existed on his shifts and the money went straight in his pocket.

  She had unpacked, showered and ordered a club sandwich from the night porter's direct line. After she had eaten she lay on the bed to relax. Only she couldn't. There was so much to think about, and so many questions to be asked. However, it wasn't the questions that had played on her mind all night long, but the answers. Each answer opened a new question and each new question in tum needed to be answered.

  She didn't know why she had lied to her friend, but she had. At the time it had felt like survival. An instinctive act of self-preservation. Why? She had felt a twinge of anxiety when she had told Elizabeth Delaney her story. The motive behind the two unknown voices back in the facility had been solely for money. To steal both the virus and anti-virus and create a sensation of mass hysteria. Whether their plans were in the long-term, or whether they were willing to act immediately, she had no idea. Long-term, they would have to invest in a legitimate pharmaceutical company and use APHRODITE as a basis for control. And it sounded like they had achieved this already Morgan-Klein. She had heard of them, naturally. She was knowledgeable of the sector and knew that Morgan-Klein was a mid-sized pharmaceutical company with eyes on the highest ranking within the pharmaceutical world. They would manufacture APHRODITE in response to an outbreak of ARES. Whoever was behind this would have access to stocks and stock options. Their portfolio would grow exponentially. But was Morgan-Klein involved directly? Possibly not, but an executive at the highest order would be. Had to be.

  Morgan-Klein was a legitimate, legislated and regulated company. Who within the organization would get involved? Had there been coercion? Sure, deals happen, just look at GM food issues and government research. Monopolies operate the farming and producing sectors, fixing prices on production and providing the public with little choice in their consumption. But for them to approach a company and get a deal accepted first time only, that was too big a chance for them to take. Failure at the first hurdle was not an option. Secondly, they would need to have funds to invest in stock. Stock options were possible for the contribution of APHRODITE, but would not hold much water in an investigation. And dropping the miracle cure for a new super-virus into a pharmaceutical company's lap was always going to initiate an investigation of some kind. But the risks had obviously been worth it. ARES and APHRODITE were worth billions in the wrong hands. So there was a reason for betrayal right there. She had lied to Delaney about the location of the flash drives and she had subsequently been betrayed. She had been lured off to a bar on the premise of being helped by a friend and kept out of the hotel for over an hour whilst her room had been taken apart. Nothing had been stolen and that had puzzled the two officers of the NYPD. But their job sheets were full and they'd barely begun their shift. They had handed out an itinerary sheet for her to list, sign and return to the precinct if she could think of anything that had been taken, after she calmed down from the initial shock and then they had left without hesitation.

  But in all her solitary questioning, the loudest, most persistent question of all kept rearing its head and screaming at her. Why? Sure, millions or billions of dollars for the ransom of APHRODITE would be worth as much to Delaney as the faceless men in the bioresearch facility. But there was something missing. Something that had kept nagging at her all through the night. They already had the other half of ARES and APHRODITE. And Elizabeth Delaney didn't. So why was she unharmed, and why was she able to leave the hotel and relocate?

  TWENTY FOUR

  There was a bitter chill in the sea air. The sun was coming up over the distant buildings and casting a bright gold shaft of light across the bay. It glistened on the electric blue water, clear and crystalline under a seamless sky.

  The wake from distant boats and ships was lapping at the pier, ending their journey from the middle of the icy waters of the East River. The surge left huge clumps of seaweed and kelp high out of the water then pushed it back, long tendrils wrapping at the struts of the pier, and then gracefully washing back towards the depths beyond. He watched the swaying motion of the kelp, hypnotic in its action; felt the salty air in his nostrils as he waited. The cold air lay heavy on his chest, ached at the back of his throat. He breathed out a steady stream of breath, watching the vapor coil and swirl in the cold air, disintegrating slowly and sporadically into nothing. Emptiness.

  The cop looked like he should have retired ten years ago. He was either really good at what he did, or really lucky. There were not many men left on the streets at his age. Maybe he had no choice, maybe the retirement plan had never worked out. He looked ready for a rest. He carried a good fifty pounds too much around his waist and was probably only a couple of pounds away from a coronary. He wore his breakfast down his hound's-tooth shirt and carried a carton of steaming coffee in each hand. He walked towards the edge of the pier and where David Stein was staring hypnotically at the wash of the wake and the gentle dance of the kelp.

  “Cold as a witch's tit. Hot summer followed by a short, cold fall. Going to be a bitch of a winter in the city, I reckon.” The cop passed him a steaming plastic carton and nodded back towards the entrance of the warehouse's loading bay. “Guys are pretty much done in there. Thought you might need this.”

  “What does it look like in there?” Stein sipped some coffee and grimaced. It was sweet and creamy, but the cop wasn't to have known his preference. “What happened?”

  The cop shrugged. “Tortured for a while, I'd say. Not sexually, just...”

  “Sadistically,” said Stein

  The old cop shook his head, looking out across the water. “Functionally,” he paused. “Spent a tour in Vietnam, most of a tour at least. Rangers, attached to Delta for the last few months.” His eyes were cold, hard. They stared at the water. To Stein they looked like lifeless holes in the man's head. “We kne
w we were out of there, knew the war was done. We weren't winning shit anymore. Not with the leash congress had on us. We needed to play rough. Just like our boys with ISIS or Al Qaeda or the Taliban. But they can’t either. Nobody has the stomach for dirty wars. Except the soldiers. They know what needs doing,” he paused, taking a sip of coffee. “With the war pretty much a done deal, we spent our time locating MIA's and extracting them. Son Tay prison was our last job. Mean anything to you?”

  Stein shook his head.

  “Fuck, that figures. Nobody knows shit anymore.” His eyes were unmoving, challenging the water to a staring contest. For all the world, Stein reckoned the man would win. “Saw some pretty bad shit over there. Torture and stuff. They were good at it too. Once they started they got what they needed to know. Some people said they enjoyed it, I say they just perfected it. Minimum effort, maximum effect. Just plain functional.”

  Stein nodded. “So what did they do to her?”

  “I'd say it was one person, no more. You get a couple or a group torturing someone and they start a damn frenzy. Like sharks, feeding I guess. No, this was practical and functional. Tied the victim up and went to work. A little cutting, a little burning and whole lot of hurt.”

  David Stein shuddered.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure, just…”

  The cop nodded. “I know. It's tough.” He took his eyes off the water and looked at him. He was human again. The eyes held some life in them once more. “The end was quick, just keep telling yourself that. She was executed, real quick and real clean.”